Why was she telling him about the woman? Did she know they’d come for Rosa? And if she did, was she sending them to their deaths? Johnis didn’t know how to respond to this barrage of admissions on the girl’s part.

Karas continued. “You can’t miss the temple. It’s the pointed building with a serpent on the roof. My house is the one with red mortar next to it. It’s the most beautiful house in the city, according to my father.” She released his hand after another squeeze, then hurried forward.

“You there!” Karas called.

The driver of a cart loaded with four large barrels looked lazily back.

“Take these peasants to the Thrall for worship.” She patted the cart’s flat planks.

This young girl wasn’t like any he had ever met! Certainly nothing like any Scab he could have imagined. He’d never seriously considered the idea of Horde children—had hardly been aware they existed, much less considered them human. Karas was unquestionably as human as any forest child.

He nodded at Silvie, and they hoisted themselves up next to Jackov, who’d gone oddly silent. Quiet since they’d found the Horde city. Perhaps he was second-guessing this plan of his after all.

Karas spoke to the driver again. “And don’t speak to them, because they’ve been set aside for punishment.” She looked up at Johnis and winked. “That’s so he’ll leave you alone,” she whispered.

“How do you know my name?” he asked.

“Because you told me,” she said.

Had he? He couldn’t remember.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe we can make it up to each other.”

The cart lurched forward. They rolled deeper into the city.

“What did she mean?” Silvie whispered. “Did you tell her your name?”

“Of course he did,” Jackov said.

“I guess I did. Keep it down.”

They sat like the three peasants they were meant to be, legs dangling off the end of the cart as it wobbled forward on rough wheels.

The houses were rectangular with abrupt corners, but not squared by any stretch of imagination. Their architects were either sloppy or terribly inventive. The canvas roofs on most were at least partly torn at the edge, but with little or no rain in the desert, it wouldn’t matter. They wanted to keep the sand and wind out, not water.

Johnis watched in fascination as children chased each other with straw swords, builders slopped mud into woven frames to form a wall, and Horde women beat the dust from rugs. Smoke rose from half the chimneys, mixing the scent of burned wheat cakes with the offensive Horde odor, which already smelled less offensive than when they had first entered the city.

“So, these are the infidels,” he muttered, lost in wonder.

“Infidels?”

“It’s what Ciphus sometimes calls the Horde: unbelievers.”

Silvie just grunted softly.