I have long disagreed with the fundamental Bene Gesserit admonition against falling in love. Love itself is not the danger. People who do not understand the sentiment, or who care nothing for it, are far more dangerous.

—LADY JESSICA in a letter to Mother Superior Harishka on Wallach IX

The next day, returning from Sietch Tabr after an uneventful visit with the Fremen, Jessica went to her private chambers in the great Citadel of Muad’Dib. She felt exhausted, and was experiencing second thoughts about having shared her heavy secrets. The knowledge of Bronso’s mission would only make circumstances more difficult for Gurney, and especially for Irulan. She had placed the Princess in an untenable situation, and Jessica wasn’t entirely sure that Irulan wanted to believe what she had heard.

But they were truths, painful and necessary truths.

Forcing calm upon herself, Jessica prepared to meditate and practice subtle exercises of precise muscular control, to relax her body and clear her mind. Soon she would return to her Atreides homeworld. Caladan, oh Caladan! She missed the sound of the rushing sea and the fresh smells, in stark contrast with the sensory-deadening rasp of blowing sand from the constant winds of Dune. Even so, she didn’t think she could ever leave the desert planet behind entirely.

When she entered her main chamber, however, she discovered that Alia had left her a grim gift.

Two battered literjons of water rested on the writing table. The containers looked old and scuffed, as if they had been carelessly tossed out of a spice factory to be weathered on the sands. She didn’t understand the significance. Intriguingly, the literjons bore the worn mark of the Regency.

Considering her growing disagreements with Alia and the tensions brewing in the government, Jessica wondered what her daughter could mean by this gift. No person on Dune would refuse a gift of water, especially such a substantial amount. Was it a peace offering? Alia was certainly aware that her mother disapproved of the purges, the growing repression, the willful exaggerations of Paul’s myth. Still, Jessica did not want to be at odds with her daughter, and she sensed that Alia longed for acceptance as well.

A spice-paper note written in Alia’s hand sat beside one of the literjons. “This water belongs to one who was close to both of us, Mother. Dispose of it as you will.”

Looking more closely at the containers, Jessica saw code letters in Atreides battle language. Even the amazon guards who had delivered the literjons would not have been able to read the message:

Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam.

Jessica froze. This was the reclaimed water of the scheming old woman who had called Alia an Abomination, who had worked repeatedly to destroy Paul and bring down his rule. The water of Jessica’s own birth mother, whom Stilgar had executed.

The water of her mother . . . Did Alia mean this as some kind of threat, warning Jessica that she too could be removed and distilled? No, that didn’t seem correct.

Despite her noble birth, Alia considered herself a Fremen, and the people of the desert revered the water of the dead, considering it a gift to the tribe. The distilled water of one’s mother was also considered sacred, yet Jessica knew what this hateful old woman had done. And she knew how close Mohiam had come to succeeding, not only in her conspiracy to start revolts on numerous worlds, but in duping Jessica. If not for a moment’s hesitation, Jessica might have killed Paul. . . .

Alia was letting her decide what to do with the old witch’s water.

Jessica glowered long and hard at the literjons, and said, as if Mohiam could still hear her, “My son always meant more to me than you could imagine—far more than my mother ever did.” Having just relived all those emotions from telling the story to Gurney and Irulan, she could not contain her bitterness. “You tried to make me murder him.”

Fremen also said that water tainted by an evil spirit must be spilled upon the ground.

Not caring if Alia watched through a hidden spy hole, Jessica twisted off the sealed caps of the literjons. Without hesitation or regret, she poured the water of the loathsome old witch onto the dry stone floor.