‘Again,’ hissed Spite, her eyes wide and glittering.

Envy nodded. Heavy footsteps paced above them, from a sealed chamber forbidden to all but Draconus himself. Each time Spite and Envy had ventured into this heady passage, seeking warmth as the winter bit deeper into the stones of the estate, they had heard these same muffled strides, pacing as would a prisoner, circling the confines, spiralling inward to the room’s centre, only to begin again, reversing the pattern.

Their father was still in Kharkanas. Had he returned, freedom would have quickly come to a messy and most final end for Envy and Spite. In the wake of murder, the loyalty of blood was a thread that could snap.

‘I miss Malice,’ Spite said, in a near whimper.

Envy snorted. ‘Yes, dear, we should have kept her around, flesh rotting off, hair falling out, and those horrible dead eyes that never blinked. Worse, she stank. That’s what happens when you break her neck and she comes back anyway.’

‘It was an accident. Father would see that. He’d understand that, Envy. Power, he told us, has its limits, and they need testing.’

‘He also told us that we were probably insane,’ Envy retorted. ‘Our mother’s curse.’

‘His curse, you mean, in falling for mad women.’

Envy settled on to her back and stretched out on the hot tiles. She was sick of staring at her sister’s ugly face. ‘Their fault, the both of them. For us. We didn’t ask to be like this, did we? They never gave us a chance to be innocent. We’ve been… neglected. Abused by indifference. It was watching the maids playing with themselves at night that twisted our minds. Blame the maids.’

Spite slipped on to her side and pulled herself alongside her sister. They stared up at the raw underside of the floor tiles and the black wood that held them in place. ‘He won’t kill us for Malice. He’ll kill us for all the rest of them. For Atran and Hilith and Hidast, and Dirty Rilt and the other maids.’

Envy sighed. ‘That was the best night ever, wasn’t it? Maybe we should do it again.’

‘They know we’re here.’

‘No they don’t. They suspect, but that’s all.’

‘They know it, Envy.’

‘Maybe, since you ruined that hound’s brain, the one they brought in to sniff us out. It howled all night before they had to cut its throat. They can’t find us, and we’ve never been seen. They’re just guessing. It was you ruining that dog that got them suspicious.’

Spite laughed, but softly, making the sound a dry rattle. ‘The sorcery – it’s everywhere. You feel it, don’t you? All those wild energies, all within reach. You know,’ she rolled to face Envy, ‘we probably could do it again, like you said. Only not with knives this time, but with magic. Just kill them all, with fire and acid, with melting bones and rotting faces, and blood black as ink. Why, we could redecorate, in time for our father’s return – won’t he be surprised!’