A thought tore through me. Because he didn’t care if they suffered. I hadn’t cared when rations had been dropped in the past to try and tempt a raid. Because I hadn’t been the one without water. It had merely been a tactic. We’d been using our people as pawns. Like in Skips, we’d been reckless, sacrificing a few of our own pieces if it meant winning later.

But the games had to stop. Too many lives were at stake.

Another boy with a nose too big for his face pushed toward Cion and spoke, pulling me from my thoughts. “My family wasn’t able to get any water yesterday because of the line. They won’t survive on half a bucket. My sister’s sick with fever.”

“Did you see how many guards were at any of the wells?” Cion said to Yeri.

“Around twenty at the one I was at before the sandstorm hit. There might be more after the drop in rations though.”

Cion sighed and rubbed his temples. “We were going to do another raid before the next caravan anyway, and we still need to deliver the water we weren’t able to last time.”

“But the king’s going to be there,” Yeri stammered.

Now it was my turn to push through the circle of boys. “The king?” He never went amongst the people. That’s what Rodric was for. If my father was coming, something had to be very, very wrong.

Despite the sweat dotting my skin, goose bumps shot across my arms as my body went cold.

“He’s going to make some sort of announcement from each well this afternoon.”

Cion’s eyes searched out mine. I had no idea what my father was up to. All I knew was that it wasn’t going to be good for us—especially if Rodric was the one advising him now. If he’d already cut water rations, I didn’t know what else he was planning. Was the drought truly worsening? Did it have to do with me running away? Was he simply going to hand the throne to Rodric?

“Good work, Yeri,” Cion said. He moved to help him sit up, but Yeri cried out.

Cion bent low over Yeri. He pushed back Yeri’s hair and scraped sand from his forehead. A pale yellow taint had taken hold underneath Yeri’s skin. It slowly spread down his face.

“Bring the spiral cactus juice,” Cion cried. Feet took off, pounding into the sand. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Cion said, his fingers digging into Yeri’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Cion,” Yeri said. His chest shook with each word. “I was running so fast and sand was blowing everywhere. I didn’t see the hole until it was too late. I was hoping maybe I’d just stepped on a spiral cactus.”

Cion dropped his head against Yeri’s chest. “It’s okay.” He pulled himself up and looked Yeri in the eye. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Here.” Another boy shoved a clay jar toward Cion. He tipped a green liquid into Yeri’s mouth.