As a Princess of the old Imperium, Irulan had been instructed in the esoterica of social protocol, how to sit prettily at court functions and perform musical pieces and recitations. She had been encouraged to write poetry about meaningless things that would amuse well-bred people with shallow interests.

In addition, she was Bene Gesserit trained, as were all her sisters. She had much more to offer, and Irulan did not intend to write lack-witted poetry. She was in a remarkable position to chronicle this increasingly chaotic period in human history. Her credentials were unimpeachable as the wife of Muad’Dib and daughter of Shaddam IV.

Expanding on The Life of Muad’Dib, she intended to explore tributaries to the river of his remarkable life. In the process, she would again see the need to alter a few details here and there, though few would realize it as long as she got the gist of the story right. Paul’s propagandists and deluded religious followers remained blithely unaware of the blinders they wore, of the dark forms they refused to see.

They revered her initial, rushed chronicle as if it were scripture, though she herself could clearly see its limitations. Her recent conversations with Swordmaster Bludd had revealed that even Paul had left out large parts when recounting his younger years, but she did not intend to change what she’d already written. On the contrary, each of her works about Paul would stand on its own, without further editing. They were stepping stones out into the water, complete with rough edges and flaws.

Irulan smiled as she sat on a hard plaz seat next to a fountain that, though dry, nevertheless emitted the soothing sounds of rushing water. She had all the inspiration she needed for her writing. Though he often seemed to ignore Irulan’s counsel, Paul now included her in many of his meetings.

In recent days, he had been consumed by an unexpected defeat of his Jihad forces. A Heighliner full of his soldiers, drunk on a succession of uncontested victories, had arrived at the planet Ipyr expecting to accept the surrender of another noble lord. But they had underestimated the resolve of Earl Memnon Thorvald.

There on his home world, Thorvald had gathered the military resources of eleven different planets that were also impending targets for the Jihad. He had unified those lords into a fierce resistance, a bastion of the old Imperium. They had thrown their allied armies against Muad’Dib’s soldiers with surprising and resounding force.

The fact that Paul had not seen this with his prescient vision astonished his followers. But to Paul, the shocking military turnabout suggested that the rebellious Earl’s detailed plotting with the eleven lords must have taken place in the blurring proximity of a powerful Navigator. By managing to keep their plans secret, they had scored a surprising victory.

The faithful could not bring themselves to accept that their supposedly infallible Muad’Dib had made a mistake. Instead, they regarded the defeat as a sign that their hubris and overconfidence had displeased God, and that they must now fight harder to redeem themselves.

Leaving the wreckage of the Jihad battle group on Ipyr, Earl Thorvald and his allies had vanished to some other hideout, blown on the stellar winds. Some said the rebels were hiding on a planet that was shielded by the Guild, although every representative that Paul interrogated — to extremes if necessary — denied any knowledge or complicity.

Irulan took careful notes, realizing that this unaccustomed defeat, and Paul’s reaction to it, made interesting material for an exhaustive biography. She also set herself to learn more about Paul Atreides, son of Duke Leto, grandson of Old Duke Paulus. His genealogy and the traditions surrounding noble House Atreides contained important elements of his character, yet Paul had taken a radically different path from his father.

Invoking the holy name of Muad’Dib, the Corrino princess was able to gather stories from those who had known Paul in his younger years, though many of the accounts were obviously inflated. She wrote down the tall tales anyway and focused on finding kernels of truth.

She had just received numerous documents from Caladan, including a long letter from Lady Jessica herself. The few remaining technocratic functionaries that had served House Vernius on Ix submitted old records of Prince Rhombur’s friendship with Duke Leto and the Ixian nobleman’s memories of young Paul.

Because of Paul’s part in the Kwisatz Haderach program, the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood on Wallach IX had closely monitored his youth. The old Reverend Mother Mohiam was no friend of Paul’s, but she respected Irulan and turned over many documents, hoping that the Princess would use them against “that upstart Emperor.”

Irulan absorbed it all and quickly realized that her project could grow into an incredible undertaking, one that would receive such scrutiny as no other book had — not even the Orange Catholic Bible during the Council of Ecumenical Translators. The thought did not intimidate her. Her initial effort had already proved the potential in what she could write.

And Paul knew precisely what she was doing.

Though he had denied her a prominent position in his government, Irulan adopted her new purpose with enthusiasm rather than disappointment. Whatever she published would literally become history, read by schoolchildren on thousands of worlds.

It seemed that was what her husband really wanted from her after all….

One morning she went to Paul’s Imperial office to talk with him, holding a copy of the first volume in The Life of Muad’Dib. She dropped the deep blue book on his desktop, a plane of polished Elaccan bloodwood. “Exactly how much is missing from this story? I’ve been talking with Bludd. In your accounts of your life, you left out vital details.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Your publication has defined my life’s story.”

“You told me you had never left Caladan before your House moved to Arrakis. Whole parts of your youth have been left out.”

“Painful parts.” He frowned at her. “But, more importantly, irrelevant parts. We’ve streamlined the story for mass consumption, such as when you wrote that I was born on Caladan and not Kaitain. It sounds better that way, doesn’t it? We eliminated unnecessary complications, cut off unnecessary questions and explanations.”

She could not hide her frustration. “Sometimes the truth is complicated.”

“Yes, it is.”

“But if I tell a part of the story that directly contradicts what has been published before —”

“If you write it, they will believe it. Trust me.”