Odin could have sent Skadi packing, of course, but he didn’t want war with the Ice Folk. A friendly foothold in the North would make far more sense than another set of enemies. And so he invited her to talk, and to see if they couldn’t come to some kind of agreement.

It didn’t start well. Skadi was not what you might call the approachable type. One of those chilly blondes; cropped hair, the runemark Isa – ice – on her arm. She arrived all in furs, wearing snowshoes, and carrying a runewhip – crafted from thousands of shining strands of woven glam, and barbed with the cruellest of runes – which slithered and hissed in her hand like a snake.

I’ve never been a fan of snakes. And so that whip did nothing to endear her to me. Nor did the fact that when she arrived, she demanded my execution.

‘Why me?’ I protested.

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 a while – have a rest, drink our mead – and we’ll discuss how best to handle this.’

Skadi shot me a sideways look. Her runewhip crackled like lightning. But she accepted a cup of mead, and when we sat down all together to feast, she ate six whole carp to herself, and half a barrel of salt herring. Clearly grief hadn’t interfered with her appetite, although she never smiled from one end of the meal to the other.

Still, I thought her attitude softened just a little – the Old Man had gone out of his way to show respect, seating her by his side, with the men, next to Thor and Balder. As you know, Balder was popular; being athletic, smooth-skinned and with more teeth than brainpower. Ladies liked his floppy hair; men liked the fact that he was good at sports and otherwise nicely unthreatening. I’d never seen the appeal myself, but even I had to concede that the guy was doing a pretty good job of melting Skadi.

She’d downed a good half-barrel of mead on top of the carp and the herring. I reckoned if that didn’t soften her, then nothing would. The women were bringing in dessert – honey-cakes, dried figs, giant baskets of fresh fruit – and Bragi was getting out his lute in preparation for some after-dinner entertainment when Odin turned to Skadi and said: