Skadi gave me a poisonous look. The whip in her hand hissed and slithered. “I know who you are,” she said. “You’re Loki, the Trickster. Everyone’s saying you planned the whole thing. You lured my father into a trap and then you disgraced his memory.” “It wasn’t exactly like that,” I said. “Really? You weren’t as modest when you were spreading the tale around the Middle Worlds.” “That was poetic licence,” I said. “Bragi uses it all the time.” Odin smiled. “Now, Huntress,” he said. “You should know better than to listen to rumours. Stay here awhile — have a rest, drink our mead — and we’ll
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