No one is ever completely forced into his position in life. We all have opportunities to take different paths.

—Conversations with Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

Inside the ’thopter, Jessica was surprised when Duncan sat close to Alia, rather than taking the pilot’s controls, leaving that particular task to a Fremen guard. Smiling, Alia touched his arm with genuine warmth, an obvious romantic bond. So much had changed on Dune, and in House Atreides. . . .

“Of course, you will want to see that the twins are safe, Mother.” Alia turned to Duncan. “Tell the pilot to use the west landing pad. We’ll go directly to the creche.”

The boy and girl, Paul’s children, would never know their father. The twins were the heirs of Muad’Dib, the next step in a new dynasty, political pawns. Her grandchildren. “Have they been named yet? Did Paul . . . ?”

“My brother gave them names as one of his last acts, before he . . . left. The boy is Leto, named after our father. The girl is called Ghanima.”

“Ghanima?” Gurney sat back with a frown, recognizing the Fremen term. “A spoil of war?”

“Paul insisted. Harah was there with Chani at the end, and now she watches the newborn babies. Since Harah was Muad’Dib’s ghanima after he killed Jamis, maybe he meant it to honor her. We’ll never know.”

The ’thopter flew over the huddled rooftops of Arrakeen, the hive-like homes of a disorganized, passionate, desperate throng: pilgrims, opportunists, beggars, veterans of the Jihad, dreamers, and those who had no place else to go.

Alia spoke loudly over the thrum of the engines and the whir of moving wings. She seemed energetic, frenetic. “Now that you’re here, Mother, we can proceed with Paul’s funeral. It is a thing that must be done with a grandeur appropriate to Muad’Dib’s greatness—enough to awe the whole Imperium.”

Jessica kept her expression neutral. “It is a funeral, not a Jongleur performance.”

“Oh, but even a Jongleur performance would be fitting, given Paul’s past, don’t you think?” Alia chuckled; it was clear she already had her mind set. “Besides, it is necessary, not just for my brother’s memory, but for Imperial stability. The force of Paul’s personality held our government together—without him, I’ve got to do whatever I can to strengthen our institutions. It’s a time for showmanship, bravura. How can Muad’Dib’s funeral be any less spectacular than one of the Old Duke’s bullfighting spectacles?” When the girl smiled, Jessica saw a familiar echo of Leto in her daughter’s face. “We also have Chani’s water, and when it best suits us, we will conduct a ceremony for her as well, another great spectacle.”

“Wouldn’t Chani have preferred a private Fremen funeral?”

“Stilgar says the same thing, but that would be a wasted opportunity. Chani would have wanted to assist me in any way possible—for Paul’s sake, if nothing else. I was hoping I could count on you to help me, Mother.”

“I am here.” Jessica looked at her daughter and felt complexities of sadness whisper through her. But you are not Paul.

She also knew things that her daughter did not, some of Paul’s carefully guarded secrets and aspirations, especially how he viewed history and his place in it. Though Paul might have taken himself off the stage, history would not release its hold so easily.

With a slow flutter of wings and the roar of jets, the ’thopter landed on a flat rooftop of the extraordinary citadel complex. Disembarking, Alia strode with confidence and grace to a moisture-sealed door. Jessica and Gurney followed her into an elegant enclosed conservatory with soaring clearplaz panels.

Inside, the sudden humidity made Jessica catch her breath, but Alia seemed not to notice the miniature jungle of moist, exotic plants that overhung the walkway. Tossing her long hair, she glanced back at her mother. “This is the most secure area of the Citadel, so we converted it into the nursery.”

Two Qizaras armed with long kindjals guarded an arched doorway, but the priests stepped aside without a word to let the party pass. Inside the main chamber, three Fedaykin stood ready and alert.

Female attendants in traditional Fremen garments bustled back and forth. Harah, who had once been nursemaid and companion to Alia, stood like an attentive mother over the twins, as if they were hers. She looked up at Alia, then flashed a nod of recognition to Jessica.

Jessica stepped forward to look down at Leto and Ghanima, surprised by how the two children struck her with a sense of awe. They seemed so flawless, so young and helpless, barely a month old. She realized she was trembling a little. Jessica set aside all thoughts of the Empire-shaking news she had received in the last few days.

As if they were linked, both babies turned their faces toward her simultaneously, opened their wide-set blue eyes, and stared with an awareness that startled Jessica. Alia had looked that alert when she was just a baby. . . .

“They are under close observation for their behavior and interactions,” Alia said. “More than anyone else, I understand the difficulties they might face.”

Harah was forceful. “We do our best to care for them as Chani, and Usul, would have wanted.”

Kneeling, Jessica reached out to stroke the small, delicate faces. The babies looked at her, then locked gazes with each other, and something indefinable passed between them.

To the Sisterhood, babies were just genetic products, links in a long chain of bloodlines. Among the Bene Gesserit, children were raised without any emotional connection to their mothers, often without any knowledge of their parentage. Jessica herself, a ward of the Mother School on Wallach IX, had not been told that her father was the Baron Harkonnen and her mother Gaius Helen Mohiam. Though her own upbringing among the emotionally stifled Bene Gesserit had been less than ideal, her heart went out to her grandchildren, as she contemplated the turbulent lives that undoubtedly lay ahead of them.

Again, Jessica thought of poor Chani. One life in exchange for two . . . She’d grown to respect the Fremen woman for her wisdom and her intense loyalty to Paul. How could he not have foreseen such a terrible blow as the loss of his beloved? Or had he known, but could do nothing about it? Such paralysis in the face of fate could have driven any man mad. . . .

“Would you like to hold them?” Harah asked.

It had been a long time since she’d held a baby. “Later. I just . . . just want to look at them right now.”

Alia remained caught up in her visions of ceremonies and spectacles. “It is a very busy time, Mother. We need to do so much to give the people hope, now that Muad’Dib has gone. In addition to the two funerals, we will soon have a christening. Each such spectacle is designed to remind the people of how much they love us.”

“They are children, not tools of statecraft,” Jessica said, but she knew better. The Bene Gesserit had taught her that every person had potential uses—as a tool, or a weapon.

“Oh, Mother, you used to be so much more pragmatic.”

Jessica stroked little Leto’s face and drew a deep breath, but found no words to speak aloud. No doubt, political machinations were already occurring around these children.

Sourly, she thought of what the Bene Gesserits had done to her and to so many others like her, including the particularly harsh treatment they had inflicted on Tessia, the wife of the cyborg prince Rhombur Vernius. . . .

The Bene Gesserit always had their reasons, their justifications, their rationalizations.