Cymbeline returns, with lunch for both of them, at noon. "Having fun?" he asks.
He has the afternoon free; in the evening he'll be doing some miscellaneous court tasks for his parents, but until then his time is his own, and he opts to spend it entirely on going through this book.
They are approaching the end of the book, and Kerem said he was pretty sure it was the only one in the library. Cymbeline supposes they can invent more signs.
She does not volunteer any information about her life under the sea.
He has his own questions, though.
"Yes, I do have a sister. She has a brother, me. We are brother and sister. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"How many?" He produces the page of numbers in case she needs it.
She looks at the numbers and shrugs helplessly, moving her finger down the column past ten, past a hundred, then trailing it off the page.
Cymbeline looks at her skeptically, and introduces several new orders of magnitude.
"Do sea people - merfolk - have children differently?" he wonders. Something with eggs that could confuse the issue, he supposes...
"There's me, there's Zoyah, one at a time, no others," says Cymbeline. "Same mother, same father, I am three years older than her. Are you more like - fish? Or something?" This seems like a rude question, but he doesn't know how to couch it delicately.
My father has more. My father is old. I have more sisters and more brothers. I don't know all my sisters. I don't know all my brothers.
She doesn't look twelve. She looks closer to his age than Zoyah's.
"Twelve? Really? I'm - I'm twenty-one," he says. "You don't look twelve to me."
"Maybe that's a merfolk thing?" he suggests. "Zoyah is eighteen."
"You look twenty or twenty-one to me," Cymbeline says. "If you were a human."
"Yes," he says, "I know. So merfolk grow differently than humans. How did your father get to be so very old? Do all merfolk get that old?"