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

“Did you sleep wel ?”

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.

Especial y 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 fol ows 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 al 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 rol s 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 pul 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. Especial y at the palace. But we only ever eat oranges in segments.

No one ever thought of juicing them.

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

Al of us watch expectantly, or maybe fearful y, as Doe cautiously takes her first sip of orange juice. It’s a smal 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 al 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 al right here,” Aunt Rachel says, pouring her coffee into a car mug and tucking her newspaper under her arm, “I’l be off. I have an early class at the studio.”

“Fine,” Doe says with a sunny smile. Total y 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’l cal 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. Especial y not a merperson of royal descent and especial y 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 stil a merperson and subject to the rules and magic of our people, but as far as anyone can tel , she’s completely human.

That must bug the carp out of her.

Fine. If she won’t tel me why, then she can at least tel 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 wil we be stuck with you?”

She shrugs again. “Uncle Whelk didn’t say.” My teeth grind slowly together. “Then what did he say?” Pul ing 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.”