Nausicaa smiled—a little distantly, Luce thought. “Where else would I be but with them? I too was among the first. When I came to their tribe it held only five of us, but it grew very soon.” So many questions were whirling through Luce’s head that she couldn’t speak for a moment. Nausicaa’s eyes sparked green, gazing into space, and the crackle of distant lightning thrilled through Luce’s skin.

“Did they ever get names?” There were more important things to ask, but somehow that seemed like the easiest question to start with. Everything else was just too overwhelming. Nausicaa laughed, clearly pleased by this, and swished her tail a little.

“They had more names than you can count. Remember, their father was a shape-shifter: an old man one day and on another day a giant serpent. They were accustomed to change, to things with no settled form. We used to call them different words for hours, as a game, waiting to see when they might choose to answer. One of them might reply only to ‘Fish Hook,’ the other one to ‘Bread,’ and it would be so until they decided those names no longer suited them. It was hard to keep track, of course. But they enjoyed that.”

They were quiet for a while. Nausicaa cracked oysters and stared around as if she could barely tolerate the confinement of the walls. Luce was too agitated to eat. She kept trying to think of some way that she could ask the next question without it sounding suspicious, but she couldn’t come up with anything. “Uh, Nausicaa? Can I ask you something else?” She tried to keep her tone relaxed, but her anxiety was painfully audible.

“Of course.” Nausicaa was still calm, but there was a subtle flash deep in her eyes.

“You said Proteus promised them that other girls who got hurt and . . . and outcast would be able to change into mermaids.” Nausicaa didn’t say anything, but her lips pursed slightly. “So, well, I was wondering. Is that why there aren’t any boys with us? Like, mermen?”

“That is why.” Nausicaa’s tone was caustic. “Proteus thought of his daughters. He had no sons. And the Unnamed Twins were discarded because they were girls. Why would Proteus give the same consideration to male children, then?”

“So, well . . .” Luce tried to go on, but Nausicaa looked so irritated that Luce could hardly force the words out. “Does that mean there’s never been a boy who changed? Somebody where there was an exception? Have you ever heard of that?”

“I wished this would not be your question, Luce.” Nausicaa’s voice was suddenly much lower, almost growling, and her face changed to a heavy, contemptuous mask. “There are no exceptions. Do not waste such hopes on your human lover, even if you are wasting yourself!”

“Nausicaa . . .”