The guards responded as they saw our approach, clearing a path. As soon as we got to the well, Sievers rested me on the ground nearby while the other guards held the crowd back.

He inspected the wound on the side of my head. “It’s not as bad as I thought,” he said. “Head wounds always bleed more than anything else.” He lowered the bucket into the well and hoisted up fresh water. He gave me an apologetic smile before tearing a strip from my dress to use as a washcloth, then bathed the wound.

He wrung the cloth into the bucket and stared at the bloody water for a few moments before throwing it out.

“Just because you get extra buckets for being a soldier doesn’t mean the rest of us do,” someone called from the crowd. “Stop wasting our water and get back to your palace.”

Sievers lowered the bucket back into the well, shaking his head. He and I both would’ve saved the water if we could’ve in this drought, but it’d been too bloody to salvage.

A shadow fell across me.

“These people would have killed to have the water you just threw out,” a voice said.

I squinted against the intense sunrays to make out the figure as I scrambled to my feet.

A man about my age stood on the ledge of the well, leaning against the wooden frame. He wore thin pants and a woven shirt that had seen better days. He lifted his head, shaking long, unkempt strands away from his face. “But water doesn’t mean the same thing to someone who’s never gone without it.”

Sievers pointed his spear at the man. “Back away from Princess Kateri.”

The man scoffed, and a sly smile spread across his face. His eyes examined my dirty face and torn garment. “You’d think they’d take better care of the famed Achran Flower. Maybe they’ve been overwatering you.”

I studied him as well. The untamed hair. The confidence to approach the well. A Desert Boy. He had to be.

“If anyone’s overwatered here, it’s all you Desert Boys. But I’ll be putting an end to that.” My hand went for the sword hilt that wasn’t there.

He yanked the bucket up from the well and poured water into a container held by a small boy I hadn’t noticed. “I’m not just any Desert Boy,” he said. “I’m their leader. But you can call me Cion.”

I didn’t breathe. I didn’t think. I reacted. I grabbed the sword from Sievers belt and leapt forward. My vision swirled, and the well hazed in and out of focus.

“The cactus’s spines come out,” Cion said. He drew his own sword. It was a blade unlike any I’d ever seen. Instead of one shaft of straight metal, this one had two that forked away from the hilt like a snake’s tongue.

Maybe that’s what had started those annoying rumors.

“Keep pulling water,” he shouted over his shoulder to the boy. Then he leapt up, somersaulting through the air above my head and landing in front of me. He again flicked his long hair out of his eyes with annoying confidence.