CHAPTER 18Venicia Dobie had always liked the night. It was a time made for intrigue when natural defences were at their weakest and biological fatigue dulled the sharp edge of opposing wills. She had used it as she had used much else in her climb to power. Now, for the first time in years, she sensed just how precarious her position was.
A stranger, arriving from nowhere—was she what she claimed to be?
Dobie looked at the sleeping figure depicted in the screen. One that moved a little, short blonde hair framing a resolute face, lips which must have known the taste of passion. A body that had revealed hard-living despite its feminine beauty. One a little different to the ideal but close enough to allow of argument. Was she of the Scandhar? Could she be?
To the other woman in the room she
