Once everyone had said their blessing, Cion took one of the torches from the wall and lit the logs beneath Yeri’s body. “May your spirit burn brighter than the sun.”

I blinked as smoke twirled around us. I hadn’t realized they were going to burn the body now, so soon. They’d waited three days to burn my mother, but out in the heat of the desert, bodies rotted faster. A quick funeral was kinder, it seemed.

A few boys cried. The rest took it in stride, as if this were a regular occurrence. Maybe it was.

Only once the fire had consumed the blanket and figure inside did Cion open one of the panels leading to outside, letting the smoke out. A snarl of sand roared in on us. It twisted around me, stinging my hands, my face, my legs. The boys didn’t flinch. Their eyes stayed glued to the flames that the rush of sand was slowly extinguishing, leaving behind nothing but charred ashes.

Cion shut the panel. The last bit rained down as the swirling sand cut off.

“Yeri brought us this information, and we will use it,” Cion said. “Get ready for a raid.”

The boys who’d been stoic a moment before leapt into action now that they had their orders. No one stopped to question Cion or to wonder if they were walking right into a trap. I pushed through the throng of boys lacing up sandals and shoving daggers into belts.

“It’s too risky to go into the city,” I told Cion. “It could be one of Rodric’s ploys.”

He moved to shove past me. “Yeri died bringing us this news. I won’t let it go to waste.”

“You can’t be serious about going out in that storm.” He had to see that more boys would die. “And do you really think it’s a good idea to raid after they’ve just lost a friend?” I gestured to the boys around me.

Cion clenched his jaw. “These boys see more death in a month then you’ve probably seen in your whole life.” His voice took on a darker undertone. “Haven’t you ever wondered why most of the Desert Boys are so young? Most don’t make it. For them, death is a way of life. Losing Yeri makes them want to fight more, not less.”

I swallowed. It was clear he was trying to conceal his pain in anger, and it was clouding his judgment. “The wells will be clogged with people. It’ll be impassible.”

“The people will let us through and keep the guards away.”

“The guards—”

“We can handle the guards.” He stared me down. “Now, have you run out of excuses why we shouldn’t take more of your precious water?”

“I . . . I . . .” I didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t want to watch more Desert Boys die. Watching Yeri die had woken something up within me, something I didn’t want to name. It came to me anyway: Guilt. And shame.