Fins Are Forever
Page 8
Stil , even though I understand that look, I’m defensive of human food. I am, after al , 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 al fal silent. An awkward tension fil s 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 al 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 fel 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 rol of my eyes, I careful y unfold the kelpaper crushed in my fist.
FROM THE DESK OF
KING WHELK OF THALASSINIA
Dearest Lily,
Your cousin has finally taken her hatred of humans too far. She must learn to move beyond her prejudice. To that end, I have sent her to you, exiling her and revoking her mer powers until such time as we decide she is ready to return. I am sorry to put such a burden on you, but I am sure you are up to the task. I would not have taken such drastic measures were the situation not desperate.
Yours,
Daddy
Exiled without her powers? She must have real y 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.
Stil , 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 al 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 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 pul ing a reluctant Doe into a warm hug. “Of course you wil 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’l go get your room ready.”
Before I can blink, I’m left alone in the kitchen with Doe, with Prithi purring dutiful y 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.
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 tearful y 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 yel ow cabinets, sky blue wal paper, and rustic metal hardware, everything worn but homey, and fel completely in love.
“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 al fal silent. An awkward tension fil s 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 al 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 fel 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 rol of my eyes, I careful y unfold the kelpaper crushed in my fist.
FROM THE DESK OF
KING WHELK OF THALASSINIA
Dearest Lily,
Your cousin has finally taken her hatred of humans too far. She must learn to move beyond her prejudice. To that end, I have sent her to you, exiling her and revoking her mer powers until such time as we decide she is ready to return. I am sorry to put such a burden on you, but I am sure you are up to the task. I would not have taken such drastic measures were the situation not desperate.
Yours,
Daddy
Exiled without her powers? She must have real y 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.
Stil , 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 al 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 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 pul ing a reluctant Doe into a warm hug. “Of course you wil 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’l go get your room ready.”
Before I can blink, I’m left alone in the kitchen with Doe, with Prithi purring dutiful y 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.
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 tearful y 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 yel ow cabinets, sky blue wal paper, and rustic metal hardware, everything worn but homey, and fel completely in love.
