Once the Atreides frigate was released from the Guildship’s hold, Duncan Idaho piloted it toward mottled Ecaz. The sky was full of clouds, the major landmasses a riot of different shades of green. Paul could see numerous oceans below, but none so vast as the seas of Caladan.

Ever since Duke Leto had explained their destination, Paul had detected an inexplicable chill between his parents. Duncan had offered no insights either. “It is not my business, young Master. And if it were yours, your father would tell you.”

So, the boy had occupied himself during the brief journey by studying the frigate’s limited library of filmbooks, eager to learn about Ecaz — a lush and fertile world filled with jungles, rainforests, and well-watered agricultural plains. The primary exports were hardwoods and exotic forest products, as well as unusual unguents, rare drugs, deadly poisons.

“Will we visit the fogtree forests?” Paul asked. He had seen spectacular images, and also read that a blight had wiped out most of the delicate and expensive fogtrees on the continent of Elacca, which was governed by Duke Prad Vidal.

“No,” Leto answered. “Archduke Ecaz is waiting for us. Our business is with him alone.”

“Does he know that I accompany you?” Paul heard the faint bitterness in Jessica’s words.

“You are my bound concubine, the mother of my son. You must go with me.”

In his reading, Paul had taken particular note of his father’s connection to Archduke Armand and the vicious feud between House Moritani and House Ecaz. He was most surprised to learn that his father had been betrothed to the Archduke’s eldest daughter, Sanyá —  until she and her uncle had been murdered by Moritani soldiers.

Duncan guided the Atreides frigate toward a small, ornate city whose centerpiece was a large structure composed of graceful loops and arches, walkways that connected towers, and thick old trees that grew up beside the walls. The palace was a fairy tale synthesis of branches, vines, and ferns intertwined with pearlescent white stone. Paul doubted even Kaitain could have been more impressive than this.

Before they could land, however, two heavily armed warships raced into the air, circled the Ecazi Palace, and crossed in front of the Atreides frigate in a clear show of force. Incensed, Duncan activated the communication controls. “This is Swordmaster Duncan Idaho of House Atreides. We are here at the invitation of Archduke Ecaz. Explain your actions.”

The two military ships peeled away, spun and darted playfully in the air, then streaked beneath the frigate. Paul was reminded of frolicking dolphins in the Caladan oceans. A booming voice came over the comline speakers. “You use that title with great pride, Swordmaster Idaho — you must have had excellent instructors.”

A thin, nasal voice joined the communication. “Are we allowed to strip him of the title if he doesn’t impress us enough, Rivvy?”

Duncan recognized the voices. “Swordmaster Whitmore Bludd? And Rivvy Dinari?”

The two men chuckled over the speaker. “We came to escort you. We weren’t sure if your pilot was proficient enough to land in the proper place.”

Paul knew the names; Duncan had often talked about his instructors from Ginaz. Duncan’s face showed great pleasure as he explained to Paul, “They must have become ronin since the Ginaz School disbanded. I wouldn’t have guessed that Archduke Ecaz needed both of them.”

“House Moritani has made no recent aggressive moves,” Leto said, “but that could change on a moment’s notice. I do not believe the conflict was ever resolved to the satisfaction of either party.”

“Feuds usually aren’t, my Lord,” Duncan said.

When the three ships had landed in an oval, paved clearing surrounded by tall, feathery trees, the two Swordmasters emerged to greet them. Whitmore Bludd had long wavy hair that was a mixture of silver and gold, a thin face, and rosebud lips that seemed to be pouting. Rivvy Dinari was an enormous globe of a man, who nevertheless seemed light on his feet; his skin was florid in the jungle heat.

Duncan bounded down the frigate’s ramp to greet them, but kept his guard up, as though expecting the two teachers to hurl themselves upon him in a playful yet deadly practice session.

“Duke Leto is here on formal business,” Dinari commented to Bludd in a deep voice which sounded like a kettledrum. “There will be time for swordplay later.”

Bludd sniffed. “There is no play with swords. We will conduct a practice session. A proving session.”

“And if I beat the two of you, how will you ever endure your shame?” Duncan teased.

“We’ll manage,” Dinari replied. “If it happens.”

Leto emerged alone from the landed frigate, wearing a black doublet that sported the red Atreides hawk crest. Paul followed, still trying to understand what was going on.

The air smelled of flowers, wood resins, and sweet sap that leaked from the cracked bark of the enormous trees that towered over the palace. Ferns as tall as his head stood like curled sentries along the flagstone paths.

Leto put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Come with me, we need to make our entrance.”

“What about Mother?” Paul glanced back at Jessica, who showed no emotion whatsoever as she followed them at some distance.

“She will make her own entrance. Pay close attention. There are many subtleties here. In the next few days you will learn important lessons about being a Duke… and some of them may be hard.”

There seemed to be as much lush foliage inside the Archduke’s palace as out in the courtyards and gardens. Narrow aqueducts spilled silvery water down channels in the walls, filling the corridors and chambers with the peaceful sound of flowing streams. It wasn’t quite as soothing as the majestic rush of the ocean on Caladan, but Paul found it comforting nevertheless.

When they entered the main audience room, Archduke Armand Ecaz was seated in a massive chair made of burlwood, at a long table polished to an incredible sheen. It was the largest piece of Elaccan bloodwood Paul had ever seen; colors and patterns flowed through the grain. The Archduke was a tall, thin man who did not appear old despite his silver hair. His face was narrow, his chin pointed.

As Leto came forward, the Archduke stood to greet him, and they clasped each other’s forearms. “We are optimists, you and I, Armand,” Leto said. “We will try this again. If we don’t keep trying, then what is the point of life?”

“This is your natural son Paul?” The Archduke extended a hand. It was small and thin, but his grip was firm. Paul shook it.

“Also, allow me to present his mother, the Lady Jessica,” Leto said, nodding in her direction. She bowed formally, but remained at the side of the room, marginalized.

“I have an introduction to make as well, Leto. You probably don’t remember her.” Armand gave a shout toward a doorway, and a willowy young woman entered. She seemed well-mannered, with large brown eyes and dark hair bound in a looping braid. She wore a thin gold chain around her neck, suspended from which was a perfectly clear yet irregularly shaped soostone. “Duke Leto Atreides, this is my daughter Ilesa.”

She executed a polite curtsy, though she seemed shy. “I am very pleased to meet you.”

Paul’s father responded with a deep, formal bow. “I saw her once, long ago. You did not exaggerate her beauty, Armand.” Now Duke Leto turned to Paul and his mother. “The arrangements have already been made. Ilesa will be my wife.”