Hugin joined in the mayhem, pecking at the rock at its feet, flapping its wings and crawking.

‘Loki. Two (crawk!) in Asgard,’ said Munin, who clearly had trouble with sibilants.

‘Two sons. That’s right.’ I was getting impatient. ‘And if the Old Man really believes that I’m going to give myself up just because he’s holding them hostage in my place . . .’

‘Ack-acck!’ said Hugin, beginning to peck at the rock again. The pecks were slow and measured, each one roughly at a second’s interval.

Peck. Peck.

Two seconds.

Peck. Three seconds. He was measuring time.

I looked at Munin wildly. ‘What’s he doing? What is this?’ I said.

Munin said: ‘Ack-ax-ty. Ax-ty ack-en.’

‘Sixty? Sixty seconds?’ I said. ‘Sixty seconds until what?’

But I’d already understood. The birds might have problems with language, but I knew Odin only too well. Never forget that the Old Man was as ruthless as I was myself. He wanted to hit me where it hurt. And he knew me very well.

Hugin was still counting down. Twenty seconds. Twenty-five.

‘Wait,’ I said, feeling suddenly cold.

‘Come back,’ said Munin.

Thirty seconds. Peck. Peck. Each one felt like a hammer blow. I knew the Old Man was watching me through the eyes of those damned birds, trying to second-guess my thoughts, trying to outmanoeuvre me.

‘I’m not going to fall for this,’ I said. ‘Vali and Narvi mean nothing to me.’

Peck. Forty seconds. Peck.

‘You know you’ve got nothing to bargain with,’ I said, forcing a brave, brash smile. ‘Those boys belong to Sigyn, not me. Killing them won’t change a thing. So go ahead, brother. Do the deed. Put them out of their misery. You’re the one with the conscience, not me. So – do you feel lucky? Play or—’

And on that syllable, both birds took wing. With a sound like feathered applause, they rose into the ice-blue sky. And at that moment, a world away . . .

Don’t ask me how I knew. I knew.

The thing was, he’d corrupted me with feelings and sensations. In my pure, Chaotic form, I wouldn’t have cared for a moment, however many of my children he killed. But here, in this Aspect, weakened; alone; tormented by fear and guilt and remorse; hunger and cold and discomfort – none of them natural to a being like myself, not born to these sensations.

And the Old Man knew, of course. He was the one who had poisoned me. And he had known how to get to me, and thought he could force me to show myself.

What did they really expect me to do? Come howling back into Asgard, so they could shoot me down in flames? Declare war? Demand recompense? That’s what a warrior would have done. That might have earned me some respect, according to their twisted honour code.