Alas, history can be rewritten according to political agendas, but in the end, facts remain facts.

—Conversations with Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

After establishing an acceptable pretext that she and Irulan wished to attend a Fremen ceremony at Sietch Tabr the following evening, Jessica specifically requested Gurney Halleck to pilot the ornithopter. Preoccupied with a new set of motions that had been delivered from the latest Landsraad meeting on Kaitain, Alia sent them off without any apparent concern.

Gurney made the ’thopter preparations with good cheer, meeting the two women in a vehicle bay that was normally used for Regency business and security operations. “The guards assigned us this craft, my Ladies. I have loaded aboard literjons of water, a Fremkit, and other emergency supplies. We are ready to go.”

Jessica paused, then looked over her shoulder. “We’ll take that one instead, Gurney. I like the look of it better. You can go over the checklist yourself quickly enough.” Any ’thopter that Alia had assigned to them might contain hidden listening devices, and Jessica wanted no one to hear what she was about to reveal.

Though surprised by the unexpected change, Gurney called for assistance in preparing the second craft. Catching his eye, Jessica made a subtle half-hidden signal with her hand, using an old Atreides battle code to inform him that he was to ask no further questions. A troubled cloud came over the man’s face, darkening the line of his inkvine scar, before he returned to his casual demeanor.

The mechanics and uniformed guards were thrown into confusion by the sudden change, but Gurney brushed them aside and quickly transferred over the supplies, checked the fuel level, and tested the ’thopter systems, while Irulan and Jessica waited in the vehicle bay. Both of the noble ladies looked out of place.

When he was satisfied, Gurney opened the door of the craft and extended a hand to help Irulan and Jessica aboard. After they had secured themselves inside, he powered up the engines, extended the stubby wings, and activated the jetpods.

The craft flew away from the Citadel of Muad’Dib, into the sparkling traffic patterns of the desert night. Both moons shone overhead, widely separated in the sky. Gurney fixed his gaze ahead through the cockpit plaz, guiding them through the thermal turbulence caused by temperatures falling after sunset. They flew up and over the rugged barrier of the Shield Wall.

Jessica drew a long, deep breath. “I wanted you to be my pilot, Gurney, because I trust you completely. Even if Duncan is the old Duncan, Alia has him too ensnared.” She glanced over at Irulan, who looked willowy and beautiful, though not fragile. “And I’m not certain that I share Alia’s goals in all things. For what I am about to reveal—to both of you—I require absolute privacy. Alia cannot be allowed to know what I tell you.”

Though he concentrated on his flying, Gurney was troubled. “I am always loyal to you, my Lady, but for a mother to keep such secrets from her daughter, it’s not to my liking.”

Jessica sighed. “They are secrets about my son, and they concern you as well, Gurney. Back in Arrakeen, there are too many eyes and ears, as there will be in Sietch Tabr. We need time alone. Absolutely alone.” She leaned forward, spoke into his ear over the thrumming of the articulated wings. “Find us a place to land—a rock outcropping somewhere not too obvious. Once I begin, I’ll want your full attention, and this could take some time.”

Flying over the open desert, Gurney passed several low ridges, black islands in the sand that he did not find satisfactory. At last he selected a reef of rock far enough outside their anticipated flight path. He circled, then fiddled with the control panel. “I can contrive a minor malfunction in one of the engines so that the ’thopter log shows we were required to land and make repairs.”

“Good thinking, Gurney.”

He set them down on the rugged surface, where they were entirely alone. “There, my Lady, I hope this place will serve. I know of no Fremen caches or formal sietches near here. It’s too small to be worth anything.” His glass-splinter eyes were bright, but she saw a dread within them: He did not relish the prospect of what she would have to say.

Jessica fitted her noseplugs, adjusted her face mask, checked other fittings on her stillsuit. “Come, we will go outside onto the rocks, away from the ’thopter.” She couldn’t be too careful. Saying little, she and her two companions went outside into the quiet desert night.

Jessica led them to a sheltered overhang of dark rock, where they could still see the ’thopter sitting like a large, ungainly insect where it had landed. Wind whispered around them as they found places to sit on the hard surfaces. “This will do fine,” she said.

Irulan composed herself, waiting attentively in the shelter of rock. “I’m eager to hear you explain why you seem to keep defending, or at least shielding, Bronso.”

Gurney perked up. “I would like to know that as well, my Lady, but I refrained from asking questions, as you requested.”

“You’ll know the hard truth I learned about Paul, and you’ll know why—wrongly—I decided that I had to kill my own son.”

Before her listeners could recover from what she had said, Jessica drew a long breath, marshaled her thoughts, and spoke openly. “After the death of Earl Rhombur in 10,188, House Vernius remained estranged from House Atreides for a long time. But twelve years later, during the worst excesses of the Jihad, while Paul was Emperor, events conspired to bring the two Great Houses together again. . . .”