TWENTY-NINE
BJARNI
I frowned. “What do you mean, he’s not—”
Annabel’s hand on my arm quieted me. She shook her head just in time for me to catch on to why our bond echoed with pain: Modi.
“Thor’s not coming?” Loki repeated, the glee in his voice like nails on a chalkboard in the quiet hall. “How peculiar. Seems he’s really not bothered about bringing the so-called Betrayer to justice. Could it truly be he’s too busy knocking Jotunn skulls and drinking mead to save his little bastard?”
I glared at my father, but the smirk on his lips spoke all too clearly of his intentions. He wasn’t just unbothered about needling Modi—he was actively trying to bring him misery.
Once upon a time I’d have laughed at such antics, delighted in my enemy’s pain. But that was before a rope made of flesh and
