Conqueror’s Moon: Part One of the Boreal Moon Tale. Julian May

otterskin. Two throws of black mink lay folded neatly on the floor beside the chair to warm the prince when he sat up late, reading or thinking. She shook out both of them to make herself a nest of soft furs.

      I’ll surprise him, she thought, as she snuggled deeply into the chair. Smiling, she fell asleep watching the embers.

      * * *

      At first Maudrayne thought she was dreaming. There were voices coming from the next room — his, and that of a woman. Conrig spoke angrily and the woman laughed at him, a throaty sound that evoked both derision and sexual enticement.

      ‘Why should I windspeak your boring brother Stergos when it’s so much more pleasant to come to you in a Sending and deliver my intelligence reports in person?’

      ‘You should know why — if you had bothered to scry the palace before projecting your Sending. My wife is here and so is the king. Would you destroy me, Ullanoth? I told you not to come here any more!’

      ‘And I told you that I go where I please. But lay your fears to rest, my prince. I’ve secured us against the weak-talented windpeepers dwelling in your palace. Earlier, I watched your touching reunion with your father. I presume that he approved your plan to invade Didion.’

      He did. He even acceded to your own role as ally. But you must leave me at once! What if my wife should find us together?’

      Maudrayne stifled feelings of amazement and dismay. How could the Conjure-Princess of Moss be here in Cala Palace, speaking to her husband in his private apartment? And what was she saying about an alliance in the invasion of Didion? She strained her ears to learn more.

      Ullanoth was laughing again. ‘Before I came, I scried your beloved Maudrayne taking a bath and drinking a scandalous amount of brandy. Her chamber is dark. She’s no doubt dead drunk in her bed, with no thought at all of her wifely duty. What a shame! You’ll have to sleep alone … unless you mend your manners and beg my pardon for being rude.’

      ‘Lady, you go too far — aaah!’ He broke off with a cry of pained surprise.

      ‘No,’ came the scornful retort. ‘You go too far, daring to lay rude hands on a Conjure-Princess of Moss. So there! You’ve been punished. Now entreat my forgiveness, and I’ll say I’m sorry for hurting you with my magic, and we’ll make it up between us with a kiss.’

      Great God of the Arctic Storms! Maudrayne prayed. Grant that this is some nightmare and let me wake! She dares to speak to him like a mistress? And he makes willing answer-Maudrayne could not doubt the evidence of her own ears. She overheard amorous sighs and murmurings, and the kind of endearments exchanged only by lovers of long standing. Red rage and wounded pride swelled her Tarnian heart and she would have sprung up and rushed into the next room to confront the guilty pair. But the next words spoken by the sorceress so intrigued her that curiosity overcame anger. She settled back to listen.