Chapter 2

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“Nice to see you too, Lily,” Dosinia says. “Miss me?”

Not hardly.

First of all, I left Thalassinia only a few days ago. I haven’t had time to miss anyone.

Second of all, my bratty baby cousin hates me and is generally horrid whenever we’re in the same place at the same time. Even if I’d been gone a decade, I couldn’t miss her. That would imply I actually like being with her. Very much not the case.

“Why are you here, Doe?” I repeat, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.

It’s not a complete and utter shock to find a merperson on land. They don’t show up at my door, though, because of my royal status. They don’t want to impose. But many merfolk visit the mainland occasionally—some frequently. Doe is not among them. Even if she didn’t despise me, she usually wouldn’t step out of the sea to save her best friend. She has a serious hate on for humans and avoids them like last week’s red tide. Which makes the fact that she’s standing on Aunt Rachel’s back porch more than a little suspect.

“I thought for sure Uncle Whelk would send a note,” she singsongs with fake sincerity. Pulling a square of pink kelpaper from her cleavage, she says, “Ooopsy. Guess I intercepted the messenger gull.”

Pink kelpaper means it’s a private message and the gull should deliver it only to the intended recipient—me. Leave it to Doe to get it anyway.

Jaw clenched, I snatch the note from her sparkly fingertips.

“Daddy will be pissed when he finds out you did that,” I say, angry but secretly pleased to know she’ll be getting into trouble for this stunt.

“Not any more than usual,” she replies casually.

Prithi, apparently thrilled to realize I am not the only fishlike girl in the world, darts between my legs and begins rubbing her head against Doe’s ankle. Doe glares at the cat and then rolls her eyes, as if deciding the creature is beneath her concern.

Like I said, Doe’s not exactly a fan of land dwellers. Guess cats make the list, too.

Ah-hem. A discreet cough from behind me in the kitchen reminds me that Doe and I are not the only ones present.

“Lily,” Aunt Rachel says, “won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

I almost blurt, “She is not my friend.” But that’s not fair. Aunt Rachel’s never met Doe. In fact, she’s never met any merfolk besides me and Daddy. Well, at least not knowingly. When merpeople are in terraped—human—form, the only thing that distinguishes them as children of the sea is the mer mark on the back of the neck. And even that can look like an ordinary tattoo if you don’t know what you’re looking for.

Anyway, a decade and a half of royal training sends me into social autopilot. I turn and smile.

“Aunt Rachel, this is my cousin Dosinia.” Jaw clenched, I meet Doe’s scornful glare head on. “Doe, this is my mom’s sister, Rachel.”

For an instant, an emotion flickers in her eyes. If I were looking at anyone but Doe, I’d say it was sympathy, compassion. But it is Doe, so it was probably just a speck of dust.

I sense Aunt Rachel moving up next to me. “We were just finishing dinner,” she says to Doe, “but I’m sure we can find you something. I think I have a frozen pizza hidden away for just such an occasion. And there are a few breadsticks left from our takeout.”

My breadsticks, I want to shout.

Not that Doe seems interested. The look that passes over her face as she takes in the remains of our dinner on the kitchen table is pure revulsion. I’ll admit it took me a while to get used to human food. For my first few months on land, I survived on mediocre sushi and fresh produce. It was at least a year before I had the courage to try pasta. Now I love it.

Still, even though I understand that look, I’m defensive of human food. I am, after all, half human.

“It’s good,” I insist. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

She gives me a confused scowl that says, What the heck are you talking about? Then, with a shake of her head, she says, “I’m not hungry.”

As if that were the end of a very deep conversation, we all fall silent. An awkward tension fills the air. I don’t think any of us knows quite what to say.

I’m wondering what Doe is doing here.

Maybe Doe is wondering the same thing.

Aunt Rachel probably just doesn’t know how to react to finding another mer teen in her kitchen.

In the end, Doe breaks the silence.

“I’ve been exiled,” she blurts.

“What?” I demand, my jaw slacking open. Of all the possible reasons for Doe’s appearance on my doorstep, an exile would not have even made my list. “Why?”

Exile is the most extreme punishment in the mer world. The offender is banned from the sea, forced to live on land for the duration of the sentence. In other kingdoms it may be more common, but Daddy does not use that power lightly. In fact, I can remember only one exile in my lifetime: a merman who lost his mate, went mad, and tried to attack the palace by luring a group of great whites past our defenses. In his time in exile, he fell in love with a human and chose to stay on land to be with her.

I can hardly see Doe’s exile ending like that.

“What did you do?” I ask.

She shrugs and nods at the note.

With a roll of my eyes, I carefully unfold the kelpaper crushed in my fist.

Exiled without her powers? She must have really crossed a line this time. Doe’s spent most of her life breaking whatever rules she can get away with—and if it made my life miserable in the process, then bonus—and suffering the pretty mild consequences.

Quince thinks she’s jealous of me and my soon-to-be-former title, but I think she’s just a toadfish.

Still, until now her punishments have been more like cleaning out the palace kitchens or taking the algae-eating snails for a swim so they can empty their tanks. An exile is extraordinary. She must have done something truly horrible.

“What did you do?” I repeat.

Again, she shrugs. “Are you going to make me stand out here all night, or what?”

I give her a scowl that says I just might.

But Aunt Rachel doesn’t know her like I do and steps around me to say, “Of course not, dear. Please. Come in.”

Aunt Rachel throws me a glance that suggests she’s not too pleased with my manners. She doesn’t see the gloating look on Doe’s face as she sweeps into the room.

“Doe . . . ,” I warn.

She ignores me. Turning to Aunt Rachel, she hands her another piece of kelpaper. “Uncle Whelk sent a note for you, too.”

Aunt Rachel gives her a questioning look before unfolding the paper and reading Daddy’s scribbled note. When she looks up, her eyes are bright like she might be on the verge of tears. “Of course,” she says, stepping forward and pulling a reluctant Doe into a warm hug. “Of course you will stay here while you’re on land. There’s a guest bed in my sewing room, and it’s yours as long as you need it.”

Whatever Daddy wrote must have struck just the right chord with Aunt Rachel.

“What did the note say?” I ask her. “Why has Doe been exiled?”

She gives me a sad look and shakes her head. “He didn’t say.” Then, turning back to Doe, she says, “I’ll go get your room ready.”

Before I can blink, I’m left alone in the kitchen with Doe, with Prithi purring dutifully at her feet—the furry little traitor—and less than no clue about what’s going on.

Aunt Rachel’s voice drifts back from the stairs, “Take the key lime bars out of the oven when the timer goes off.” Her voice grows fainter as she reaches the second floor. “Don’t forget to use the pot holders.”

“I only did that once,” I mutter. Burn blisters on both palms were more than enough to teach me that lesson.

“So this is where you live?” Doe asks with a sneer, sweeping her piercing blue gaze over Aunt Rachel’s kitchen. “Kind of a drift downstream from the royal palace.”

Her evaluation makes me look at the kitchen with fresh eyes. Like when I first walked through that door three years ago.

Aunt Rachel had met me at the beach, where Daddy tearfully passed me off to Mom’s sister. He stayed completely kingly about the whole thing, though, dismissing the tears as a bit of seaweed in his eye. Aunt Rachel had driven me home in her beat-up station wagon—my first time in a car—and let me into the house through the kitchen side door. The look on her face had been one of nervous expectation. She’d been worried about what I would think of her home, like I might not think it was good enough after living in the Thalassinian royal palace for so long. She shouldn’t have worried. I took one look at the sunny yellow cabinets, sky blue wallpaper, and rustic metal hardware, everything worn but homey, and fell completely in love.

Everything about this house is brightness and warmth and love, just like Aunt Rachel. So the idea of someone looking disparagingly—that means belittling; I’ve been studying my SAT vocabulary—at the kitchen is beyond insulting. Especially if that person is Doe.

Squaring my shoulders, I step up to Doe until we’re practically nose to nose. She’s in my world now, and I’m immune to her fake charm.

“Listen up,” I snap, so she knows I’m serious. “I don’t know what you did to get sent here, and honestly I don’t care.” Okay, I do, but I’m not about to tell her that. “But know this: You can be your usually hideous self with me all you want, but while you are a guest in Aunt Rachel’s home, you will treat her with respect. You got me?”

In typical Doe fashion, she just meets my angry glare head-on, unblinking. Unfazed. Unaffected.

“Because if you do anything to insult, disrespect, or otherwise bother her in any way”—I lean even closer—“then Daddy’s exile will be the least of your worries.”

Doe doesn’t flinch.

As we hold our staredown, a blaring buzzer fills the kitchen.

“That’ll be your key lime bars, then?” she asks with a cool smirk.

“Aaargh!”

Spinning away from her, I punch the timer and jerk open the oven door.

“Don’t forget the pot holders.”

Ignore her, I tell myself as I snatch the pot holders from their hooks above the stove. She’s insignificant, like tiny little sea lice. I can’t let her get to me. Especially if she’s going to be here awhile.

Son of a swordfish, that would be awful. Doe is bad enough in small doses, let alone for an extended period of time. I’m not sure I would survive that.

I’ve just set the baking dish full of key-lime-bar goodness on the stovetop when the kitchen door swings open.

“Why, is that key lime I sm—”

Quince breaks off in the middle of his teasing question when he spots Doe standing in Aunt Rachel’s kitchen. I adore seeing that look of utter shock on his face when I put it there. Not when it’s Doe’s doing.

“Dosinia?” he asks, sounding as confused as I am.

She drops her jaded, disenchanted facade and flings herself at him, shouting, “Quincy!”

It is only the questioning look he throws me over her shoulder that stops me from grabbing the still burning-hot dish of key lime bars and flinging them at her obnoxious back.

That, and the fact that I would be beyond disappointed if the bars were ruined before we got to eat even one.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pulling her arms from around his neck so he can look her in the eye. “I thought you hated land.”

“Not land,” I say, circling around her to slip my arm proprietarily around Quince’s waist. “Humans.”

I smirk at her dark scowl.

Then, turning a shining smile on Quince, she says, “I’ve been exiled.” She flicks a taunting look at me before returning her attention to my boy. “I’ll be around a lot for a while.”

Doe in residence is not what I need right now. As if the SATs and interviews and new boyfriends and graduations and a million other things weren’t enough, Daddy had to throw my squid-brained baby cousin into the mix.

Just great.

“You don’t know what she’s like, Shannen,” I complain. “Really, you don’t.”

Prithi, annoyed by the agitated movement of my feet, meows an echoing complaint. She spent the entire night crying outside Doe’s door. I’m pretty sure she’s only returned her attentions to me because Doe still isn’t out of bed. I’m the only mergirl available.

“I can imagine,” Shannen says, checking over my SAT sample test. “Lily, you spelled your name wrong.”

“I’m distracted.” I take the paper back from her and erase all those bubbled-in circles before filling in a fresh set. “You should have seen the way she flung herself at Quince. Like he was her long-lost best friend, when she barely knows him and I know for a fact that she hates all humans.” Throwing Shannen an apologetic glance, I say, “Sorry.”

Shannen waves me off, never one to dwell on an insult. “Maybe she’s jealous,” she suggests, echoing Quince’s own interpretation of Doe’s behavior.

Why does everyone think this? They don’t know her as well as I do.

Shannen asks, “How long has it been since she had a boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend?” I echo. “Doe?” Never, maybe. Doe is more the love ’em, leave ’em, don’t-bubble-message-me-I’ll-bubble-message-you type. “I don’t think she’s ever gone out with the same boy more than a couple of times.”

Shannen quickly scans my revised test, marking up more than half the answers with her red pen. “Then she’s probably jealous of your relationship.”

Snorting in disbelief, I try to imagine a world in which Doe is jealous of me. Nope. Doesn’t exist. Although my relationship with Quince is completely enviable. Other than that, my life is pretty much murky. A big part of my future depends on a miraculously decent SAT score.

“Lily,” Shannen groans. This is going to be bad. “The square root of 121 is not 121.”

My head drops to the table. “I’m hopeless,” I mumble against the painted white surface of the kitchen table. “I’m never going to get into college.”

Even with the insider connection to Seaview Community, I still have to get a better-than-pathetic score on the SATs. I have to prove myself capable of academic success or something equally ridiculous. If only I could explain that school hadn’t seemed that important for the last three years because I was going to return to Thalassinia to be crown princess after graduation. Now that I was staying, I would totally focus more on my class work.

But thankfully since the human world is still unaware that the mer world exists, I can’t exactly provide full disclosure. Sometimes I think my life would be much easier if I didn’t have to keep that part of myself a secret. It’s a nice brief fantasy, but then reality returns and I remember why that’s impossible.

Prithi laps at my toe, as if telling me she’s perfectly content for me to stay right here forever. At least until Doe wakes up.

“You’re not hopeless.” Shannen grabs a fistful of my frizzy blond hair and tugs me upright. “You’re just behind the curve a bit. Especially in math. Your writing and critical reading scores are much better.”

“That’s because we speak English in Thalassinia.” At least I’m not from one of the Spanish, Danish, or Japanese-speaking kingdoms. I’d be toast. “If there was a whole test in marine biology, I’d ace it for sure.”

“Don’t worry,” Shannen says, her voice full of a determination that might be the only thing between me and a life of fast-food jobs. “We’ll get you in shape before the real deal in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” I squeak. My head falls back to the table.

“You just have to focus,” Shan explains. “Tune out other distractions.”

Easier said than done.

Until I decided to give up my crown and live on land indefinitely, college had been the furthest thing from my thoughts. I’d stick it out through graduation, just long enough to make Brody fall in love with me and go with me to Thalassinia when high school was over, so I could take up my duties as crown princess. That had been the extent of my future planning.

Now, there’s Social Security numbers and paperwork and a five-year plan and more things than I can possibly keep in mind at once. And that’s just the future stuff. There’s also the new boyfriend, my eighteenth-birthday ball, and the renunciation.

If I want to help my kingdom from above, through human channels, then I need to succeed. I need to do well on the SATs and get on the college track, or I’ll wind up watching my marine biologist plans float away.

Still, I’m not giving up. I’m a Thalassinian princess, and we’re made of strong stuff. If I need to focus and remove myself from distractions, I can do that.

“How do you sleep on that contraption they call a bed?”

My short-lived optimism vanishes as Doe—aka Very Big Distraction—walks into the kitchen.

Abandoning my apparently less-tasty feet, Prithi pounces at Doe’s hot pink toes. Doe ignores her.

I glare at Doe. “You’ll get used to it.”

It had taken me several weeks to adjust to sleeping on a flat surface rather than the curved shell-shaped beds we use in Thalassinia. But now I adore all my fluffy hibiscus bedding and being able to curl up on my side with the covers pulled tight around me. It’s like being stuffed in a cozy clamshell.

“I won’t be here long enough to get used to anything,” she retorts.

She’s still being vague about the details of her exile, avoiding any and all questions about what she did to get sent here.

“And just how long will you be here?” I ask, watching nervously as Doe surveys the room.

Her gaze lands on Shannen. Ignoring my question, she asks, “Does this one live here, too?”

I feel my land temper burning my cheeks. If we were in Thalassinia, the water would calm me until I was only mildly annoyed. But since we’re on land, I’m instantly on the verge of furious at her snide question about Shannen. No one disparages my best human friend.

“This one,” I growl, “is Shannen. A very good friend. She’s helping me study because that’s the kind of thing friends do.” Under my breath, I add, “Not that you would understand anything about friendship.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shannen says, offering Doe her hand.

Doe, of course, stares blankly at the hand before rolling her eyes and stalking into the room. Prithi is fast on her heels. “Where can a mergirl find a glass of kelpberry juice in this place?”

Typical Doe. Walking in like she owns the world, treating everyone like sludge, and expecting them to cheerfully serve her. Well, if she thinks she can pull off that attitude on land, then she’s in for a very harsh lesson. One I’m not going to teach her. She can sink or swim on her own in this world—I’m not going to be her guiding current. I’ve got my own life to get in order.

Ignoring Doe—and Shannen’s questioning look—I hunker over my study guide and reread the directions for the math section for the fifteenth time. (Note: They still don’t make sense.)

I’m trying to interpret the meaning of the obscure instructions when Aunt Rachel sweeps into the room.

“Good morning, girls,” she says, her long, flowing skirt fluttering behind her. “Hard at work already?”

“Yes, Ms. Hale,” Shannen replies.

Aunt Rachel’s stopped asking Shannen to call her by her first name. She’s practically family—especially now that she knows my big, fin-shaped secret—but she can’t seem to shake a lifetime of respect-your-elders training.

“Good morning, Dosinia,” Aunt Rachel says, setting her newspaper on the table and heading for the coffeemaker. “Did you sleep well?”

Doe snorts.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck, just above my mer mark, stand up. I force myself to take a deep breath and release some of my fury on an exhale. It’s a technique I learned from Quince, and I’m going to need it if Doe is here for more than a day or two.

Especially if she keeps insulting my nearest and dearest.

With my jaw clenched, I snarl, “You didn’t even give it a ch—”

“Would you like some juice, dear?” Aunt Rachel asks before I can scold—er, explain to Doe about her inappropriate behavior. “There’s a pitcher in the fridge and glasses in that cupboard.”

Doe’s gaze follows the wave of Aunt Rachel’s arm to the refrigerator and then stops. “The fridge?”

“Don’t you have refrigerators in Thalassinia?” Aunt Rachel asks, sounding truly intrigued. Then she laughs at herself. “No, I don’t suppose you would need them.”

“On land we need to keep things cold,” I explain before Doe can spit out the biting comment that’s already sneering across her lips. “So they don’t spoil.”

To save us all from some sort of incident, I shove back from the table and stomp to the cabinet. In Doe’s defense, this world is completely foreign to her. Not that ignorance excuses her rudeness.

“This is a glass,” I explain, holding one up for her to see. We have glasses in Thalassinia—which is why Doe rolls her eyes at me—but they’re not for juice. Since everything back home is surrounded by liquid, juice wouldn’t stay in a glass for long. We have bottles for things like kelpberry and sand strawberry juice. I jab the glass into her hand and then pull open the fridge. With the pitcher of orange juice in hand, I pour a generous amount into her glass. “It’s orange juice.”

“The juice of an orange?” she asks, sounding confused.

It’s not that we never have oranges in Thalassinia—we do a lot of trading with land-based merchants and have a pretty astounding variety of land-grown produce. Especially at the palace. But we only ever eat oranges in segments. No one ever thought of juicing them.

“Yes,” I answer sharply. “Orange juice.”

All of us watch expectantly, or maybe fearfully, as Doe cautiously takes her first sip of orange juice. It’s a small sip, barely enough to give her a real taste, but enough for her to decide what she thinks about it.

It’s like we’re all holding our breath, waiting for her reaction. I’m not sure why Aunt Rachel and Shannen are so expectant, but I’m bracing myself for a Doe-style explosion. A tirade, maybe, and orange juice flying across the room.

Never one to live up to expectation, Doe betrays no emotion. Just shrugs and takes another sip.

I’m not sure whether to smile or scowl.

“If everything is all right here,” Aunt Rachel says, pouring her coffee into a car mug and tucking her newspaper under her arm, “I’ll be off. I have an early class at the studio.”

“Fine,” Doe says with a sunny smile. Totally fake.

Prithi meows contentedly as she circles Doe’s ankles.

“Yeah, I need to go, too,” Shan says. “Promised Mom I’d help her clean out the garage today.”

She shudders as she gathers up her things.

I give her a pleading do-you-have-to?!? look.

“Keep working through the sample test,” she says, pushing the book toward me. “I’ll call later to check on your progress.”

Moments later, Doe and I are alone in the kitchen, with only Prithi’s pleased purring interrupting the tense silence. In a completely negligent manner, Doe holds her glass over the sink, twists her wrist, and lets the juice pour out. The look on her face dares me to say a word.

Oh, I’ve got more than one.

My anger needs to wait, though. First, I need to find out why she’s here.

“Dosinia,” I say, trying to sound stern while keeping the rising anger out of my voice, “why exactly did you get exiled?”

She shrugs as she sets the glass on the counter. “I have no idea. I certainly didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Wrong, in this case, I suppose, being up to Doe’s own interpretation. No one gets exiled for doing nothing wrong. “Daddy wouldn’t exile someone for no reason. Especially not a merperson of royal descent and especially not with revoked powers.”

Revoking a merperson’s powers is even more serious than exile. That means Doe can’t breathe underwater, can’t transfigure, and can’t control the temperature of liquids. She can’t use any of the personal magical powers that make us mer. She’s still a merperson and subject to the rules and magic of our people, but as far as anyone can tell, she’s completely human.

That must bug the carp out of her.

Fine. If she won’t tell me why, then she can at least tell me how long.

“So you’re exiled—for no reason whatsoever,” I say, with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “And without your powers. How long will we be stuck with you?”

She shrugs again. “Uncle Whelk didn’t say.”

My teeth grind slowly together. “Then what did he say?”

Pulling back a chair at the table—the chair that neither Aunt Rachel nor Shannen had been using, as if she might get human cooties from them—she seats herself directly across from me. “He said you have to teach me to fit in here, in Seaview.”

Is that all? Well, if Daddy had to give me a task, at least this is an easy one. Fitting in has never been a problem for Doe. Although she can be—and usually is—a total sea witch, she’s not a social leper or anything. She’s beautiful, and boys fall over their fins to please her. In Thalassinia she’s pretty popular. Shouldn’t be too tough to translate that into Seaview terms.

The biggest difference will be the clothes. She didn’t bring anything with her, so at the moment she’s wearing the tank top she swam here in and finkini shorts made from hot pink and purple scales. Daddy must have left her just enough magic to maintain her modesty. Some of my clothes might fit her, but her curves are definitely, um, curvier than mine.

I’m not exactly eager to share with her, but I can make do for a few days.

“Don’t like my outfit?” she asks with a sneer when she notices me evaluating her attire. “You used to dress just like this. Then again, you used to be a mer princess.”

I ignore her jab. “Your clothes aren’t exactly land appropriate.”

“Here.” She tugs a small pouch from her deep cleavage and drops it on the table. “Uncle Whelk sent this to cover my expenses.”

I tug open the drawstring pouch to find an eyeful of pearls. Beautiful white, cream, pink, and even a few rare black pearls, all in perfect condition. These will fetch a significant amount.

They will cover a lot of expenses.

“How long do you expect to be here, Doe?” I ask. The money we’ll get for selling the pearls would pay all of our household expenses for a month. “When do you get to go home?”

Her gaze drops to the table, and she absently rubs at the scratch I made in the paint the first time I tried to make frozen pizza. Some of her attitude ebbs, and I see, for the first time, that she’s just as uncertain about this situation as I am.

Sometimes she makes it too easy to forget she’s just a sixteen-year-old kid.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Uncle Whelk said I needed to stay here until I learned to appreciate humans.”

Great. For Doe that could mean never. Not that I completely blame her, of course, given her history, but it’s a semi-impossible task.

“Did he say how to determine if you’ve succeeded?”

“He said you would make the call.” She looks up, her blue eyes glowing with unshed tears. “You decide when I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Well, that’s easy,” I say, jumping up, uncomfortable with her sudden display of emotion. “You stay here a few days, hang with my friends, act like you don’t want to kill them all with a death ray from your eyes, and we’ll be good to go.”

Even before I’m finished, she’s shaking her head slowly.

“He also said to tell you,” she whispers, “to consider this your final duty as princess of Thalassinia.”

Duty.

With that one word I drop back into my chair. It’s the one word that can completely sink me. I’ve been raised my whole life to appreciate the responsibility of my position, to understand that duty comes before almost everything. And even though Daddy encouraged me to follow my heart—which means giving up my place in the succession—that sense of duty is not so easy to dismiss. And if Daddy is calling on my sense of duty to deal with Doe, then that means I have to see it through to a legitimately successful conclusion.

It also means that whatever she did to get exiled is really, really bad.

“Oh, Doe,” I say sadly, shaking my head. “What did you do?”

I don’t expect an answer, and she doesn’t give one. But I know there’s no way I can give her an easy pass. I have a feeling there’s more at stake here than just my inconvenience.

Settling in on Doe’s toes, Prithi lets out a sad wail.

My feelings exactly. Well, if Daddy thinks it will serve Thalassinia to help Doe get over her human hate, then that’s what I need to do. Because responsibility is difficult to ignore, and until my eighteenth birthday I am royally bound to fulfill my duty. Whether I like it or not.

“Let’s get you dressed,” I say, pushing to my feet. “We’re going shopping.”