Chapter Twelve

Jaren would have just as soon forgotten about Endla altogether, but a bet was a bet, and he was forced to prove he’d been to Lake Luma with the vial of water. Lars did the honors of placing a rose into the vial, making a bit more of a show of it than seemed necessary.

For a moment, Jaren was afraid nothing would happen and he’d be humiliated in front of the entire village, but a few seconds later, the stem began to shrivel up and turn black. As the poison rose, the bottom of the stem started to disintegrate, and by the time the crimson petals had withered and blackened, the stem was gone. The flower head fell onto the table, where it crumbled to ash and blew away.

Even Merritt seemed impressed, though slightly disappointed he wouldn’t have the opportunity to beat Jaren to a pulp. But at least he’d walked away to the bar, leaving Jaren with Lars, his body blessedly intact.

“I can’t believe you went to Lake Luma,” Lars said, eyeing the vial of water where it sat on the table. Someone would have to dispose of it, and Jaren had no intention of volunteering. “Most of us have never gone near it, and we’ve lived here our entire lives.”

Jaren flushed, embarrassed that his skepticism had nearly cost him his life. “I don’t think I really understood how dangerous it was until now.” It was still hard to fathom that such a beautiful, crystal-clear mountain lake could be so deadly. He imagined what could have happened if he’d tried to drink from it his first time there and shuddered. His family might never have found him.

Lars passed him a pint of ale. “Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Merritt anymore. You’ve got boasting rights for life, friend.”

“I don’t want to boast. I’d just like to be left alone. And I won’t make the mistake of bringing my little sister to the pub again.”

“Probably a wise decision.”

Jaren drained the pint and turned to Lars. “I know you said you’ve never been to the lake before, but what do you know about the people who live on the island? Aside from the nonsense about sirens, of course.”

“What makes you so sure it’s nonsense?”

Jaren hadn’t told anyone about the Endlan singing he’d overheard on his second visit, because doing so would be admitting he’d visited the lake again despite his father’s orders. But now that a pub full of people knew he’d gone to save his sister’s honor, there was no point in keeping what he’d just witnessed a secret.

“When I was there, I heard what I think was some kind of animal sacrifice. There must have been a dozen animals or more, and the islanders were singing while they did it. It was horrible.”

“And you didn’t feel the urge to cross the water?”

Jaren forcefully shook his head no. “I never want to go near that place again.”

Lars absently patted his hair the way a man might stroke a dog’s fur. “I’d say you were lucky, then.”

Despite his insistence that he wanted nothing to do with the lake, Jaren still felt that strange, inexplicable fascination with Lars’s tales. Maybe that was it: he needed an explanation. There had to be something rooted in reality that made it all make sense, if only he thought about it hard enough.

“Have you ever met anyone from Endla? I heard they banish all the islanders without...” He didn’t want to give credence to what he still thought was superstition, but for the sake of conversation, he said the word. “Magic.”

Lars nodded. “We have an Endlan in the village. She doesn’t talk about Endla, though.”

Jaren’s eyebrows rose. “Someone in Bricklebury came from Endla? Who?”

“The young woman who sells honey. She left the island about six years ago now. A local family took her in, and she’s been with them ever since.”

For a moment Jaren was sure he’d misheard. It wasn’t that he’d expected Endlans to have horns sticking out of their foreheads, but the honey girl seemed so...normal.

Lars chuckled, as if he could tell what Jaren was thinking. “I know. It’s strange to think someone like her came from such an awful place. But it’s true.”

“Why doesn’t she speak about it?”

“I imagine it’s too painful,” Lars speculated. “She had a family there.”

Jaren nodded, but inside he was thinking that the honey girl had been fortunate. She’d gotten out, unlike the girl he’d seen the day of that festival. He tried to imagine her slitting an animal’s throat but couldn’t.

Later that week, when the farmer’s market returned, and with it, the honey girl, Jaren couldn’t help but go to her stall for a closer look. Story was busy choosing fabric for new dresses for herself and her sisters, and if history was any guide, she would be occupied for hours.

Aimlessly perusing the jars of honey, Jaren waited for the girl to finish helping another customer. Finally, she turned her attention on him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, a lilt of amusement in her voice.

“Er, I was just wondering, where do you get your honey from?” It was a ridiculous question. He couldn’t have cared less where it came from. And it was hardly a good way to learn about Endla. But he had never been good at making small talk, and he had to start somewhere.

“My parents keep bees in a meadow not far from here,” she said as she packaged up a bottle for another customer. “Oh, here they are now.”

A man and a woman materialized out of the crowd, back from doing their shopping, by the look of things. Both of them carried baskets full of food.

“My parents,” the girl said. “Oskar and Marta Rebane.”

“And who might you be?” the woman asked, sizing Jaren up. He was tall for his age and not scrawny, but something about her made him feel rather small.

“My name is Jaren Kask,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Not the same Jaren Kask who went to Lake Luma and brought back a vial of poisonous water?” she asked, but there was a teasing quality in her voice similar to her daughter’s. “You’re practically famous here in Bricklebury. Isn’t he, Lupin?”

Jaren could feel the girl’s eyes on him. “I’m afraid that’s me, ma’am,” he said.

Marta exchanged a glance with her husband and picked up a jar of honey. “Here you are, then. For your mother. She must have quite a job of keeping you safe.”

Jaren was surprised by this stranger’s generosity. A holdover from spending most of his life in a city, he supposed. “My mother passed away. But I’m sure my father and sisters will appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Oh, we’re sorry to hear that, aren’t we, Oskar?” She elbowed her husband, and he coughed, nodding.

“Indeed. Very sorry. What brought you to Bricklebury?”

As Jaren explained how Klaus had invited them to move here after his mother’s death, he stole glances at Lupin, who had gone back to selling honey to other customers. He wondered if she’d figured out why he came to talk to her and felt ashamed for thinking of her as nothing more than a curiosity. Whoever she’d been before, it was clear Oskar and Marta were her parents now, and Endla was likely a part of her past she didn’t care to dwell on.

As Oskar and Marta returned to their customers, Jaren thanked them again and started off to look for his sister. A moment later, he felt a hand on his arm and turned to find Lupin standing there.

“Did you really go to Lake Luma?” she asked, her green eyes searching his face.

He nodded. “It was a ridiculous bet to protect my sister.” He decided it wasn’t necessary to include the part about protecting himself. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I suppose you heard I’m from Endla, then?”

There was no sense in lying now. “Lars told me.”

She twisted her lips to the side, considering, and nodded. “Well, then. I suppose you have questions. Come with me.”

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