The Poison Season(22)

“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.