I hugged my knees to my chest, trying and failing to imagine what she would do in my situation. Caliza had stuck to her like feathers on a crow, preparing to become queen. I’d spent more time with Estrel, studying as a rider. People said Caliza and I were our mother split in half: me, stubborn and independent, and Caliza, steadfast with a knack for handling people and politics.

Our mother may have swallowed her pride and married Ericen, like Caliza would. Or maybe she’d have thrown the proposal back in Queen Razel’s face. You never knew which side of her you were going to get, if you had her attention at all. Sometimes, I’d struggled to get even that.

For half a second, I considered praying to the Saints, the eight original riders. Legend had it they established Aris with the help of the Sellas, the ancient creatures said to have created the crows. But the Saints hadn’t come on Ronoch. Either they didn’t exist, or they didn’t care.

My thoughts pinned me to the ground. It’d been a mistake coming to the rookery. Too many memories slept inside.

It’d been at least two hours; Caliza would be worried. Some petty part of me found satisfaction in that and wanted to leave her wondering where I was. Controlling my emotions had never been my strength, but it’d been weeks since I’d reacted to anything as strongly as the engagement. Maybe it meant I was getting better, though I’d thought that before. Why couldn’t I just be okay?

Sighing, I used the wall to stand. Soot clung to my dress, blood staining my elbow where I’d scraped it. I needed a bath. Besides, sitting here wouldn’t stop Ericen from arriving tomorrow.

Today was supposed to be a good day. The words reverberated in the hollow space inside my chest.

As I dusted off what I could of the ash, my gaze snagged on a bit of scorched leather near the edge of the tower. I crouched beside it, running my fingers over the familiar pleats that formed the shoulders of a rider’s flying leathers. Had whomever they belonged to made it out of the tower alive?

I stood, letting my fingertips brush along a blackened windowsill, trying to conjure the feeling the rookery used to instill in me. But it was like fighting against the wind; the feeling refused to come. I pushed deeper into the rubble, suddenly desperate for something, anything that might spark that familiar lightness inside me.

The anticipation of flight, the wonder at the power and strength around me, the safety I’d felt, enclosed in these circular walls—it was all gone. All that remained was ash and rubble.