House of Guardians

by Beatrice Sand

  “Did I just see you talking to the boys from Chaos?” Maude wants to know.

  “Not really, Thomas approached Olivia and me.”

  “Did you hear Renee sing?” Ava asks.

  “Of course, who didn’t?” I say annoyed.

  “Can you sing like that?”

  “We don’t share DNA, Ava,” I say, pretty grumpy this time. “Different parents, stepsisters, remember?”

  She gives me a disgruntled look. “Well, it could be that both of you have had singing lessons, how would I know?”

  “I can’t sing, okay? I don’t have any talent.”

  “Well, your stepsister sure does. She had the full attention of every single member of Chaos.”

  Ava is pushing me to my limits.

  “You really think we couldn’t get that kind of attention from them?” Maude challenges Ava. “That little show they just gave on stage, we would do better the three of us. Easily.”

  “Maude, come on,” Ava says, “Beyoncé herself could not have done that better.”

  Maude shrugs. “We’ll see about that. Prefer a specific song?”

  “A heavy rock song,” Ava giggles, “from some tough female, that will definitely attract their attention. Or a Stones song.”

  “Ava, you’re a genius.”

  I snap my head toward them. “Don’t even think about it! I’m not going to make a fool out of myself on stage, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, calm down, all right,” Maude sighs. “Party pooper.”

  I exhale heavily and look around. My eyes meet Sam’s.

  We look at each other briefly, and then stare past each other. The rest of the evening I try hard to ignore his tangible presence. Not an easy thing to do.

  13

  laurel

  As Bastian promised, I wake up with sore muscles. With my body protesting, I scramble out of the bunkbed and stumble into the bathroom where I bump into Ava. She’s all fit and cheerful—ready to whizz down the slopes. She sends me a worried look.

  “You okay?”

  I give her a friendly smile, the only move that doesn’t seem to hurt. “I’m doing great, thanks. You guys just go ahead and get some breakfast, I’ll be right behind you.”

  In about an hour and a half, because that is how long I plan to be standing under the hot shower.

  A mere five minutes later the water grows tepid, and I grumpily step into my ski clothes and stroll into the dining hall. Sam and his friends are nowhere to be found. I suspect they’re already boarding, satisfying their endless need for an adrenaline rush. And I don’t expect to have much more contact with Sam after our encounter last night.

  Always the latecomer, I arrive at the blue run where my fellow rookies are already busy practicing their basic techniques.

  After practicing for a while, I feel confident enough to go up. The slalom skis are relatively short and I have no problem in moving them. I am actually having a little fun snowplowing my way down. Still, after just one more descent, I am already sick and tired of the friendly little hill. Especially knowing that the others are having fun elsewhere. I feel left out.

  Sometime around noon, we get a lunch break and I say goodbye to my group and go my own way.

  With giant steps, I plow through the snow toward the black run. It is a beautiful day with sapphire blue skies, and I am glad my head is free from the tight helmet.

  Since I’ve got the time now, I decide to try out Sam’s tip about a decent cup of coffee. I snuggle into a seat and watch how the enthusiasts are brought to the top by ski chair lifts. Carefully, I study their moves and watch how they sit on the wobbly benches. It seems safe enough—you just have to do it. No time for doubt. Everyone is doing it, so why shouldn’t I?

  I take a sip of coffee and stare into the mug in horror. It’s as bitter as gall and reminds me of Martin’s coffee.

  “Is this seat taken?” I hear a male voice ask.

  I look up. “No, you can take it,” I say, but to my great surprise, the man sits down at my table. He smiles and I smile back briefly. “I can’t recommend the coffee.”

  “Thanks for the tip, but I’m not going to stay long enough for coffee.”

  I nod and continue with my chair lift observation. I think I can muster up enough courage to go for it.

  “Break ties with him. All of them!”

  Is he talking to me? “Sorry, are you talking to me?”

  “Yes. We’ve never met before and I don’t have time to explain everything, but I’m here to warn you.”

  I feel a slight shiver going through my body. “Warn me about what?”

  “Sampson Laurens and his friends. Stay away from them, Laurel.”

  My head sweeps up. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know all I need to know about you.”

  I want to get up.

  “Stay, I’m not finished,” he says calmly. “You can go in a second, but first I want you to listen to me.”

  Cautiously I study the stranger next to me. He is dressed in dark pants and hiking boots, a thick black jacket and dark curly hair is showing from under his cap. His eyes are completely hidden behind sunglasses with reflective mirror lenses.

  “Who are you?”

  “You can call me Sander and you can trust me. That’s all you need to know.”

  “That’s all I want to know,” I mutter and try to stand up again.

  “Laurel, please listen to me for a minute.”

  I can’t see his eyes, but his voice is sounding eerily calm. It impresses me more than if he would have been shouting. The undertone in his voice makes it clear that whatever it is he has to say, I’d better listen. Reluctantly, I sit back into my chair. “All right, I’m listening.”

  After the stranger disappears—along with my last bit of enthusiasm for skiing—I walk back to the inn.

  I am almost freaking out inside, as I change out of my ski outfit and into a pair of white jeans and a white turtleneck sweater. Who is that ridiculous tall boy who calls himself Sander? How does he know me or the people I hang out with? I shudder when I realize that someone may be spying on me.

  With my heart racing in my chest, I go down to the front desk and buy half an hour of Internet access. I disappear into a separate room where the computers are lined up. With almost everyone outside, I have enough privacy.

  My fingers are shaking as I enter the search term: the keepers. My nerves are causing me to look back over my shoulder every ten seconds—afraid Sam might suddenly be standing behind me. I don’t find any results for my search, except for a few synonyms like a shepherd, a guard and a watchman, but nothing that helps me get any further.

  In frustration, I start drumming my fingers on the table. What did this Sander person say? Sam is a member of an old aristocratic family—a descendant of an illustrious royal family with roots going back thousands of years. I gathered that much when Sam’s mother called me a commoner. Sander has confirmed my suspicion, but a family tree that goes back even to before our era? Feverishly, I make a calculation that brings me straight to the dynasties of Egyptian Pharaohs.

  A descendant of Tutankhamun? A strange sound leaves my throat. It would not surprise me, comparing Sam’s flawless face with the beautiful mask of the young famous ruler. And then I cannot suppress a giggle. On the one hand, it is a relief to me—I finally know who Sam is. He’s a descendant of a royal family. Special, but nothing to lie awake about at night. The part that does worry me is the fact that his mother doesn’t allow him to hang out with common girls. Is he supposed to be married off?

  Philene!

  Her honey-sweet voice echoes against my eardrums. Sam is not available.

  Could that be the reason I’ve been warned by this strange guy? What else did he say? That the house from which Sam and his friends originate still has a hidden, but far-reaching, influen
ce and that everything in Sam’s life revolves around its power and glory. Suddenly, I think of Sam’s Greek last name and do another search: ancient Greek kings.

  I retrieve a list of the earliest kings, but there are so many that half an hour won’t be enough to check them all out. And even then, what do I expect to find? I read on a bit.

  Many of the names of the Greek kings remain, but it is hard to make a distinction between mythology and reality. Monarchs often claimed to be descendants of a Greek deity in order to instill fear into the people and keep their power.

  With a sigh, I randomly click some names of kings, which were either the sons of Zeus, grandsons of Poseidon, or, if possible, of even more questionable heritage, all of which are portrayed as strong heroes who killed the most bizarre creatures.

  I bite my nails as I think about a new search, but my thirty minutes are over before I know it. I decide not to spend any more time on Sam’s background. The information doesn’t seem to make sense. If Sam can’t be with me because of his family background, or even worse, because of my humble social class, I assume he is man enough to tell me that himself.

  Besides, hadn’t he already given me the warning signs? His sudden distance, ignoring me, his coldness toward commoners… He doesn’t want me or he just can’t be with me for some reason. And the sooner that sinks in, the better.

  Before I leave for the karaoke bar, I call home. I tell Martin that—apart from a few insignificant bruises—the trip is going well. After I reassure him that Renee is in shipshape as well, I hang up the phone and take the time to calm myself down from the emotional turmoil of digging in Sam’s past.

  I keep looking in the mirror to see if he might be able to read something in my face, because sometimes I feel like an open book to him. I undo my braid and shake my shoulder-length hair. Better. This way a large part of my face is hidden by my hair. Quickly I put on some lip gloss.

  I run to the karaoke bar and slip and fall on a slippery spot near the entrance.

  With my hip hurting and my cheek burning, I step into the bar and I scan the space for my friends. I find them in their familiar spot in the far corner. I grimace when I see they have made new friends. Aristocratic friends.

  I shuffle closer and notice that Bastian is entertaining Ava. Her cheeks have a reddish color. Maude is sitting next to Sam, and apparently he is telling her something incredibly funny, judging from her deafening laugh. With an enviable flair, she tosses her long hair back. I don’t understand how she has not yet suffered a chronic neck injury. So, Maude is flirting with Sam. Or Sam with her. Well, she can have him. I don’t even need to be jealous, because like me, Maude is just a commoner.

  I turn away from the private affair and look for a seat. Except there isn’t one. The table is filled with drinks and bowls of potato chips and peanuts and it looks like they have been having a good time for a while now. Charles and Hugo are holding Olivia hostage, Andreas is focused on his cell phone, and Don has his eyes fixed on the dance floor. When I follow his gaze, I end up looking at none other than my own stepsister, and I briefly roll my eyes.

  Charles is the first to notice me, or at least take the trouble to acknowledge my presence. “Harper, took a fall?” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “Your back is covered in a fresh layer of snow.”

  “Oh.” I brush the snow off my butt.

  “Come sit on my lap. I always prefer snow angels with cold bottoms.”

  I don’t have much choice. I see Sam is trying to get up, but Maude puts her hand possessively on his thigh.

  I plop down on Charles’ lap, and he immediately shoves a cell phone in my face to show me all the pictures of struggling skiers.

  Every now and then, my gaze wanders off to Sam. Pensively, I study his symmetrical features and wonder whether this is the face of a young aristocrat. What does an aristocrat even look like? I muse. His name is quite ordinary. Sam Laurens does not sound very regal, although he is often arrogant and behaves very politely. And his pronunciation is no less than perfect. At the same time, I don’t know any guy with that many contradictions. On one hand, it is very clear—especially when I think of his mother—that he has had a refined education. He seems to know about everything, whether it be about sports, music, or theater. But he can be very rough, and he practices violent combat sports, which does not exactly seems to be a suitable activity for the elite.

  All that said, his appearance radiates authority, there is no other way to put it. No matter how young he is, he behaves much wiser than his peers. And by now, I have seen a lot of people stumble and fall in his presence, and I am just one of them. I think of Lou, the library woman, and the man at the ski rental, who even called him sir. And the funny thing is that Sam seems to find it all perfectly normal, he doesn’t even correct them.

  I notice too late that Sam is watching me, his brow raised quizzically. Blushing, I return my attention to the screen with the corny pictures.

  Suddenly, a shrill noise sounds through the microphone. “I would like to make a special announcement for a lady trio,” Mrs. Watson says.

  Renee. Not again, please…

  Maude and Ava exchange looks. Lady trio?

  Maude whispers something into Sam’s ear and he smiles. “Have fun,” he says with a deep voice and glances my way. Maude walks past me. “Coming?” she asks sweetly and walks over to the stage.

  “Can I have a round of applause for Maude, Laurel, and Ava,” Watson cries.

  Olivia and Bastian begin to clap and yell eagerly.

  I sit motionless on Charles’ lap.

  “You’ll do great,” Olivia calls encouraging.

  “Try not to sing out of tune, all right honey?” Charles says, giving me a push.

  I follow my friends to the stage. “I will never forgive you two for this. Just so you know. What are we singing?”

  Maude pulls me behind the stage. “Boots off.”

  “What?”

  “Take off those asexual Uggs, Laurel,” she whispers and takes off her own trendy pink moon boots. Ava follows suit.

  “Barefoot?”

  “It’s sexy.”

  Grumbling, I pull my feet out of the warm sheepskin.

  “We want attention, don’t we? Well—we’re going to get it. It’s all part of the act.”

  “What act? We’re singing karaoke. And which song?”

  “Tell me what we’re gonna do now. Why do you think we’re taking off our boots? Okay. We’ll sing sensuous… got it?”

  “Sensuous? You’ve practiced?”

  “We just went over the text on the mountain, that’s all,” Ava says apologetically. “Just follow our lead.” Then she pulls me onto the stage and we walk up to the microphones.

  There is a lot of yelling and I am embarrassed to death. I feel as though my whole body is exposed, instead of just my feet.

  Renee and her friends are screaming with laughter. Jeez, they act so immature.

  Maude pushes a mic into my hand. She stands in the middle, which is not very surprising.

  “I don’t even know the words to the song,” I mutter. “I have to look at the screen.”

  “Oh, stop whining. Just sing along. The text will come to you naturally.”

  I stare into the audience and watch our corner. Olivia, Hugo, Charles, and even Bastian are all standing now, encouraging us. Don and Andreas show little to no interest, but it’s not until my gaze wanders farther that I feel the heat. Sam is staring at me. Only at me. It is a hypnotic experience every single time he looks at me so intensely.

  Maude starts humming seductively, taking the first line herself.

  Holy smokes, Andreas and Don’s attention is immediately drawn to Maude. Their conversation falls silent.

  Quickly, I peek at the screen before Maude demands all attention—Sam’s attention.

  By the time we get to the chorus, I don’
t have to look at the lyrics anymore.

  Maude and Ava are really putting on a show and waving their arms. Everyone is watching and cheering. They can be happy, they have all the attention they desperately wished for.

  My gaze lingers at Sam’s grave face. Obviously, I don’t have Renee’s voice, which clearly amazed him before. As a musician, he must surely notice my pitchy tones.

  Halfway through the song, I’m completely over my stage fright. Fortunately, because people are filming us with their cell phones.

  When I look at Sam once again, I am shocked by the expression on his face. He is staring at me with a withering look. He gets up and maneuvers himself through the cheering crowd. He’s heading for the exit.

  By the time we return to our table, Sam has left.

  We spend the rest of the night chatting and dancing, and I can’t seem to stop watching the entrance. Sam has not returned and I feel miserable. I know that he has left because of me, because his eyes were focused on me the entire time. Scorching eyes burning through my many layers of clothes, blistering my skin.

  Somehow I screwed up, his body language was more than clear. It’s probably only common girls, who present themselves in such a tasteless way. Civilized aristocratic girls, of course, stay away from these kinds of vulgar practices.

  Common girl.

  I am a commoner. The word haunts me day and night.

  14

  laurel

  I put on my hat and walk out of the inn. The fall on my hip has turned out to be worse than I initially thought, so I’m off the hook for skiing. But that doesn’t mean I can just pack up and go home. I return my slalom skis, poles and shoes before trudging off toward the cafeteria to have another bad cup of coffee, I have nothing else to do anyway.

  I sit back in the same seat and wonder if that mysterious man will turn up again. I admit that I would like to hear a bit more about Sam and his friends. If I hadn’t reacted so obstinate, I might well have been able to get some more information out of him. I didn’t even ask about the consequences. What happens to me if I don’t break all ties?