CONTENTS

CHAPTER

1

I watched as two guards pulled a thin boy into the arena. His feet left trails in the sand as though two yellow-spotted sand snakes followed his path. The guards chained him to the short center post so he couldn’t move more than five arm lengths in any direction. Then they retreated, leaving the boy and his puddled shadow alone to face the crowd.

The boy stood like a lopsided cactus in the sun, with his elbows away from his body to keep the thick metal chains from burning any more skin than necessary.

He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.

Now he’d come to my arena—my home—where I fought each month. And we all were waiting to see if he would leave it alive.

My father rose from his chair. The jeers and shouts of the crowd quieted, leaving only the sound of the breeze drifting in across the desert, shifting and remaking the far-off hills of sand.

My eyes darted back and forth between the two doors that stood shut before the boy. Which door concealed the tiger? It was impossible not to wonder while I waited for my father to speak.

“My people,” he said, “we have before us an accused Desert Boy. One of the very same urchins who plagues our kingdom by stealing from our wells, forcing me to ration what little water we have.” He let the cries die down before continuing. “This particular Desert Boy was caught leading a caravan of contraband goods into the city.” He paused while the crowd reacted.

The boy couldn’t even bring himself to face my father. He kept his chin tucked close to his chest. Probably to hide his tears.

I steeled my face. Let him cry. Let him return even the smallest fraction of water he’d taken from us, from our people, over the years. I wouldn’t let the sight of him get to me. It didn’t matter that he was so young. I couldn’t let it matter. If this boy’s only crime had been bringing in forbidden goods, it might be forgivable, even understandable. But he was a Desert Boy, a water thief. And that could never be forgiven.

The drought had hit all of us hard, and yet these boys thought they were above the law, that they had the right to take more than their allotted share. How many more people would live now that there was one less Desert Boy stealing our water? Sacrificing his life would save countless of my people’s lives—people who fought to survive despite the number of times he and his kind raided the wells, people who were dying in the streets from thirst while he and his friends drank their fill.

I squared my shoulders. Justice needed to be carried out until the water returned and Achra could once again take its place as the thriving oasis it once was. It was the only way we would survive—and if there was anything Achrans were known for, it was surviving. We had turned the harsh desert into a sanctum for merchants, artisans, and caravans—at least until the water ran out and groups like the Desert Boys formed.