Though I do not regret my years of service to House Atreides, there are no words to express some of the things I have witnessed, and done, and endured. I will not even try—I’d rather they were forgotten.

—GURNEY HALLECK, Unfinished Songs

Seeing the bodies slumped around the banquet table, Gurney was both furious and sickened. He stared for a long moment at the surprise and disbelief frozen on the faces of Mayor Horvu, the village priest, and the other instigators.

After letting Gurney back inside the room, Jessica made sure the chamber door remained securely locked, knowing this would test the depths of the man’s loyalty. “You didn’t do this, Gurney. I did. It was a terrible price to pay—but it was the smallest price I could find.”

Gurney looked at her, his eyes red. “But you knew these people, my Lady! They were foolish, but they had good hearts. They were like children playing on a galactic stage.” He gestured toward the sprawled figures. “They were innocents.”

Jessica steeled her voice. She needed him with her now. “They were not innocents. Did we not both counsel them against rebellion? I myself warned them that there would be significant consequences if they proceeded. And do you believe it was an accident that they sent out those couriers behind your back, and while I was gone? And when did mere innocents start to take hostages? They let the situation get out of hand, and Paul would never have forgiven their revolt or swept it aside. If he showed any weakness or hesitation here, then other planets would have broken from the Imperium. The Emperor would have had to crack down on planet after planet, undoubtedly sterilizing even more worlds.” She looked at the silent victims around the banquet table. “This . . . this was only ten lives. Not such a high price.”

Gurney frowned, struggling to fit the tragedy into his concept of honor and decency, as well as loyalty to her and to House Atreides. With an effort, Jessica kept her voice from breaking; she sounded strong and firm, thanks to her Bene Gesserit training—and she hated herself for it.

“Without these instigators, the revolt on Caladan falls apart. Therefore, Paul doesn’t have to respond at all. It remains a local matter, which I have dealt with, as Duchess. No need for the Fedaykin to get involved. Without these ten people, there will be no additional violence, or bloodshed, or repercussions on a hundred other worlds.” She swallowed hard and added, “You know it yourself, Gurney. A mad dog must be put down before it can cause greater harm. These people were mad dogs. It was the only way. If I had hesitated . . .”

Finally, tears fell from her eyes, and she wiped them away with a quick gesture. Gurney turned his eyes away, pretending not to notice. All her life, the Sisterhood had forced her to build up impenetrable walls around her emotions, forced her not to feel, but in such an extreme case, after the terrible decision she had made, Jessica could not help herself.

The lumpy man nodded, very slowly. When she saw his mood change, Jessica realized she’d never had any doubt that Gurney Halleck would remain loyal to her.

He said, “So these ten are no different from the cannon-fodder shock troops in a war zone. They died in a battle that they helped create, and unfortunately they chose the wrong side.” His voice sounded bleak. “I understand it better now, my Lady, but I still don’t like it. I don’t like what this changes in me. I’ve killed plenty of people in my service to House Atreides, but never before have I felt as if I participated in . . . murder.”

Jessica took his hands in hers and said sadly, “Time and war change everything from bright and new to old, worn, and dirty. It is not murder. That’s not the right word for it when a ruler performs necessary executions. As the Duchess of Caladan, that is one of my hardest duties.”

She could no longer maintain any semblance of her composure. She rushed from the banquet hall, saying nothing else, giving no further orders. When she returned later, she knew that all the bodies would be gone, and everything would appear normal once more.

Inside her chambers, Jessica closed the door and threw the bolt home. She hoped the wooden barrier would be thick enough that no one could hear her. Fortunately, on Caladan there was no stricture against giving water to the dead.

Hours later, after she had drained away her grief, Jessica sat at her writing desk to compose a coldly worded message. The glow-globe cast a pool of light around her. Years ago, when she had asked the Bene Gesserit for help in finding the boys Paul and Bronso, she had received only a curt refusal. Now it was her turn to send a response that minced no words. She addressed the letter specifically to Reverend Mother Mohiam, her stern teacher, her secret mother.

“Your plan has failed. I know how you tried to manipulate me and others, but I am no longer a cog in your machine, and I will never be a part of your inner circle. So be it. I never asked to be Mother Superior.

“I know who you are, Gaius Helen Mohiam. I know your soul is filled with acid. Heed this warning—to you, personally, and to the entire Sisterhood: If the Bene Gesserits make another attempt to disgrace or destroy Paul, I will convince my son to send the full weight of his Jihad against the Mother School. I will ask him to sterilize Wallach IX, as he has sterilized other worlds. Believe me, I can persuade him to do it, so do not doubt my sincerity. He has wiped out other groups—religious and secular—that offended him. Do not add yourselves to that list.”

She paused in her writing, but anger pounded in her temples. Mohiam had made her come so close to believing their lies, so close to killing her own son.

Jessica added a postscript: “Do not send me messages or dispatch your envoys to Caladan. I have no desire to hear from you again. You berated me for allowing myself to feel love. I assure you, I am also capable of feeling hatred.”