Valya made a note to arrange intensive dance instruction for Danvis. He had to be better than the other new arrivals, not just in dance but in all things. He was a Harkonnen, and had to demonstrate his potential.
Now her brother mingled with other new arrivals, young Landsraad sons and daughters who had come to serve at court. Valya would have preferred to have Danvis announced with great fanfare, but there had been no time. For the moment he was just one of many minor nobles, eager to be noticed. Danvis would have to make his own way, seeking out his own acquaintances and creating his own alliances. Under orders from their Mother Superior, the Sisters at court would smooth the way for him. No other new arrival had such a powerful and unexpected resource.
Gaudily dressed men and women chatted about foolish things, holding wineglasses or long smokettes in their hands. They sampled from melange-laced hors d’oeuvres that servants carried on silver trays. The sanctioned delivery of spice had gone a long way toward convincing the people that peace and normalcy was at last restored, thanks to Emperor Roderick.
Young Danvis looked nervous and out of place among the new arrivals, but she was confident he would discover his internal strength. In the meantime, he had to learn to hide his weaknesses better.
When she found a chance, she went to him, and walked across the hall at his side. Many of the guests were part of the Imperial Court not because of their exemplary talents, but because of important family, business, or political connections. She counted on Danvis to make a name for himself. Perhaps being seen next to the Mother Superior would gain him more prominence. He looked relieved just to have familiar company.
“Be strong,” she whispered to her younger brother, and then added with just a hint of Voice, “You are better than them.”
Valya led him toward a long refreshment table on one side of the orchestra, where she critically assessed his appearance. His black hair was straight and neatly trimmed, but overall he looked ordinary and colorless, pedestrian in the midst of so many strutting noble peacocks. There would be time to enhance his appearance and his confidence, and House Harkonnen could afford the money. It was a worthwhile investment.
“You will do well here. I have already given you information to turn against your rivals when appropriate, and Sisterhood spies will continue to provide you with valuable intelligence … a resource no other noble has.” As part of her duty to the Sisterhood, Fielle had reported the trivial secrets and shames of many court members to her, and now Danvis held the information in reserve.
“Why would they do that for me?” he asked, blinking.
“Because I am the Mother Superior, and you are the future of House Harkonnen. If used properly, such knowledge will help you rise quickly.” He seemed uncertain, overwhelmed. He would need to be coached further. She nudged him. “Mix with the people. Make certain you talk with the important ones I’ve identified. Get yourself noticed. Establish connections.”
He didn’t look at all confident to her. “Penetrating the noble cliques will not be so easy.”
“I never said it would be easy. You must have the ambition and perception to impress the right people. Stop at nothing.” She pointed to a dignified man who was engaged in energetic conversation with a woman. “That one, for example—he’s the head of a mining clan from Hagal, a rival to House Péle, the powerful family of the former Empress Tabrina. He has been struggling for prominence since Tabrina fell into disfavor, so he’ll need allies at court. Convince him you can be useful in fulfilling his goals.”
Danvis nervously took a glass of Salusan spice-infused wine from the sommelier, and Valya cautioned, “When in public, take small, infrequent sips, only as much as is socially necessary. When you have access to raw spice, use it sparingly. Heighten your alertness, but do not let addiction gain control of you.”
“I know all that,” he said, in a patient tone.
“I just want to reinforce the importance.” She didn’t want to imagine her younger brother failing. She could not be with him at court to look over his shoulder, to prevent him from making mistakes. Fortunately, she had other allies here.
She continued to treat him as if she were instructing a fresh-faced Acolyte on Wallach IX. “Never drop your guard—think of the Imperial Court as a battleground. Secure powerful allies, and seek to minimize those who oppose you. You can achieve much of this by discreet action, behind the scenes. Do not be too outspoken, especially in front of those who might wish to do you harm.”
“Like the Atreides,” he said.
She scowled. “The Atreides are nothing. Vorian is dead, and the feud is over. We’re done with it. Now there is nothing to hinder the ascendance of House Harkonnen.”
Chin up, he dutifully left her side and disappeared into the throng of people like a hunter on a mission.
Valya made her way to two Sisters who had recently been assigned to the Imperial Court. Sister Sicia was barely past Acolyte stage, a red-haired beauty who could easily seduce any nobleman (and was being trained to do exactly that); her companion, Sister Jean, was more seasoned, dark-skinned and dark-haired, slender in the extreme. The two women greeted her with curt, solicitous bows.
Sicia was breathless. “So far our assignment at court is going well, Mother Superior.” She flashed a sparkling smile. “I have already identified three excellent male candidates. All nobles.”
Valya’s gaze sharpened. “Good. Submit their names so that we can determine the best genetic match before you let yourself conceive a child.”
“Yes, Mother Superior.”
Sister Jean straightened. “We will continue to submit our reports to Wallach IX. It will be as if you are here yourself.”
“I find the Imperial Court impressive, but I am better suited to running the Sisterhood,” Valya said. “Meanwhile, watch over my brother. See that he has information he needs, and keep him from making foolish mistakes. He is a blade whose edge needs to be sharp, and continually sharpened.”
Sister Jean nodded, not questioning her assignment. Sister Sicia looked at the young man who was striking up conversations at the edge of the reception; she raised her eyebrows, assessing.
“You are not for him,” Valya said with a slight scolding tone.
“Yes, Mother Superior.” Sicia scanned others in the room instead. Valya realized that she needed to study her brother’s genetic profile in the breeding index buried in their computers. Perhaps she did need to secure his bloodline widely, as insurance. She would look into it.
“I have much to monitor back on Wallach IX as the Sisterhood grows,” Valya said. “I am pleased to hear that our work here is in good hands.”
After the two Sisters melted into the crowd, Valya made her observations, drinking in the patterns and contacts. She saw Danvis dancing with a plain-featured young woman in a low-cut dress and dazzling jewels. Danvis concluded the dance, bowed gratefully to his young partner, and made his way back to Valya.
“Who is she?” Valya asked in a quick interrogation. “Family line? Rank?”
Danvis gave an embarrassed grin. “Second daughter of the planetary leader of Ix. She has direct access to the Empress. They play weekly games together.”
“Consider it practice. You can do better. Look for the first daughter of a noble house. Never forget that you are a Harkonnen.”
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, the Mother Superior rode in a private stateroom aboard a spacefolder that was now part of the Spacing Guild. In complete isolation, she blocked out the voices of Other Memory that had been pestering her. She had proved her strength and her vision, and she would make her own choices, in the manner she saw fit.
Valya understood the momentous changes she had wrought—the relief and triumph they had brought her. Vorian Atreides was dead. Her brother was at court. House Harkonnen was on the rise. The Sisterhood grew more powerful day by day.
Everything was as she had hoped. The long struggle was over … and it was just beginning.
And yet she felt inexplicably a
drift. Now what? All alone in a moment of weakness aboard the spacefolder, Valya finally cried softly to herself, not from sadness but from emotional release, for the joy of the victory she had achieved and for the brightening paths of destiny in the future, stretching into infinite possibilities.
Yes, Vorian Atreides was dead. After generations of shame and marginalization, her family would emerge from the shadows. The lie about Abulurd’s cowardice, the terrible injustice of it, would finally fade in the light of steady triumphs. Danvis was a key part of it, and his descendants would be as well.
It was one more secret she carried in her mind, in a universe of secrets.
Being a member of the Imperial Court meant much more under Emperor Faykan Corrino or his son Jules than under my brother Salvador’s reign, when the nature of the court degenerated. In the early days, it was more a source of pride and responsibility than of pleasure, more focused on the well-being of the citizenry than on the desires of a privileged few. Under my rule, I expect the leadership at court to be relevant, and dedicated to the public good.
—EMPEROR RODERICK CORRINO I, while asking Haditha to monitor the Imperial Court
After much soul-searching, Willem Atreides knew that his clearest path lay here on Salusa Secundus, building himself up in the Imperium. He had done as Vorian asked, although with a heavy heart. Vor had made his wishes quite explicit.
A generous Korla had delivered the young man to Salusa as promised, in a trading ship filled with treasures salvaged from Corrin. Willem had not known what to expect when he arrived in Zimia and presented his credentials, invoking the Atreides name. But, just as Vor had said, the Palace did have a place for him after all, along with a substantial fund for all of his expenses. He had everything he needed to build a noble family and make his mark on the Landsraad.
He had a chance, a future, whatever he could achieve for himself.
Willem had been a nobody on Caladan, a member of the air-rescue service along with his brother, and now he was a minor nobleman. He had even received a message from Princess Harmona of Chusuk, that she looked forward to finding important Landsraad business that would take her to Salusa Secundus so she could see him again. His heart warmed at the thought, and he could not wait to be with her.
The Landsraad League was still crystallizing, and not every planet had a ruler who was part of the Imperial Parliament. Caladan was considered a distant and insignificant world, but if the young man built his reputation and earned respect, and if the Emperor himself took notice of him, then perhaps Willem could become Caladan’s provisional Landsraad representative. Vorian had instilled a steely resolve in him. He was an Atreides, and knew he could do it.
At court, Willem would attempt to advance himself through his dedication and good work, as Vor would have wanted. Objectively, his future looked bright indeed.
But he was his own man, with his own conscience and responsibilities … and it was his older brother who had been killed so brutally. He expected to learn things here in the court by developing important contacts. And perhaps, through any political influence he gained, he could do something good in Orry’s name.
Now, with the violent death of his mentor, the need for Atreides revenge had only increased. Although Vor had insisted that he wanted the blood feud to end, he could not have anticipated his own assassination the way it happened, through Harkonnen treachery. Surely, he would not have wanted Willem to ignore that!
Tula had gotten away with murder, and the fact that she carried Orry’s child did not absolve her in the least. He could not forget the pleased expression on Valya Harkonnen’s face as she watched Vor’s ship explode in the air, and then she and her sister had returned to Wallach IX, where Willem would never be able to reach them.
The Harkonnens had their vengeance, but he didn’t have his, nor was he sure he ever would. Yet for honor, Willem could not ignore his own blood responsibility.…
Back on Caladan, he had heard stories that the Imperial Court was populated by useless dandies, and in the two weeks he had been here, Willem saw that the assessment was essentially accurate. He took heart, though, to hear that Emperor Roderick had vowed to change the situation, promising to make the courtiers perform useful services to the Imperium. Willem would see if such a thing truly came to pass.
This morning, as he gathered with others on the Palace’s upper rooftop landing zone, he knew the new arrivals at court were about to see their circumstances change. Willem was surprised but not shocked by what the Emperor intended to do. He had never been afraid of hard work himself, but many of these others seemed completely unprepared.
Unlike the pampered people around him, Willem wore serviceable clothes without lace or frippery. New and fresh-faced, he’d met only a handful of his comrades here, and had kept a low profile. This day’s adventure would be no lighthearted gala or private party at some nobleman’s estate, as most of these attendees would prefer. He smiled to himself, thinking of how much good it would do them to help others.
In the river delta remote from the lavish towers of the capital, outlying villages were filled with people who lived without the opulence or conveniences of Zimia—not because they adhered to strict Butlerian beliefs, but because they had nothing else. Since these people caused no trouble and made no demands, Salvador had paid little attention to their isolated settlements, but the recent flood disaster had changed everything. Haditha had already done great work to rescue and aid as many of the victims as possible, but much more needed to be done.
In celebration of his new Imperium, Roderick made no secret that he intended to create a golden age of human civilization. “And that includes everyone. We will start here at home, with these people who need it the most.”
The Emperor had announced he would bring several groups from court out to the disaster site. The sycophants and glory hounds, the opportunists and fops who simply wanted to bask in the halo of the Imperial presence, would now get their hands dirty. Willem was perfectly happy with that—in fact, he was eager to do something worthwhile. Vorian had established him at court, providing whatever the young man needed, but Willem wanted to earn whatever he received. As he had promised Vor, he would do the best he could for himself and for House Atreides.
At the landing zone in the rear of the sprawling Palace, Emperor Roderick had ordered the preparation of transport ships that would be filled with aristocrats, seasoned hangers-on, and young nobles who had come to serve after their families made special arrangements for them.
Before the large groups boarded, the Emperor addressed them all in a somber voice. “As most of you know, a tragic flood struck the river delta last month, ruining villages and displacing thousands of people. Our home guard swept in for the rescue effort and delivered shipments of additional supplies. Empress Haditha has led our efforts to help the needy there, but a tremendous amount remains to be done.” He hardened his voice so that the new members of court could understand his meaning. “You are all going to help—it is your duty as nobles in the Imperium.”
Roderick frowned at the colorful and inappropriately dressed crowd as they boarded. Some of the courtiers made uneasy sounds, but he continued, “When you all arrived at the Palace, you thought you came for gala banquets, costume balls, and court gossip, but as your Emperor I require more from you. This is how you can best serve the Imperium, how you can best serve me.”
Nearly two hundred privileged men and women boarded the three vessels. Some were excited, as if they were about to embark on an outing to see cultural displays in quaint villages. From his experiences in the air-rescue service on Caladan, however, Willem had seen natural disasters up close. He knew that the aftermath of the flood would not be pretty, but he was ready to pitch in and do his best to reduce human suffering and makes lives better. Hopefully he could gain the Emperor’s notice on his own merits, rather than relying on Vorian’s recommendation.
The line moved forward, and Willem glanced around as the other courtiers filed aboard the aircraft. Out
of the corner of his eye he spotted an oddly familiar dark-haired young man who stepped up the ramp onto the second carrier, but the line moved forward before he could get a better glimpse. Willem put it out of his mind, and a few minutes later he boarded the crowded third transport.
After an hour’s flight across the continent, the trio of transports arrived in the wide, sloppy mudflat where the delta villages had been. The river waters had receded, but the towns were not yet rebuilt. What had once been a trading outpost town on the river had been erased from its foundations, and although temporary buildings were now erected, the place was still no more than a squalid encampment.
When the transports landed on a flat polymerized area that served as a temporary landing field, many of the courtiers with Willem looked queasy, as if this was not at all what they had expected to see. “Shouldn’t this all be cleaned up and reconstructed by now?” asked one young lordling, the third son of House Yardin. “What is taking the home guard so long?”
“I thought Empress Haditha had already managed the disaster,” said another with a distasteful frown. “It does not look anywhere near finished.”
Willem said to him, “That’s why we’re here—to do what needs to be done.” He was among the first down the ramp, while many of his companions hesitated, obviously not wishing to get mud on their fancy shoes and garments.
Dozens of refugees hurried forward from the temporary camp, looking dirty and hungry. Emperor Roderick had gone ahead in his own faster transport, and now he stood next to a tired-looking Haditha, who wore gloves and sturdy work clothes. As they stood on a rickety reception platform that was only a couple of meters above the mud, the Imperial couple watched the court members step uncomfortably onto walkways that had been laid across the mudflats.
Low-ranking engineers crisply divided the many “volunteers” into teams, so they could receive their work assignments. A number of nobles grumbled and took offense, citing their social status, haughtily mentioning the names of their families or political patrons. Willem went to his assigned team without complaint.
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