I see darkness everywhere, but also the tiniest pinpoint of light marking the hopes of mankind.

—Conversations with Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

Inside the Citadel’s vaulted exhibition arena, Lady Jessica sat on a hard stonewood bench between Alia and Irulan, watching a private performance of barefoot Jervish Updancers. They moved in a lissome blur, dressed in the blue and gold costumes of their remote planet.

On the other side of Irulan, Harah dutifully kept an eye on the twin babies, who were propped up in traditional Fremen baskets. Though only three months old, little Leto and Ghanima watched the dancers with obvious delight. Irulan also watched over Paul’s children, still in the process of redefining her own role. Duncan and Gurney were both offworld, chasing a lead in the endless hunt for Bronso of Ix. . . .

For the past several days, Jessica had watched Irulan wrestle with her conflicting obligations to balance the difficult thing that Paul wanted with the equally impossible task that Alia demanded.

Following the sandworm attack, Alia had sponsored the day’s private show in the Citadel to prove that all was right with the Imperium. “The people are done with mourning, and it is time to find things to celebrate. The Regency is strong, Muad’Dib is remembered, and all worlds will prosper.”

The performance floor was made of rough paver bricks, like broken rubble, but the Updancers handled themselves with no missteps in a remarkable series of airborne flips and inverted moves, using their hands and feet interchangeably.

“Once when I was a girl, a similar troupe came to perform at my father’s Palace,” Irulan said, brushing a bit of grit off the lap of her elegant white dress. “My father placed hot coals across the dancing arena.”

Jessica found it difficult to concentrate on the dance. A fly buzzed near her, and she swatted it away; somehow it had gotten inside the huge conservatory arena.

Paul had pondered deeply about his dangerous legacy, about the risks of letting himself be deified . . . but what had it done to the Atreides name and to those in the family he had left behind? His sister Alia was not ready to be thrust into the middle of such a windstorm of history, though she was struggling mightily to prove to all of her followers, and to herself, that she could be the equal of her brother.

And, Jessica knew, there were the twin babies—her grandchildren—to consider. In attempting to destroy the false holy aura that surrounded Paul’s actions, what if Bronso was creating even more danger for the twins? She hadn’t considered that before.

Ignoring the Updancers, Jessica watched how Irulan behaved next to the children. Jessica wondered how much Irulan could possibly have learned about being a mother from all her Bene Gesserit training and her experiences growing up in the Imperial court on Kaitain. Still, she definitely seemed devoted to the babies now.

The twins and their potential raised so many questions in Jessica’s mind. If Paul was the Kwisatz Haderach, what powers might he have passed on to his children? How soon would anyone know if the two babies had access to Other Memory—and if so, would it become a challenge for them, as it was for Alia? Already, Leto and Ghanima demonstrated advanced behavior, oddities of personality. They were the orphaned children of a messianic Emperor who had been surrounded by fanatics: Of course these two would not be normal children.

During a lull in the performance, Jessica leaned closer to Alia and finally raised the point that had weighed on her for some time. “As your mother, I remember how difficult it was for you to be different at a young age, an unusual child treated as an outsider, an . . . abomination.”

Alia responded sharply. “My differences made me strong, and I had my older brother’s help.”

“Mine, as well. And now I am concerned for my grandchildren. They need special study, special training.”

“Leto and Ghanima will have my care and assistance. As the children of Muad’Dib, they will grow up to be strong.” She gazed wistfully at the babies in their baskets. “I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry about them, Mother.”

Walking on their hands, the Updancers circled in front of the small audience, kicking their bare feet and calling out boisterously in their own language. The distracting fly came back to buzz around Jessica’s head again.

“Of course I worry about them. The court of Muad’Dib is not the safest place in the Imperium. They would be perfectly protected with me on Caladan. I could raise the twins in the ancestral home of House Atreides, away from conspiracies and schemes here. You know how many threats you have already faced. Let them come back with me.”

Alia reacted with surprising vehemence. “No, they will stay here! As Muad’Dib’s children, they must be raised on Dune, and be part of Dune.”

Jessica maintained a hard calmness. “I am their grandmother, and I have more time to spend on their welfare than you do. You’re the Regent of the Imperium. Caladan is a place where Leto and Ghanima can study careful meditation, learn to control any voices that might be inside of them.”

“The Atreides homeworld would only make them soft, water fat, and complacent. How many times did Paul speak of that? Paradise and ease make men lose their edge.” She half rose out of her seat. “No, the twins are children of this planet, and they belong in the desert. I will not allow them to leave.”

Irulan interceded. “I have already sworn to watch over his children and care for them as if they were my own.” The Princess looked from Alia to Jessica and back again, torn between the choices. “But the Lady Jessica also has a point, Alia. Perhaps Leto and Ghanima could live alternately on Caladan and on Dune? It would give the children balance and a sense of their own history.”

“They are also Atreides—” Jessica said.

“No!” Alia seemed on the verge of violence, and Irulan flinched despite her best efforts at control. “No one can understand those children better than I do. I will be the first to note the danger signs of possession. I will hear no more of this—from either of you.”

Irulan fell immediately silent. Jessica realized that, even after she returned to Caladan, the Princess would remain here, at the mercy of Alia’s whims, forced to keep herself useful and prove her loyalty to the Regency.

Barely noticed by their auspicious audience, the Updancers finished their performance and stood in a line on their hands. One by one, they flipped right-side up, bowed, and scampered out of the building.

With the show over, and the discussion about the children still stinging in her mind, Jessica rose from the stonewood bench. “Please pass along my personal appreciation for the fine show. I will retire to my chambers to meditate.” She walked away swiftly.

As Jessica reached a sunlit stone garden, the per sis tent fly buzzed near her again, swirling around her face and darting close to her ear. Jessica wondered which sloppy door seals in the enclosed citadel had allowed the annoying desert insect inside. She tried to swat at it, but the fly maneuvered itself close to her face.

She was shocked to hear it emit a tiny voice. “Lady Jessica, this is Bronso Vernius. I have placed my recording in this disguised device. I need your help—for my mother’s sake. Please meet me in secret. Listen carefully.” The Ixian insect device recited a location, and a time two days hence.

Knowing that she might be observed, even here, Jessica continued to walk away. She showed no surprise at the clever way that Bronso had found to contact her. Putting a hand over her mouth as if to cover a cough, she said, “I understand, and I’ll be there.”

The fly darted off.