“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?”