Once, when Muad’Dib was walking in the desert, he came upon a kangaroo mouse, a muad’dib, perched in the shadows of a rock. “Tell me your story, little one,” he said. “Tell me of your life.”

The mouse was shy. “No one wants to know about me, for I am small and insignificant. Tell me of your life.”

To which Muad’Dib replied, “Then no one wants to know about me either, for I am just a man and equally insignificant.”

—A Child’s History of Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

When Alia commanded Irulan to accompany her to the Arrakeen warehouse quarter, the Princess had no choice but to obey. Though she had been freed from her death cell, and a formal pardon had been signed and stamped, Irulan knew that the Regent could easily exile her to Salusa, or worse.

They went together with a security contingent and entered a small warehouse. Inside, workers moved about like insects in a hive, busily packaging small books, stacking them into containers, preparing them for wide distribution across the Imperium. Irulan smelled spice-based plastic and paper dust in the air, along with the ubiquitous musk of sweat and the metal tang of machinery.

As she watched them work, Irulan recognized the volumes. The Life of Muad’Dib. “That’s my book.”

Alia smiled, delivering good news. “A revised edition.”

Irulan picked up a copy and thumbed through the thin, indestructible pages, the densely printed text. “What do you mean, revised?” She skimmed paragraphs and tried to identify sections that had been changed, added, or deleted.

“A better version of the truth, edited for the benefit of the masses, taking into account changes in our political situation.”

Duncan Idaho, silent and uneasily threatening, stood beside the confident Regent. From his placid expression, Irulan could not tell if he approved, disapproved, or did not care.

Alia tossed her hair back and explained. “My brother was a tolerant, confident man. While your treatises were positive for the most part, he did allow you to write some critical passages that questioned his decisions, painted him in a slightly uncomplimentary light. I don’t know why he permitted this, but I am not my brother. I do not have Muad’Dib’s force of will. I am just the Regent.”

Irulan fought the annoyance in her voice. “Modesty and self-deprecation don’t suit you, Alia.”

“These are precarious times! With the future of the Empire in doubt, I am tiptoeing across drumsand. Anything that diminishes the worth of Paul’s memory will weaken my position. Bronso’s manifestos are like borer worms chewing away at our foundation, so I shall control what I can control.”

In the warehouse, workers piled boxes of the revised biography onto suspensor pallets and moved them out to waiting groundcars that took them to cargo ships. Nearly a billion of Irulan’s books had already been distributed to the planets Paul had conquered in his Jihad.

“Your purpose in my government is to be Bronso’s counterpoint. Given the governmentally subsidized distribution, your books will have a much broader platform than the traitor’s seditious publications can ever receive. Your official histories will easily overwhelm his lies, by brute force if necessary.”

Irulan wasn’t a coward who trembled at any threat made on her life, but she did feel an obligation to Paul, and she had to consider the welfare of her husband’s twins. “And what is it exactly that you want from me?”

“Imperial security depends upon the reverence the people still hold for my brother. From now on, your writings shall serve a specific purpose. Publish only good things about Paul, positive aspects of his rule, even if you have to distort the truth.” Alia gave her a girlish smile, looking like the child that Irulan had helped raise in the first years of Paul’s reign. “If you do that, you have absolutely nothing to fear.”

Over the ensuing weeks, Irulan returned to her writings with a passion and enthusiasm that took Jessica by surprise. The Princess seemed intent on preserving—and exaggerating—the memory of Paul. In a creative fervor, she wrote chapters that expanded the glorious legend of Muad’Dib, taking even more liberties than she had during Paul’s lifetime.

Finding it alarming and distasteful, Jessica decided to speak with Irulan. For Paul’s sake.

In her private wing of the immense citadel, the Princess had selected the décor and worked with craftsmen and artisans to create an echo of the Corrino palace on Kaitain, where she had grown up. Irulan had her own courtyards and glassed-in greenhouses, dry fountains and wind-scoured obelisks. She kept to herself on the Citadel grounds and did not often venture out in public.

Making her way without escort or criers, Jessica found the Princess in a courtyard gazebo, scribing words onto crystal sheets. The younger woman glanced up, and tucked a loose strand of gold hair behind her ear. “Lady Jessica, this is an unexpected pleasure.” She gestured toward an empty seat beside her at the writing table. “Join me. I’m always happy to talk with you.”

“You haven’t yet heard what I have to say.”

The words elicited a frown. “Have I done something to displease you?”

Taking the offered seat, Jessica did not mince words. “Paul deserves better than shameless propaganda. You’ve always shaded the truth one way or the other, Irulan, and most of the time I could not fault you for it, because you came close to representing my son accurately. But now, when I compare your histories with known and irrefutable facts, I find them far from the mark. The new revisions to The Life of Muad’Dib are very disturbing.”

“Alia’s revisions.” Irulan tried to cover her embarrassment. “In any case, who can know every fact? My purpose is not to memorialize dry data, but to aid our government in these uncertain times, for the sake of Imperial security. You know the way of it. We were both trained by the Sisterhood.”

“I know what Alia wants, and I understand the necessity for propaganda, but now . . . nothing negative at all? Not the tiniest thing? Even starry-eyed pilgrims can see your obvious slant.”

“In Alia’s view, the slant itself provides balance.” Irulan straightened her back. “She’s right, actually. Bronso’s constant unflattering revelations are doing a great deal of damage, and I find them personally reprehensible. They weaken the Regency at its most fragile, unstable moment, when it’s just getting under way. So, if my writings are overly favorable toward Muad’Dib in portraying historical events, it is only to counter the slander.” The emotion in Irulan’s voice surprised Jessica. “History is in my hands—Paul himself told me that. I can’t let Bronso’s seditious tracts go unchallenged.”

Jessica let out a long sigh. She had kept Paul’s secret for many years, but now she decided that Irulan needed to know. “There’s a key point you don’t understand.”

Irulan set down her stylus and pushed the crystal sheets away. She seemed stiff and overly formal. “Then enlighten me. What is it, exactly, that I am missing?”

“That Bronso was once Paul’s friend.”

Irulan frowned. “I studied Paul’s youth, so I know of his contacts with House Vernius.”

“And you know as well that there was a falling out between the Atreides and the Ixians.”

“Yes, but the historical record is sketchy and vague. It was not a subject that Paul wanted to discuss, though I did ask him about it.”

Jessica lowered her voice, concerned that someone might be eavesdropping, although these events were common knowledge to a person willing to dig into old Imperial records. “The two Houses once had strong ties, and Paul met Bronso when the Vernius family went to Caladan for Duke Leto’s wedding. Later, when Paul was twelve, he traveled to Ix to study with Bronso—just as my Leto went to study with Rhombur Vernius when he was young. Duke Leto felt it was important for Paul’s training, to make him the next leader of Caladan. The boys became the best of friends—blood brothers sworn to guard each other’s life. Until everything changed.”

With the comment hanging between them, Jessica met the other woman’s inquisitive gaze. Then Jessica proceeded to tell the story.