There comes a time when every relationship is tested, and the true strength of the bond is determined.

—from The Wisdom of Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

Weary after a long day, Irulan entered the northwest wing of the great citadel, interested only in reaching her private quarters. She carried a ridulian crystal recorder under one arm, which she had used to collect information from people on the streets of Arrakeen. How strange for the eldest daughter of Shaddam IV, the lawful wife of Emperor Muad’Dib, to be employed as a gatherer of data, a survey taker. Alia had given her the capricious, nonsensical instructions; Irulan didn’t understand what she really wanted.

Even while Paul still lived, Irulan’s role had been unclear, her assignments beneath her abilities. The eldest daughter of Shaddam Corrino, relegated to a mere chronicler . . . but even that was preferable to performing such menial work. Did Alia intend to demean her?

Pursuant to the Regent’s instructions, Irulan and an entourage of guards and functionaries had gone out into the city on a special assignment to interview common people. “I want honest opinions, candid responses,” Alia had said, obviously knowing she would get no such thing. Considering the recent purges—not to mention the intimidating amazon guards at the Princess’s side—no one would voice criticisms of the Regency. Over the course of the day, Irulan had collected thousands of glowing responses. Exactly what Alia wanted. But why?

Irulan had never been averse to manipulating answers herself. No matter what Jessica had told her, she felt obligated to continue building the myth of Muad’Dib, developing and revising his history in order to cement his place as prophet, the Kwisatz Haderach, the Lisan al-Gaib. By extension, that strengthened the legitimacy of Alia’s rule. There could be no doubt in the minds of the people, no questions. That was why Bronso posed such a threat.

Irulan feared what would happen when the twins grew older. What if Alia began to scheme against little Leto and Ghanima? As Paul’s wife, albeit not the mother of his children, she would continue to watch over the babies, help Harah to raise them, and guard them if necessary.

All the while, her father remained in exile on Salusa Secundus with Count Hasimir Fenring. The fallen Emperor Shaddam had been strangely silent since the “accident” had killed his ambassador Rivato just after Paul’s death, but she knew her father—and Fenring—very well: Sensing weakness, they would be like wolves sniffing at Muad’Dib’s wounded Empire. She wondered what her father would do next.

Walking along hallways of polished stone, she passed priceless paintings, statuary, and sealed bookcases containing ancient illuminated manuscripts. After a lifetime of familiarity with ostentatious trappings, both on Kaitain and here, she barely noticed the finery anymore.

But inside her own inner rooms, she sensed that something was not right.

With the door to the hallway still open behind her, she paused, her senses heightened from her years of Bene Gesserit schooling. She detected peculiar odors, things a bit out of place, heavy tables moved slightly, a sheaf of documents in a different position, the jewelry case visible through the doorway to her sleeping chamber open just a crack.

It was ridiculous to think that a burglar had broken into her chambers deep inside the Citadel. A quick inspection revealed that nothing had been taken. But objects had been moved around. Why? Had the intruder been searching for something?

Suddenly, she understood why the Regent had sent her on an unusual, and pointless, assignment all day. Alia wanted me away from my rooms.

Irulan checked a cleverly concealed sliding wall compartment, confirmed that her private journals had not been disturbed. On impulse, she went back to her jewelry case and took out a strand of varnished reefpearls that she had received as a gift during a party game in the Arrakeen royal court.

She remembered that celebratory night, an intentional throwback to the early years of Paul’s reign. Clinging to their former glory, despite the ongoing destruction of the Jihad, Landsraad members had been invited to an especially lavish celebration intended to resemble similar parties back on old Kaitain. Paul had been much too busy for such court games.

As the highlight of the evening, the participants opened random packages provided by the organizer, a bubbly woman who had once been a countess but had lost most of her fortune in a scandal that had nothing to do with the Jihad.

Casually, Irulan had selected an item from the assortment of gifts arrayed on tables around the room—just a light amusement for all—but when she opened her package, Irulan had immediately seen that her gift was unusual. The reefpearls appeared to be genuine, which she’d confirmed afterward through a wizened old jeweler. The jeweler had noticed something else on the necklace, which he showed to her under a magnifying lens: an unmistakable hawk crest etched into the golden clasp. “It appears to be an authentic Atreides heirloom, Highness.”

Later, Irulan had walked into Paul’s private study and interrupted a meeting with Stilgar, freshly returned from an offworld military mission. While the Fremen commander watched, looking at her sourly as he often did, Irulan had handed the reefpearls to Paul. “I believe this keepsake belongs to you, my Husband, not to me.”

“I am Muad’Dib now. Atreides heirlooms are no longer important to me.” With a casual motion Paul had tossed the reefpearls back to her. “Keep them yourself, or send them to my mother on Caladan, as you like.” The Princess had gone away with the necklace, questions churning through her mind. . . .

Now, as she held the strand of pearls up to the light from an overhead glowglobe, Irulan looked through a handheld magnifier and found the minuscule hawk crest, as expected. But something wasn’t right. Laying out the reefpearls, she looked at them under a focusing lens. Previously, the second pearl from the clasp had been distinguished by a barely perceptible scratch that the jeweler pointed out to her. Now she could not locate it. Her heart racing, Irulan looked again, increasing the magnification just to verify her suspicions.

Not there.

Carrying the pearls, she marched off to the grand ballroom where servants were setting up dinner. She still wore wrinkled and dusty clothing from her day on the streets of Arrakeen, but she did not care about decorum.

When Alia arrived with Duncan and took her customary place at the head of the table, Irulan laid the pearls on her own dinner plate. “I must commend you on an excellent job of copying, Lady Alia. However, your craftsmen failed to take into account a small scratch on one of the pearls.”

Rather than being incensed, Alia responded with a wide smile. “You see, Duncan! Irulan is not as easily fooled as you expected. She noticed a flaw that even our experts disregarded.”

Her new husband wore a slight frown. “I did suggest that we ask her openly for the original, instead of attempting secrecy.”

Irulan waited for an explanation, and Alia said lightly, “We confiscated the original because it is a relic of House Atreides. It has nothing to do with you, Irulan.”

“Paul himself told me I could keep it.”

“You received many items from my brother.”

“Legitimately. I was his wife.”

“We both know the truth of that, Irulan. Because of their important religious significance, all of your original keepsakes have been replaced with copies. The true relics will be placed under the care and guard of the Qizarate, and select authorized replicas will be made available to certain devout and generous collectors.”

Irulan felt anger, but used her Bene Gesserit training to remain calm. “Those were my possessions. Gifts from my husband.” She was edging into dangerous territory, but she set aside her fear and tried to keep her voice steady. “With all due respect, because of my dedication and loyalty, I have earned the right to keep my own things.”

“Oh, enough melodrama, Irulan Corrino! They were never your things. I don’t see how any of this can matter to you. You are not really an Atreides.” Giving her a dismissive gesture, Alia called for the first course. By now, other diners had halted their conversations, and the usual dinner table murmurings had dwindled to a few tinklings of silverware, glasses, and plates.

Servants rushed about in a great flurry, serving extravagant salads, lush greens, and succulent raw vegetables grown in moisture-sealed greenhouses inside the Citadel. It was clear Alia wanted to speak no more of the matter.

In a voice as brittle as dried bone, Irulan asked, “Will the Lady Jessica be joining us for dinner?”

“My mother has chosen to meditate in her own rooms.”

Irulan decided to pay a visit to Jessica later in the evening. It was obvious that the other woman had much more to tell her, but Irulan hadn’t been ready to hear it. Irulan ate and then excused herself as quickly as possible.

When Jessica responded to a subdued knock at the door to her private apartments, she found the Princess standing there alone and troubled. In an instant, she read many things in the younger woman’s expression. “Please come inside for a cup of spice tea.”

After Jessica had closed the door behind them, Irulan used finger talk to silently explain what Alia had done; her coded words were tentative at first, but she gained energy as she allowed herself to become more upset. She felt a need for secrecy—perhaps irrationally, since Alia had just confirmed what she’d done in front of all the attendees at the banquet.

Absorbing the new information, Jessica let out a long sigh. Her fingers flashed in subtle communication, acknowledging the potential danger they faced. “My daughter grows increasingly unpredictable, and the challenge before you is great. You walk a dangerous, fine line—just as Paul did when he looked into the future and saw only a treacherous and uncertain path. Alia is the rightful Regent of the Imperium, and we must accept that. But even Alia doesn’t see everything. You have an important role, as do I. As does Bronso of Ix.”

Irulan was startled. “Bronso has an important role?”

“Paul understood it before I did, Irulan, and he asked us for help.” She gave a finger sign for added caution. Alia knew every Bene Gesserit code, and if there were hidden spy-eyes. . . .

Feigning casualness, Jessica sat back against her comfortable cushions, and reached over to pour them tea. Openly, as a diversion, she spoke of how much she missed Caladan and hoped to return there soon; all the while the fingers of one hand flashed subtly with the real message: “You will make your own decisions, Irulan. But in determining what to write, you must first know the truth, in all of its dimensions. Your special duty is to protect Paul’s legacy.”

Hunching over, hiding her hands in her lap, Jessica continued her quick finger signs. “You must hear the rest of the story about Bronso and Paul. Only then will you understand why Bronso writes what he does. We cannot speak here. I will arrange a safe time and place.”