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the Imperium, and I forbid it." He looked down at the dead old man, and his
arms broke out in gooseflesh, as if the ancient creature's ghost hovered over
his head. He glanced warily at shadows in the corners and in the cold
fireplace.
He had expected to experience elation when his father finally passed the Golden
Lion Throne to him -- but now, knowing that his own chaumurky had been the cause
of the Emperor's death, Shaddam's skin crawled.
"According to Imperial Law, I could formally insist upon it, Sire," the Suk
doctor explained, his voice still low and calm. "And for your own good I must
do exactly that. I see that you are inexperienced in the ways of intrigue,
since you have grown up protected in the Court. You undoubtedly think I'm being
foolish, but I assure you I am not wrong about this. I feel it in the pit of my
stomach."
"Perhaps the good doctor is right," Fenring said.
"How can you . . ." Seeing a peculiar gleam in Fenring's eyes, Shaddam cut
himself short, then glanced at the doctor and said to him, "I must confer with
my advisor."
"Of course." Yungar watched them move off to one side, by the door.
"Are you mad?" Shaddam whispered, when he and Fenring were a distance away.
"Go along with him for the moment. Then through a . . ." Fenring smiled,
selected just the right word. " . . . misunderstanding . . . old Elrood will be
cremated before they can cut him open."
"I see," Shaddam said, with sudden understanding. Then, to Yungar, he said,
"Send for your associate and complete your autopsy. My father will be moved to
the infirmary, where you may complete the procedure."
"A day will be needed to bring in the other doctor," the Suk said. "You can
arrange to keep the body chilled?"
Shaddam smiled politely. "It shall be done."
"By your leave then, Sire," the Suk said, bowing and retreating hastily. The
doctor hurried away with a rustling of medical robes. His long steel-gray hair
dangled in its ponytail, clasped by a silver ring.
When they were alone, Fenring said with a crafty smile, "It was either that or
kill the bastard, and we didn't dare risk that."
An hour later, through an unfortunate series of events, Emperor Elrood IX was
reduced to ashes in the Imperial crematorium, and his remains were misplaced. A
Court orderly and two medical attendants paid for the mistake with their lives.
Memory and History are two sides of the same coin. In time, however, History
tends to slant itself toward a favorable impression of events, while Memory is
doomed to preserve the worst aspects.
-LADY HELENA ATREIDES,
her personal journals
Father, I was not ready.
The nighttime seas on Caladan were rough, and wind-driven rain pelted the
windows of the Castle's east tower. Another sort of storm raged within Duke
Leto, though: concern for the future of his troubled House.
He had avoided this duty for too long . . . for months, in fact. On this
isolated evening, he wanted nothing more than to sit in a fire-warmed room in
the company of Rhombur and Kailea. Instead, he had decided at last to go
through some of the Old Duke's personal items.
Storage chests containing his father's things were brought in and lined up along
one wall. Servants had stoked up the flaming logs in the fireplace to a fine
blaze, and a crock of mulled wine filled the room with the spicy scents of
terrameg and a bit of expensive melange. Four small glowglobes provided enough
light to see by.
Kailea had found a fur cloak in storage, taken it as her own, and wrapped
herself just to keep warm -- but it also made her look stunning. Despite the
radical changes in her life, how far she had fallen from her dreams of sparkling
at the Imperial Court, the Vernius daughter was a survivor. Through sheer force
of will Kailea seemed to bend the environment around herself, making the best of
things.
Despite the political drawbacks of any romance with the renegade family, Duke
Leto -- now ruler of his Great House -- found himself even more attracted to
her. But he remembered his father's primary admonition: Never marry for love,
or it will bring our House down. Paulus Atreides had hammered that into his son
as much as any other leadership training. Leto knew he could never shrug off
the Old Duke's command; it was too much a part of him.
Still, he was drawn to Kailea, though thus far he hadn't found the courage to
express his feelings to her. He thought she knew, even so; Kailea had a strong,
logical mind. He saw it in her emerald eyes, in the curve of her catlike mouth,
in the contemplative looks she gave him when she thought he wouldn't notice.
With Leto's permission, Rhombur searched curiously through some of the massive
storage chests, looking for old wartime mementos of the friendship between Duke
Paulus and Dominic Vernius. Reaching deep into one chest, he brought out an
embroidered cape and unfolded it. "What's this? I never saw your father wear
it."
Leto studied the design and knew instantly what it was -- the hawk of House
Atreides embracing the Richesian lamp of knowledge. "I believe that's his
wedding cloak, from when he and my mother were married."
"Oh," Rhombur said, his voice trailing off in embarrassment. "Sorry." He
folded the cape and stuffed it back into the box.
Shaking his head, Leto took a deep breath. He'd known they would encounter many
such memory land mines, and he would just have to endure them. "My father
didn't choose to die and leave me in this position, Rhombur. My mother made her
own choices. She could have been a valued advisor to me. Under other
circumstances I would have welcomed her assistance and wise counsel. But
instead . . ." He sighed and looked bitterly over at Kailea. "As I said, she
made her own choices."
Only Leto and the warrior Mentat knew the truth about Helena's complicity in the
murder, and it was a secret Leto vowed to carry with him to his grave. With the
death of the stablemaster during interrogation, Duke Leto Atreides had fresh,
bright blood on his hands -- his first, but certainly not his last. Not even
Rhombur or Kailea suspected the truth.
He had sent his mother out of Castle Caladan with two of her servants, chosen by
him. For her "rest and well-being," Lady Helena had been taken to the Eastern
Continent where she would live under primitive conditions with the Sisters in
Isolation, a retrogressive religious commune. Haughtily, but without bothering
to demand explanations for her son's behavior, Helena had accepted her
banishment.
Though he put up a strong front, Leto privately mourned the loss of his mother,
and was astounded to find himself without both parents in the space of a few
months. But Helena had committed the most abhorrent act of betrayal against her
own family, her own House, and he knew he could never forgive her, could never
see her again. Killing her was out of the question; the thought had barely
crossed his mind. She was, after all, his mother, and he was not like her.
Besides, getting her out of his sight was a practical matter, for he'd been left
with vast holdings to manage, and the welfare of the citizens of Caladan had
priority. He needed to get down to the business of running House Atreides.
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