"She is born of a people made to kill," says Loki. "Made to favor honor over truth, to stand golden and shining, satisfied only when their enemies freeze to the bone, bleed out and die in dirty snow."

He doesn't care, of course. The Frost Giants may bleed and die. He is not one of them, but he is not Aesir, either.

Something out the window catches his eye; his fingers curl, and ice shivers in the air, momentarily, as he shifts the maze.