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protested. “The Desert clans buy much of our food and drill deeply to get what little water we can. We don’t have the resources to take in that many ­people.”
    â€œOn the southern tip we do,” Ashraf said. “At Kabandha.”
    â€œKabandha?” Kadar asked. “The haunted city? No one has tried to settle there for generations. There is said to be a malevolent spirit that chases off anyone who tries.”
    â€œTwo of my watchers traveled there and said it was in good condition. The stone houses needed new roofs, and the wells would need to be redug. But they felt no evil spirit. The Forsaken won’t be scared away by our silly superstitions.”
    â€œIt would take months for that many to travel so far,” Kadar told him. “The only time it would even be possible is in the winter, and they would freeze in the cold nights and roast in the midday sun. It would be suicide for the elderly and the children.”
    â€œWe’re willing to risk it for our freedom,” Farrah said. “We know the dangers.”
    Kadar wondered what he would do if his uncles were stripped of their halls. What if his family was treated like refuse, and his sister was assaulted? He hoped he would be as willing to risk everything for his family.
    â€œWhat do you want me to do?” he asked.
    Farrah smiled brilliantly, and Ashraf beamed.
    â€œI knew that if you were anything like your twin, you’d be willing to help,” he said.
    K A D A R F E L T OLDER somehow after he and Farrah left the hotel. He’d had responsibilities for as long as he could remember: caring for the horses and mules, helping to take care of the wares, and packing the caravan. All of these were put on his shoulders when he began his apprenticeship with Uncle Aaron at age fourteen. But the weight he felt now was more cumbersome. It was one thing to declare to himself and his family that he was for the rights of the Forsaken and to treat them well in the small circle of the merchant hall. But to take that extra step—­taking action against ­people who hated what he believed so much that they would possibly kill him for it—­was unnerving.
    He was terrified; he had to admit that to himself. It was like the time he’d been climbing in the mountains, jumping rocks, and stopped just inches from a sheer drop he hadn’t realized was there. He’d stood there a moment with his heart pounding, realizing how close he’d come to going over the edge.
    This time he was jumping off the cliff, Kadar realized. Intermingled with the fear was excitement. What Ashraf said made sense: the Forsaken were the key. If the Temple planned on going to war against the tribes, Kadar’s knowledge of the desert would do much to help the Forsaken flee. Their numbers would bolster the desert men against the Temple’s larger forces. It was time to do as Sulis had and act.
    His uncles were waiting for him in the dining area when they arrived back at the house.
    â€œI thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” Uncle Aaron told him, his face stern.
    Kadar was startled a moment, wondering how he could know about his and Ashraf’s plans. Ashraf had said not to tell them the plans for the Forsaken, just to say the families wanted an alliance. Farrah passed him, nudging him sharply, and he remembered the fight.
    He opened his mouth to explain, but then closed it, trying to think of some way he could make it look like a good thing to have dumped the viceroy’s son in the dirt. He couldn’t, so he just shrugged and tried to look innocent.
    Uncle Tarik chuckled and smacked Uncle Aaron in the shoulder. “He’s as bad as the two of us were, eh?”
    Uncle Aaron grinned, obviously amused by Kadar’s loss of words. “If you had to pick a fight the first day you were in town, why’d you have to pick the viceroy’s son?” he asked.
    â€œI didn’t know who he