“To use Bifrost as headquarters for my future endeavors. Did you know there are other hidden rooms beyond this one? Very suitable for what I have in mind.”
“Stealing the other treasures,” she said. “But what good would it do you to keep them here? Why didn’t you take Gungnir back to wherever you came from?” She took a step toward him. “Why didn’t you go straight through the passage on the bridge?”
For a moment Loki’s smug expression darkened. “No more questions.” He relaxed and smiled again. “I’ll give you one chance, sweetling. Join me, or you’ll have no more use for such inconvenient curiosity.”
He was probably right. She’d always known the odds of beating him were slim; he was, after all, a god, and her j?tunn blood wouldn’t be enough to defeat the Sly One. Dáinn had abandoned her, and even Vídarr had failed to stand up to him.
Still, giving up was not an option. And there was one thing she still didn’t understand. Why was Loki offering her a chance to join him? Why had he felt the need to sneak around in the first place, pretending to be her human lover, if he didn’t think she was a threat to him?
There was only one way to find out.
“You were always a coward,” she said. “Go ahead. Strike me down.”
He laughed and sneered at her bravado, and yet he hesitated. Vídarr’s eyes fixed on hers, as if he were trying to tell her something important. Something that might change the game completely.
“What are you afraid of, Slanderer?” she taunted. “My sword is out of reach. You need have no fear of a fair fight.”
Loki’s face contorted with rage. “Pick it up,” he snarled.
Mist dove for the sword before he could change his mind. In seconds she had snatched it up, secured her grip and was ready for attack.
Her enemy wasted no time. All at once Gungnir itself was in Loki’s hand, and he was aiming straight at her heart. The Swaying One hummed in his grip as he let fly. Mist swung Kettlingr with all her strength, desperately singing the runes that might make the difference between life or death.
She wasn’t fast enough, but no cold metal pierced her chest. Gungnir pierced the door behind her shoulder. Loki’s mouth gaped in disbelief as she struck, her blade sinking into his left arm.
She knew it was little more than a distraction. He would heal almost instantly. Still, she brought Kettlingr to bear once more … and froze as Loki’s burning hand clamped around her neck.
“You have tried my patience once too often,” he said into her face, his spittle spraying her cheeks.
“And you’ve … tried mine.” She wheezed a laugh. “You were never … as good as you thought you were. In anything.”
He shook her like a child’s straw doll. “Perhaps I won’t kill you first,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll take you one last time, and show you just how good I am.”
A shudder of loathing drained the strength from Mist’s body. To die was one thing. To suffer such humiliation after what she and Eric had shared …
No. She stared into Loki’s eyes. “Try it, and I’ll roast your balls like chestnuts.”
Loki flinched, and his grip relaxed. He’s afraid . It made no sense, none at all, yet she could feel it, see it in his face.
But what was the key to his fear?
“Freyja is the key.”
Dáinn’s voice, speaking inside her head. This time she was grateful for the intrusion. She shaped an urgent question out of her thoughts, but Dáinn heard it before she was finished.
“Loki has always feared and desired the Lady,” he said. “He taunted and mocked her and called her whore because he wanted her but could not have her.”
But that had nothing to do with Mist. Loki’s grip had tightened again, and Mist felt her breath stop in her throat. It was over. She had nothing left with which to fight.
“Halfling,” Dainn’s silent voice whispered, unraveling like thread caught in a kitten’s claws. “A j?tunn was your father. Your mother…”