The Guild delegation had arrived, and the three men were making their way through the fanmetal hutment that had been designated the temporary Imperial Audience Chamber. The haughty Guildsmen seemed irritated after being detained at each of the guard checkpoints, but they would have to follow protocol and security if they wanted an audience with Emperor Muad’Dib.

Standing beside the throne with all the erectness and poise befitting her position, a cool, blonde-haired Princess Irulan watched the trio enter the great metal-walled chamber. The men looked dignified in their gray uniforms, the sleeves of which displayed the Spacing Guild’s analemma sigil of infinity. In single file from shortest to tallest, each of the men had slightly odd features, offset from the norm of humanity.

The short one at the front had an oversized head, the left side of which was covered with a barbed metal plate, and half a head of ragged orange hair flowed back as he walked. The second man was exceedingly thin with a narrow face that bore the scars of reconstruction, while the tallest one at the rear turned his metal eyes nervously in all directions. Irulan noted the abrupt change when the Guilds-men simultaneously saw little Alia waiting on the impressive throne itself.

Wrapped in a cloak of his own importance, Korba stood at the foot of Paul’s throne like a guardian. He had embellished his traditional stillsuit and robes with marks of rank, and mysterious religious symbols drawn from archaic Muadru designs. Irulan doubted that Korba expected anyone to spot the influence, but with her Bene Gesserit training she had easily noticed what he was doing. The logical part of her mind saw the purpose of Korba’s obvious plan.

There is more power in religion than in being a glorified bodyguard, she thought.

Perhaps she should have created a similar role for herself.

As the eldest daughter of Shaddam Corrino IV, Irulan had always known that one day she would marry for political and economic reasons. The Emperor and the Bene Gesserit had groomed her for that duty, and she had willingly accepted it, even offering herself as a solution when Paul had faced her father after the Battle of Arrakeen.

While she had never expected Paul Atreides to fall in love with her, she had counted on conceiving his child. The Bene Gesserit Sisterhood demanded it for their breeding program. But Paul would not touch her, and by placing Irulan in a position clearly subordinate to Alia and Chani, he sent a message to everyone at court.

Now Irulan performed a barely perceptible Bene Gesserit breathing exercise, to ease her tension. She had stopped feeling the irony that Muad’Dib had made his initial audience chamber out of the massive hutment that her father had transported to Arrakis for his disastrous military strike. The days of Corrino glory were gone, and she had been relegated to this comparatively minor role, her own form of exile.

I am but a pawn on the Imperial chessboard.

Many people crowded the chamber — CHOAM functionaries, minor nobles hoping to increase their standing through public support of Muad’Dib, rich water sellers, former smugglers who now considered themselves respectable, as well as other visitors seeking an audience with Muad’Dib. Today, though, with Paul away on Caladan, they would see his sister Alia instead. The deceptively small girl in a four-year-old body perched like a bird on the translucent green throne that had once held Shaddam IV.

In a high royal chair beside Alia sat the red-haired Chani, opposite from where Irulan stood, with no throne of her own. Though Irulan was the Emperor’s wife, Paul had never consummated their marriage, and said he never would, because his Fremen concubine held all of his affections. With the avenue of mate and potential mother cut off from her, Irulan struggled to define her own role.

“We have an audience to see Emperor Muad’Dib,” said the shortest Guildsman. “We have journeyed from Junction.”

“Today, Alia speaks for Muad’Dib,” Chani said, then waited.

Discomfited, the second Guildsman said, “This is Ertun and I am Loyxo. We have come on behalf of the Spacing Guild to request an increased allotment of spice.”

“And who is the tall one?” Alia looked past the others.

“Crozeed,” he said, bowing slightly.

“Very well, I shall speak to Crozeed, since he at least has the good sense not to speak out of turn.”

Crozeed’s eyes glittered. “As my companion said, if the Guild is to function properly in support of Muad’Dib’s conquests, we will require more spice.”

“Interesting that the Guild never requests less spice,” Chani said.

Alia added, “My brother has already been generous with you. We all must make sacrifices in support of the greater good.”

“He has commandeered many of our Heighliners and Navigators for his war effort,” interjected Ertun. “The Guild needs those ships to conduct business throughout the worlds of the Imperium. CHOAM has already reported drastically reduced profits.”

“We are in the midst of a war,” Irulan pointed out, even though the little girl could well have said it herself. “What is your business worth if you have no spice to fuel the prescience of your Navigators?”

“We do not wish to displease Muad’Dib.” Loyxo brushed orange hair out of one of his eyes. “We merely state our needs.”

“Pray, then, that his Jihad is swiftly completed,” Alia said.

“Tell us how we might please the Emperor,” Ertun said.

Alia pondered the question as if receiving a telepathic message from her brother. “The divine Muad’Dib will increase the Guild’s spice allotment by three percent per annum if you contribute another two hundred ships to his Jihad.”

“Two hundred Heighliners!” Crozeed said. “So many?”

“The sooner my brother consolidates his rule, the sooner you can have your precious monopoly back.”

“How do we know he will not be defeated?” Loyxo asked.

Alia glared at him. “Ask your Navigators to look into their prescience to see if Muad’Dib rules the future.”

“They have looked,” Ertun said, “but there is too much chaos around him.”

“Then help him reduce the chaos. Help him put everything in order, and he will be eternally grateful. Muad’Dib’s generosity — like his rage against his enemies — knows no bounds. Do you wish to be in the same category as the foolish houses who dare oppose us?”

“We are not the Emperor’s enemies,” Ertun insisted. “The Spacing Guild’s constant neutrality is our safety net.”

“There is no safety for you in such a position,” Alia said. The words were terse, weighted. “Understand this, and understand it well. All those who do not openly support Muad’Dib may be considered his enemies.” The girl made a gesture of dismissal. “This audience is concluded. Others have waited long to speak with me. The Spacing Guild shall have its increased spice only after the ships are delivered.”

After the three dissatisfied representatives marched awkwardly out of the chamber, an aged bald man with a high forehead entered, accompanied by a female attendant. The man’s steps were halting, and he used his sonic staff as a walking stick instead of an instrument of state.

Surprised, Irulan caught her breath. Though she had not seen him in years, she recognized her father’s Court Chamberlain, Beely Ridondo. At one time Ridondo had been a person of considerable influence, managing Landsraad and palace schedules for the Padishah Emperor. Ridondo had gone into exile on Salusa Secundus with Shaddam IV, but now he had come here.

Maybe she should give Ridondo an inscribed copy of her book… or would that only enrage her father?

As the chamberlain neared the throne, clicking his ornate cane on the blood-red marble floor, Irulan noticed that the years had not been kind to him. His white-and-gold suit was dusty and slightly wrinkled on the sleeves; at one time he would never have gone to an Imperial function looking anything other than immaculate. Leaving his attendant behind, the man stopped in front of the throne. After a long and awkward silence, Ridondo spoke, “I am waiting to be announced.”

“You may announce yourself.” Alia’s voice was high-pitched. “As Shaddam’s chamberlain, you have sufficient experience.”

Irulan could see his indignation. “I bring an important message from his Excellency Shaddam Corrino, and I demand to be treated with respect.”

Taking a half step forward, Korba put a hand to the crysknife at his waist, acting the good Fedaykin again, but at a gesture from Alia he relaxed.

The girl looked bored. “I shall announce you. Comes now Beely Ridondo, personal chamberlain to the exiled Emperor.” She gazed at him with Fremen-blue eyes out of an oval face that was just beginning to lose its baby fat.

Ridondo turned to Irulan, as if hoping for a better reception from her. “Your father will be pleased to know you are well, Princess. Is that still your proper title?”

“Princess will do.” Empress Irulan would have been more fitting, but she did not expect that. “Please state your business.”

Gathering himself to his full height, Ridondo stood free of the sonic staff. “I speak the words of the Padishah Emperor, and he —”

Chani cut him off. “The former Padishah Emperor.”

Alia said, “Very well, what does Shaddam have to say?”

Pausing only a moment to recover, he said, “With respect, my… Lady… when Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib exiled the Padishah Emperor to Salusa Secundus, he promised that the world would be improved. Shaddam IV inquires when such measures will begin. We live in squalor, at the mercy of a harsh environment.”

Irulan knew that the very severity of Salusa’s landscape had been a fine catalyst for toughening the pool of men from which her father drew his Sardaukar. By softening that training ground through terraforming, Paul meant to soften the former Emperor’s potential soldiers as well. Apparently Shaddam did not see the virtues of such extreme hardships now that he, his remaining family, his retainers, and a small police force of Sardaukar had been exiled there.

“We’ve been preoccupied with our Jihad,” Alia said. “Shaddam will need to be patient. A bit of discomfort will not harm him.”

The chamberlain did not back away. “The Emperor promised us! Here are Muad’Dib’s exact words, spoken when he sentenced Shaddam Corrino to exile: ‘I will ease the harshness of the place with all the powers at my disposal. It shall become a garden world, full of gentle things.’ He does not appear to be using all the powers at his disposal. Does Paul-Muad’Dib break his word?”

Just then Korba leaped forward, sliding his crysknife from its sheath. Irulan shouted, trying to stop him, but the Fremen leader did not listen to her. Neither Alia nor Chani spoke a word as Korba slit the chamberlain’s throat before the old man could raise his sonic staff to defend himself.

The crowd blocked the female aide from escaping, and Korba stalked forward, clearly intending to dispatch her as well, but Alia stopped him. “Enough, Korba.” Alia stood from the throne and gazed down at the chamberlain’s fallen body. A widening pool of blood spilled out onto the impermeable polished stones, where it could be collected and reclaimed.

The Fedaykin commander lifted his chin. “Forgive me, Lady Alia. My enthusiasm to defend the honor of Muad’Dib knows no bounds.” He uttered a quick prayer, and some members of the audience echoed his words.

Irulan stared in horror at the dead chamberlain, then slowly turned to glare at Alia and Chani. “He came here as an ambassador, bearing a message from the former Emperor. He had diplomatic immunity and should not have been harmed!”

“This is not the old Imperium, Irulan,” Alia said, then raised her voice. “Send the aide safely back to Salusa Secundus. She can tell Shaddam and his family that Emperor Muad’Dib will send terraforming experts and machinery as soon as they become available.”

The crowd chanted, “Muad’Dib! Muad’Dib!”

With a feral gaze, obviously in a mood for more killing, Korba glanced at Irulan, but only for a moment before wiping his knife and resheathing it. Unafraid, but sickened by the bloodshed, the Princess stared at him defiantly. Given her Bene Gesserit training, he would not have had such an easy time dispatching her.

Servants hurried forward to whisk away Ridondo’s body and mop up the blood. Alia sat back on her throne. “Now, who wishes to be announced next?”

No one stepped forward.