Still, I cast a glance over my shoulder at Tania as I joined Cion again. Her eyes were on me.

I turned away and focused on the task Cion had just given me. He wanted to give my muscles a break, so we were practicing how to evade an attack when you had no weapon. He taught me how to roll across the sand like he did and how to skim my hands along the surface, looking for any hidden rocks I could use for weapons as I went.

We’d just finished an exercise on keeping your eyes on your opponent while searching for a viable weapon when one of the hidden entrances to the cavern was thrown open.

A small boy was blown in by a wave of sand. Cion rushed over to drag him away from the door and pulled it closed.

The boy coughed and collapsed in a pile. It was Yeri.

Cion turned him on his back. “What were you doing out there in that?” He motioned to the storm raging outside.

Sand clung to Yeri’s exposed skin, making him appear paler.

“I was visiting my mom,” he said. “I was going to wait for the storm to end, but I had to get the news to you. I ran across the desert to tell you.”

“What news?”

“The king’s cut water rations down to half a bucket a day.” Yeri sucked in deep breaths and scrunched his face in pain. “That’s barely enough to make one loaf of bread for a family. As soon as the storm’s over, there will be rioting at the wells.”

Other Desert Boys had stopped their training and gathered around.

“Half a bucket a day?” I said, although no one was paying attention to me. I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts. The Desert Boys hadn’t gone to the wells today, and they’d barely taken any water during the raid two days ago. There was no reason to cut rations. Unless the drought was getting worse.

Or unless my father was using the Desert Boys as an excuse to ration water, to make them dependent on him like Cion had said. And if that was true, maybe it wasn’t far off to believe there might actually be water controls somewhere to make sure people stayed under his power.

I shook my head. That couldn’t be true. Rations had been reduced to one bucket a day when I’d gone to the well to get water. And I’d caused a riot. A riot where I told everyone to take as much water as they wanted. They must’ve reduced our supply drastically before Rodric got things under control. That must be why my father had reduced rations.

But that meant it was my fault.

The spiked kana fruit I’d eaten weighed heavily in my stomach, and the gold cuff cut into my neck as I took a deep breath.

Or maybe this was another of Rodric’s tricks. But why would my father go along with this? Why would he make the people suffer with so little water?