King’s Cage (Red Queen Book 3)
Red Queen: Chapter 13

My next instructor waits for me in a room cluttered from floor to ceiling with more books than I’ve ever seen, more books than I ever thought existed. They look old and completely priceless. Despite my aversion to school and books of any kind, I feel a pull to them. But the titles and pages are written in a language I don’t understand, a jumble of symbols I could never hope to decipher.

Just as intriguing as the books are the maps along the wall, of the kingdom and other lands, old and new. Framed against the far wall, behind a pane of glass, is a vast, colorful map pieced together from separate sheets of paper. It’s at least twice as tall as me and dominates the room. Faded and ripped, it’s a tangled knot of red lines and blue coasts, green forests and yellow cities. This is the old world, the before world, with old names and old borders we no longer have any use for.

“It’s strange to look at the world as it once was,” the instructor says, appearing out of the book stacks. His yellow robes, stained and faded by age, make him look like a human piece of paper. “Can you replace where we are?”

The sheer size of the map makes me gulp, but, like everything else, I’m sure this is a test. “I can try.”

Norta is the northeast. The Stilts is on the Capital River, and the river goes to the sea. After a minute of pained searching, I finally replace the river and the inlet near my village. “There,” I say, pointing just north, where I suppose Summerton might be.

He nods, happy to know I’m not a total fool. “Do you recognize anything else?”

But like the books, the map is written in the unknown language. “I can’t read it.”

“I didn’t ask if you could read it,” he replies, still pleasant. “Besides, words can lie. See beyond them.”

With a shrug, I force myself to look again. I was never a good student in school, and this man is going to replace that out soon enough. But to my surprise, I like this game. Searching the map, looking for features I recognize. “That might be Harbor Bay,” I finally murmur, circling the area around a hooked cape.

“Correct,” he says, his face folding into a smile. The wrinkles around his eyes deepen with the action, showing his age. “This is Delphie now,” he adds, pointing to a city farther south. “And Archeon is here.”

He puts his finger over the Capital River, a few miles north of what looks like the largest city on the map, in the entire country of the before world. The Ruins. I’ve heard the name, in whispers between the older kids, and from my brother Shade. The Ash City, the Wreckage, he called it. A tremor runs down my spine at the thought of such a place, still covered in smoke and shadow from a war more than a thousand years ago. Will this world ever be like that, if our war doesn’t end?

The instructor stands back to let me think. He has a very strange idea of teaching; it’ll probably end with a four-hour game of me staring at a wall.

But suddenly, I’m very aware of the buzz in this room. Or lack thereof. This entire day I’ve felt the electrical weight of cameras, so much that I’ve stopped noticing. Until now, when I don’t feel it at all. It’s gone. I can feel the lights still pulsing with electricity, but no cameras. No eyes. Elara cannot see me here.

“Why isn’t anyone watching us?”

He only blinks at me. “So there is a difference,” he mutters. What that means I don’t know, and it infuriates me.

“Why?”

“Mare, I’m here to teach you your histories, to teach you how to be Silver and how to be, ah, useful,” he says, his expression souring.

I stare at him, confused. Cold fear bleeds through me. “My name is Mareena.”

But he only waves a hand, brushing aside my feeble declaration. “I’m also going to try to understand exactly how you came to be and how your abilities work.”

“My abilities came to be because—because I’m a Silver. My parents’ abilities mixed—my father was an oblivion and my mother a storm.” I stutter through the explanation Elara fed me, trying to make him understand. “I’m a Silver, sir.”

To my horror, he shakes his head. “No you are not, Mare Barrow, and you must never forget it.”

He knows. I’m finished. It’s all over. I should beg, plead for him to keep my secret, but the words stick in my throat. The end is coming, and I can’t even open my mouth to stop it.

“There’s no need for that,” he continues, noting my fear. “I have no plans of alerting anyone to your heritage.”

The relief I feel is short-lived, shifting into another kind of fear. “Why? What do you want from me?”

“I am, above all things, a curious man. And when you entered Queenstrial a Red servant and ran out some long-lost Silver lady, I have to say I was quite curious.”

“Is that why there aren’t any cameras in here?” I bristle, backing away from him. My fists clench, and I wish the lightning would come to protect me from this man. “So there’s no record of you examining me?”

“There are no cameras in here because I have the power to turn them off.”

Hope sparks in me, like light in absolute darkness. “What is your power?” I ask shakily. Maybe he’s like me.

“Mare, when a Silver says ‘power,’ they mean might, strength. ‘Ability,’ on the other hand, refers to all the silly little things we can do.” Silly little things. Like break a man in two or drown him in the town square. “I mean that my sister was queen once, and that still counts for something around here.”

“Lady Blonos didn’t teach me that.”

He chuckles to himself. “That’s because Lady Blonos is teaching you nonsense. I will never do that.”

“So, if the queen was your sister, then you’re—”

“Julian Jacos, at your service.” He sweeps into a comically low bow. “Head of House Jacos, heir to nothing more than a few old books. My sister was the late queen Coriane, and Prince Tiberias the Seventh, Cal as we all call him, is my nephew.”

Now that he says it, I can see the resemblance. Cal’s coloring is his father’s, but the easy expression, the warmth behind his eyes—those must come from his mother.

“So, you’re not going to turn me into some science experiment for the queen?” I ask, still wary.

Instead of looking offended, Julian laughs aloud. “My dear, the queen would like nothing more than for you to disappear. Discovering what you are, helping you understand it, is the last thing she wants.”

“But you’re going to do it anyway?”

Something flashes in his eyes, something like anger. “The queen’s reach is not so long as she wants you to think. I want to know what you are, and I’m sure you do too.”

As afraid as I was a moment ago, that’s how intrigued I am now. “I do.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, smiling at me over a stack of books. “I’m sorry to say I must also do what was asked, to prepare you for the day you step forward.”

My face falls, remembering what Cal explained in the throne room. You are their champion. A Silver raised Red. “They want to use me to stop a rebellion. Somehow.”

“Yes, my dear brother-in-law and his queen believe you can do so, if used appropriately.” Bitterness drips from his every word.

“It’s a stupid idea and impossible. I won’t be able to do anything, and then . . .” My voice trails away. Then they’ll kill me.

Julian follows my train of thought. “You’re wrong, Mare. You don’t understand the power you have now, how much you could control.” He clasps his hands behind his back, oddly tight. “The Scarlet Guard are too drastic for most, too much too fast. But you are the controlled change, the kind people can trust. You are the slow burn that will quench a revolution with a few speeches and smiles. You can speak to the Reds, tell them how noble, how benevolent, how right the king and his Silvers are. You can talk your people back into their chains. Even the Silvers who question the king, the ones who have doubts, can be convinced by you. And the world will stay the same.”

To my surprise, Julian seems disheartened by this. Without the buzzing cameras, I forget myself and my face curls into a sneer. “And you don’t want that? You’re a Silver, you should hate the Scarlet Guard—and me.”

“Thinking all Silvers are evil is just as wrong as thinking all Reds are inferior,” he says, his voice grave. “What my people are doing to you and yours is wrong to the deepest levels of humanity. Oppressing you, trapping you in an endless cycle of poverty and death, just because we think you are different from us? That is not right. And as any student of history can tell you, it will end poorly.”

“But we are different.” One day in this world taught me that. “We’re not equal.”

Julian stoops, his eyes boring into mine. “I’m looking at proof you are wrong.”

You’re looking at a freak, Julian.

“Will you let me prove you wrong, Mare?”

“What good will it do? Nothing will change.”

Julian sighs, exasperated. He runs a hand through his thinning chestnut hair. “For hundreds of years the Silvers have walked the earth as living gods and the Reds have been slaves at their feet, until you. If that isn’t change, I don’t know what is.”

He can help me survive. Better yet, he might even help me live.

“So what do we do?”

My days take on a rhythm, always the same schedule. Protocol in the morning, Lessons in the afternoon, while Elara parades me at lunches and dinners in between. The Panther and Sonya still seem wary of me but haven’t said anything since the luncheon. Maven’s help seems to have worked, as much as I hate to admit it.

At the next large gathering, this time in the queen’s personal dining hall, the Irals ignore me completely. Despite my Protocol lessons, luncheon is still overwhelming as I try to remember what I’ve been taught. Osanos, nymphs, blue and green. Welle, greenwardens, green and gold. Lerolan, oblivions, orange and red. Rhambos and Tyros and Nornus and Iral and many more. How anyone keeps track of this, I’ll never know.

As usual, I’m seated next to Evangeline. I’m painfully aware of the many metal utensils on the table, all lethal weapons in Evangeline’s cruel hand. Every time she lifts her knife to cut her food, my body tenses, waiting for the blow. Elara knows what I’m thinking, as usual, but carries on through her meal with a smile. That might be worse than Evangeline’s torture, to know she takes pleasure in watching our silent war.

“And how do you like the Hall of the Sun, Lady Titanos?” the girl across from me asks—Atara, House Viper, green and black. The animos who killed the doves. “I assume it’s no comparison to the—the village you lived in before.” She says the word village like a curse, and I don’t miss her smirk.

The other women laugh with her, a few whispering in scandalized voices.

It takes me a minute to respond as I try to keep my blood from boiling. “The Hall and Summerton are very different from what I’m used to,” I force out.

“Obviously,” another woman says, leaning forward to join the conversation. A Welle, judging by her green-and-gold tunic. “I took a tour of the Capital Valley once, and I must say, the Red villages are simply deplorable. They don’t even have proper roads.”

We can barely feed ourselves, let alone pave streets. My jaw tightens until I think my teeth might shatter. I try to smile but instead end up grimacing as the other women voice their agreement.

“And the Reds, well, I suppose it’s the best they can do with what they have,” the Welle continues, wrinkling her nose at the thought. “They’re suited to such lives.”

“It’s not our fault they were born to serve,” a brown-robed Rhambos says airily, as if she’s talking about the weather or the food. “It’s simply nature.”

Anger curls through me, but one glance from the queen tells me I cannot act on it. Instead, I must do my duty. I must lie. “It is indeed,” I hear myself say. Under the table, my hands clench, and I think my heart might be breaking.

All over the table, the women listen attentively. Many smile, more nod as I reassert their terrible beliefs about my people. Their faces make me want to scream.

“Of course,” I continue, unable to stop myself. “Being forced to live such lives, with no respite, no reprieve, and no escape, would make servants of anyone.”

The few smiles fade, twitching into bewilderment.

“Lady Titanos is to have the best tutors and best help to make sure she adjusts properly,” Elara says quickly, cutting me off. “She’s already begun with Lady Blonos.”

The women mutter appreciatively while the girls exchange eye rolls. It’s enough time to recover, to reclaim the self-control I need to survive the meal.

“What does His Royal Highness intend to do about the rebels?” a woman asks, her gruff voice sending a shock of silence over lunch, drawing focus away from me.

Every eye at the table turns to the speaker, a woman in military uniform. A few other ladies wear uniforms as well, but hers shines with the most medals and ribbons. The ugly scar down her freckled face says she may actually have earned them. Here in a palace, it’s easy to forget there’s a war going on, but the haunted look in her eye says she will not, she cannot, forget.

Queen Elara puts down her spoon with practiced grace and an equally practiced smile. “Colonel Macanthos, I would hardly call them rebels—”

“And that’s only the attack they’ve claimed,” the colonel fires back, cutting off the queen. “What about the explosion in Harbor Bay, or the airfield in Delphie for that matter? Three airjets destroyed, and two more stolen from one of our own bases!”

My eyes widen, and I can’t help but gasp with a few ladies. More attacks? But while the others look frightened, hands pressed to their mouths, I have to fight the urge to smile. Farley has been busy.

“Are you an engineer, Colonel?” Elara’s voice is sharp, cold, and final. She doesn’t give Macanthos a chance to shake her head. “Then you wouldn’t understand how a gas leak in the Bay was at fault for the explosion. And remind me, do you command aerial troops? Oh no, I’m so sorry, your specialty lies with ground forces. The airfield incident was a training exercise overseen by Lord General Laris himself. He has personally assured His Highness of the utmost safety of the Delphie base.”

In a fair fight, Macanthos could probably tear Elara apart with her bare hands. But instead, Elara tore the colonel apart with nothing but words. And she’s not even finished. Julian’s words echo in my head—words can lie.

“Their goal is to harm innocent civilians, Silver and Red, to incite fear and hysteria. They are small, contained, and cowardly, hiding from my husband’s justice. To call every mishap and misunderstanding in this kingdom the work of such evil only furthers their efforts to terrorize the rest of us. Do not give these monsters the satisfaction of that.”

A few women at the table clap and nod, agreeing with the queen’s sweeping lie. Evangeline joins in, and the action quickly spreads, until only the colonel and I remain silent. I can tell she doesn’t believe anything the queen says, but there’s no way to call the queen a liar. Not here, not in her arena.

As much as I want to stay still, I know I can’t. I’m Mareena, not Mare, and I have to support my queen and her wretched words. My hands come together, clapping for Elara’s lie, as the scolded colonel bows her head.

Even though I’m constantly surrounded by servants and Silvers, loneliness sets in. I don’t see Cal much, what with his busy schedule of training, training, and more training. He even gets to leave the Hall, going to address troops at a nearby base or accompanying his father on state business. I suppose I could talk to Maven, with his blue eyes and half smirk, but I’m still wary of him. Luckily we’re never truly left alone. It’s a silly court tradition, to keep noble boys and girls from being tempted, as Lady Blonos put it, but I doubt it’ll ever apply to me.

Truthfully, half the time I forget I’m supposed to marry him one day. The idea of Maven being my husband doesn’t seem real. We’re not even friends, let alone partners. As nice as he is, my instincts tell me not to turn my back on Elara’s son, that he’s hiding something. What that might be, I don’t know.

Julian’s teachings make it all bearable; the education I once dreaded is now a bright spot in my sea of darkness. Without the cameras and Elara’s eyes, we can spend our time discovering what I really am. But the going is slow, frustrating us both.

“I think I know what your problem is,” Julian says at the end of my first week. I’m standing a few yards away, arms outstretched, looking like the usual fool. There’s a strange electrical contraption at my feet, occasionally spitting sparks. Julian wants me to harness it, to use it, but once again, I’ve failed to produce the lightning that got me into this mess in the first place.

“Maybe I have to be in mortal danger,” I huff. “Should we ask for Lucas’s gun?”

Usually Julian laughs at my jokes, but right now he’s too busy thinking.

“You’re like a child,” he finally says. I wrinkle my nose at the insult, but he continues anyway. “This is how children are at first, when they can’t control themselves. Their abilities present in times of stress or fear, until they learn to harness those emotions and use them to their advantage. There’s a trigger, and you need to replace yours.”

I remember how I felt in the Spiral Garden, falling to what I thought was my doom. But it wasn’t fear running through my veins as I collided with the lightning shield—it was peace. It was knowing that my end had come and accepting there was nothing I could do to stop it—it was letting go.

“It’s worth a try, at least,” Julian prods.

With a groan, I face the wall again. Julian lined it with some stone bookshelves, all empty of course, so I have something to aim at. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him back away, watching me all the time.

Let go. Let yourself go, the voice in my head whispers. My eyes slide closed as I focus, letting my thoughts fall away so that my mind can reach out, feeling for the electricity it craves to touch. The ripple of energy, alive beneath my skin, moves over me again until it sings in every muscle and nerve. That’s usually where it stops, just on the edge of feeling, but not this time. Instead of trying to hold on, to push myself into this force, I let go. And I fall into what I can’t explain, into a sensation that is everything and nothing, light and dark, hot and cold, alive and dead. Soon the power is the only thing in my head, blotting out all my ghosts and memories. Even Julian and the books cease to exist. My mind is clear, a black void humming with force. Now when I push at the sensation, it doesn’t disappear and it moves within me, from my eyes to the tips of my fingers. To my left, Julian gasps aloud.

My eyes open to see purple-white sparks jumping from the contraption to my fingers, like electricity between wires.

For once, Julian has nothing to say. And neither do I.

I don’t want to move, afraid that any small change might make the lightning disappear. But it doesn’t fade. It remains, jumping and twisting in my hand like a kitten with a ball of yarn. It seems just as harmless, but I remember what I almost did to Evangeline. This power can destroy if I let it.

“Try to move it,” Julian breathes, watching me with wide, excited eyes.

Something tells me this lightning will obey my wishes. It’s part of me, a piece of my soul alive in the world.

My fist clenches into a tight ball, and the sparks react to my straining muscles, becoming larger and brighter and faster. They eat away at the sleeve of my shirt, burning through the fabric in seconds. Like a child throwing a ball, I whip my arm toward the stone shelves, releasing my fist at the last moment. The lightning flies through the air in a circle of bright sparks, colliding with the bookshelves.

The resulting boom makes me scream and fall back into a stack of books. As I tumble to the ground, heart racing in my chest, the solid stone bookshelf collapses on itself in a cloud of thick dust. Sparks flash over the rubble for a moment before disappearing, leaving nothing but ruins behind.

“Sorry about the shelf,” I say from beneath a pile of fallen books. My sleeve still smokes in a ruin of thread, but it’s nothing compared to the buzz in my hand. My nerves sing, tingling with power—that felt good.

Julian’s shadow moves through the cloudy air, a laugh resounding deep in his chest as he examines my handiwork. His white grin glows through the dust.

“We’re going to need a bigger classroom.”

He’s not wrong. We’re forced to replace newer and bigger rooms to practice in each day, until we finally replace a spot in the underground levels a week later. Here the walls are metal and concrete, stronger than the decorative stone and wood of the upper floors. My aim is dismal to say the least, and Julian is very careful to steer clear of my practicing, but it becomes easier and easier for me to call up the lightning.

Julian takes notes the whole time, jotting down everything from my heartbeat to the heat of a recently electrified cup. Each new note brings another puzzled but happy smile to his face, though he doesn’t tell me why. I doubt I’d understand even if he did.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, reading something off another metal contraption I can’t name. He says it measures electrical energy, but how I don’t know.

I brush my hands together, watching them “power down,” as Julian calls it. My sleeves remain intact this time, thanks to my new clothing. It’s fireproof fabric, like what Cal and Maven wear, though I suppose mine should be called shockproof. “What’s fascinating?”

He hesitates, like he doesn’t want to tell me, like he shouldn’t tell me, but finally shrugs. “Before you powered up and fried that poor statue”—he gestures to the smoking pile of rubble that was once a bust of some king—“I measured the amount of electricity in this room. From the lights, the wiring, that sort of thing. And now I just measured you.”

“And?”

“You gave off twice what I recorded before,” he says proudly, but I don’t see why it matters at all. With a quick dip, he switches off the spark box, as I’ve taken to calling it. I can feel the electricity in it die away. “Try again.”

Huffing, I focus again. After a moment of concentration, my sparks return, just as strong as before. But this time they come from within me.

Julian’s grin splits his face from ear to ear.

“So . . . ?”

“So this confirms my suspicions.” Sometimes I forget Julian is a scholar and a scientist. But he’s always quick to remind me. “You produced electrical energy.”

Now I’m really confused. “Right. That’s my ability, Julian.”

“No, I thought your ability was the power to manipulate, not create,” he says, his voice dropping gravely. “No one can create, Mare.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. The nymphs—”

“Manipulate water that already exists. They can’t use what isn’t there.”

“Well, what about Cal? Maven? I don’t see many raging infernos around for them to play with.”

Julian smiles, shaking his head. “You’ve seen their bracelets, yes?”

“They always wear them.”

“The bracelets make sparks, little tiny flames for the boys to control. Without something to start the fire, they are powerless. All elementals are the same, manipulating metal or water or plant life that already exists. They’re only as strong as their surroundings. Not like you, Mare.”

Not like me. I’m not like anyone. “So what does this mean?”

“I’m not quite sure. You are something else entirely. Not Red, not Silver. Something else. Something more.”

“Something different.” I expected Julian’s tests to bring me closer to some kind of answer, but instead they only raise more questions. “What am I, Julian? What’s wrong with me?”

Suddenly it’s very difficult to breathe, and my eyes swim. I have to blink back hot tears, trying to hide them from Julian. It’s all catching up to me, I think. Lessons, Protocol, this place where I can’t trust anyone, where I’m not even myself. It’s suffocating. I want to scream, but I know I can’t.

“There’s nothing wrong with being different,” I hear Julian say, but the words are just an echo. My own thoughts, memories of home, of Gisa and Kilorn, drown him out.

“Mare?” He takes a step toward me, his face a picture of kindness—but he keeps me at an arm’s length. Not for my sake—his own. To protect himself from me. With a gasp, I realize the sparks have returned, running up my forearms now, threatening to engulf me in a raging bright storm. “Mare, focus on me. Mare, control it.”

He speaks softly, calmly, but with steady force. He even looks frightened of me.

“Control, Mare.”

But I can’t control anything. Not my future, not my thoughts, not even this ability that is the root of all my troubles.

There is one thing I can still control though, for now, at least. My feet.

Like the wretched coward that I am, I run.

The halls are empty as I tear through them, but the invisible weight of a thousand cameras presses down on me. I don’t have much time until Lucas or, worse, the Sentinels, replace me. I just need to breathe. I just need to see the sky above me, not glass.

I’m standing on the balcony a full ten seconds before I realize it’s raining, washing me clean of my boiling anger. The sparks are gone, replaced by fierce, ugly tears that track down my face. Thunder rumbles somewhere far off, and the air is warm. But the humid temperature is gone. The heat has broken, and summer will soon be over. Time is passing. My life is moving on, no matter how much I want it to stay the same.

When a strong hand closes around my arm, I almost scream. Two Sentinels stand over me, their eyes dark behind their masks. Both are twice my size and heartless, trying to drag me back into my prison.

“My lady,” one of them growls, but it doesn’t sound respectful at all.

“Let me go.” The command is weak, almost a whisper. I gulp down air like I’m drowning. “Just give me a few minutes, please—”

But I’m not their master. They don’t answer to me. No one does.

“You heard my bride,” another voice says. His words are firm and hard, the voice of royalty. Maven. “Let her go.”

When the prince steps out onto the balcony, I can’t help but feel a rush of relief. The Sentinels straighten at his presence, both inclining their heads in his direction. The one holding me speaks up. “We must keep the Lady Titanos to her schedule,” he says, but he loosens his grip. “It’s orders, sir.”

“Then you have new orders,” Maven replies, his voice like ice. “I will accompany Mareena back to her lessons.”

“Very well, sir,” the Sentinels say in unison, unable to refuse a prince.

When they stomp away, their flaming cloaks dripping rain, I sigh out loud. I didn’t realize it before, but my hands are shaking, and I have to clench my fists to hide the tremors. But Maven is nothing if not polite and pretends not to notice.

“We have working showers inside, you know.”

My hands wipe at my eyes, though my tears are long lost in the rain, leaving behind only an embarrassingly runny nose and some black makeup. Thankfully, my silver powder holds. It’s made of stronger stuff than I am.

“First rain of the season,” I manage, forcing myself to sound normal. “Had to see it for myself.”

“Right,” he says, moving to stand next to me. I turn my head, hoping to hide my face for just a little bit longer. “I understand, you know.”

Do you, Prince? Do you understand what it’s like to be taken away from everything you love, forced to be something else? To lie every minute of every day for the rest of your life? To know there’s something wrong with you?

I don’t have the strength to deal with his knowing smiles. “You can stop pretending to know anything about me or my feelings.”

His expression sours at my tone, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “You think I don’t know how difficult it is to be here? With these people?” He casts a glance over his shoulder like he’s worried someone might hear. But there’s no one listening except the rain and thunder. “I can’t say what I want, do what I want—with my mother around I can barely even think what I want. And my brother—!”

“What about your brother?”

The words stick in his mouth. He doesn’t want to say them, but he feels them all the same. “He’s strong, he’s talented, he’s powerful—and I’m his shadow. The shadow of the flame.”

Slowly, he exhales, and I realize the air around us is strangely hot. “Sorry,” he adds, taking a step away, letting the air cool. Before my eyes, he melts back into the Silver prince more suited to banquets and dress uniforms. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” I murmur. “It’s nice to hear that I’m not completely alone in feeling out of place.”

“That’s something you should know about us Silvers. We’re always alone. In here, and here,” he says, pointing between his head and his heart. “It keeps you strong.”

Lightning cracks overhead, illuminating his blue eyes until they seem to glow. “That’s just stupid,” I tell him, and he chuckles darkly.

“You better hide that heart of yours, Lady Titanos. It won’t lead you anywhere you want to go.”

The words make me shiver. Finally I remember the rain and the mess I must look like. “I should get back to my lessons,” I mutter, fully intending to leave him on the balcony. Instead, he catches my arm.

“I think I can help you with your problem.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “What problem?”

“You don’t seem like the type of girl to weep at the drop of a hat. You’re homesick.” He holds up a hand before I can protest. “I can fix that.”