Spite’s walking fingers made their way back up the arm, edged closer to Malice’s neck.

‘I don’t like scrab birds,’ said Malice, shivering at the touch.

‘Scrabal,’ corrected Spite, still smiling.

‘Let’s talk about the hostage again,’ Malice suggested. ‘Making her ugly.’

‘You were too young to understand Father,’ said Spite, ‘when he talked to us about how we were going to grow up. Eight years, just like the Tiste, and nobody knows any different. We grow up like the rest of them. But just for those first eight years. Or nine.’

‘That’s because we’re not Tiste,’ said Envy in a whisper.

Spite nodded, her hand sliding round Malice’s throat. ‘We’re different.’

‘But Mother was—’

‘Mother?’ Spite snorted. ‘You know nothing about Mother. It’s a secret. Only me and Envy know, since you’re not old enough, not important enough.’

‘Father says it’s in our natures,’ Envy added.

‘What is?’ Malice asked.

‘Growing up … fast.’

‘Scary fast,’ Spite said, nodding.

‘Arathan—’

‘He’s different—’

‘No he isn’t, Spite,’ Envy said.

‘Yes he is!’

‘Well, half different, then. But you saw how he grew past us.’

‘After the ice.’

‘And that’s the secret, Spite. You have to nearly die first. That’s what I meant, before. That’s what I meant.’

Malice did not understand what they were talking about. She disliked the way Spite was holding her throat, but she dared not move. In case Spite decided to not let go. ‘We hate Sandalath Drukorlat,’ she said. ‘Who says hostages have to be special? Get her drunk and then cut her face, and use coals to pock her cheeks and forehead, and burn away her hair. Put a coal on one of her eyes. Burn it out!’

‘Do you want to grow up?’ Spite asked her.

Malice nodded.

‘Grow up fast?’ Envy pressed, leaning forward to stroke Malice’s hair. ‘Faster than us? Do you want to grow right past us, little one? If you did that, you could boss us around. You could make us lie with dogs and like it.’

Malice thought about the dog, the one that Ivis had to kill. She thought about what they did to Arathan when he was little, so little he couldn’t fight the dog off, not with the three of them holding him still. She wondered if he remembered all of that.

‘Don’t you want to make us lie with dogs?’ Spite asked her.

‘Jheleck,’ answered Malice. ‘Grown ones. And I’d make you like it, too, and beg for more.’

‘Of course you would,’ Envy murmured. ‘Unless we decide to grow right past you again, and make you littler than us all over again. Then we’d give you to the Jheleck.’

‘I wouldn’t let you!’

‘But there’s two of us,’ pointed out Spite, ‘and only one of you, Malice. Besides, we already make you like lots of things.’