Once on her own grounds, she was careful to avoid the light from the wall lanterns and the house windows. If one of the guards caught her, it wouldn’t be a calamity, but it might make her mother start paying closer attention to what Lovisa did. The thick falling snow helped to obscure her. She hoped it would cover her footprints.

She circled the house. Her father’s library on the first floor was gently lit, as if he were sitting in thought with a cup of tea. Her mother’s study on the second floor was glowing with the kind of light that only came from silbercow lamps, a rich, golden warmth. Lovisa was hardly ever invited into her mother’s study, but what always hit her first was the smell of the silbercow lamps, deep and earthy, like summer soil. Silbercow oil was highly regulated by Sentient Animal Law and exorbitantly expensive, but Ferla wasn’t one to deprive herself.

Up at the top of the house, a dim light shone in an attic window at the back. Lovisa felt an anxious tug, wondering which of her brothers was up there tonight in Ferla’s attic room, and why. It was a customary feature in a Flag Hill house, a small room in the attic, far away from the front door, unreachable by intruders. Most people used it as a storage space for valuables, but Lovisa’s mother used it for discipline. It wasn’t a terrible room, in and of itself. It had a bed and desk, a rug, a book or two, a lamp. When Lovisa was little, Ferla might close her in there briefly with her homework, some crayons for drawing, a hot drink and extra blankets if the day was cold. “You need some time to yourself,” Ferla would say, clear and strict, “to think about what you’ve done.” It was lonely, but it was fine.