Had the choice been mine, I would have put Shaddam Corrino to death and Count Hasimir Fenring along with him. However, I will honor my brother’s decision, though it may bring me misery later.

—ALIA ATREIDES, comment reported by Duncan Idaho

Accompanying the somber procession after Bronso’s execution, Princess Irulan walked beside Jessica along a wide swath that the guards had cleared through the crowds, so they could make their way over to the deathstill. Neither she nor Jessica spoke.

Despite her initial re sis tance, Irulan had come to realize that the entire scheme was one that Paul would have devised: He would have set up his own nemesis in order to dismantle the massive power structure of his own legend by whatever means possible. And Bronso had taken the secret with him into the deathstill.

Alia and Duncan, the Imperial Regent and her ghola consort, ascended the steps to the dais where the deathstill sat in the sunlight. Reclaimed moisture condensed on its transparent side panels and circulated through internal vents.

Droplets of humanity, Irulan thought.

The Qizarate had announced a day of rejoicing, a ghoulish celebration, and Alia seemed quite pleased about it. The thunderous cheers grew louder as Alia, Duncan, Gurney, Jessica, and Irulan stepped up to observe what the government had done, the “justice” that had been served. Irulan tried to recall her former anger over all the things Bronso had written, the lies he had told, the bold exaggerations he had concocted. She was not sure if she would have been willing to die—at least not that way—to protect her version of the truth.

A group of priests formed a ring around them on the platform, surrounding the deathstill. The Regent spoke in a loud, resonant voice that carried far beyond the dais. “Princess Irulan, wife of Muad’Dib, you are now free to correct the historical record, to refute the absurd claims of Bronso of Ix, and to strengthen my brother’s legacy for all time.”

Irulan formed her answer with great care. “I will do what is right, Regent Alia.” Jessica glanced at the Princess, but the answer seemed to satisfy Alia, as well as the crowd, judging by the exuberant response.

Though obviously disturbed, Jessica stepped forward so that she reached the deathstill before Alia. She raised her voice to the throng. “Priests, bring us goblets! This is the water of Bronso of Ix, and all of us know what he has done.”

After a flurry of confusion, two Qizaras rushed forward bearing five ornate goblets. Irulan watched Jessica, struggling to understand what she was doing. Gurney Halleck held his tongue, though he seemed deeply concerned.

Alia, however, was delighted by her mother’s suggestion. “Ah! Just as Count Fenring drank of his evil daughter’s water after I killed her—so now we do the same to Bronso.”

The priests formally distributed the goblets, and Irulan accepted hers. Despite the day’s heat and the pressing crowds, the metal felt surprisingly cold in her grip.

From the deathstill’s reservoir, Jessica decanted water into her cup and waited while Duncan did the same for himself and Alia. With pointed movements, Jessica also filled the goblets held by Gurney and Irulan. When the Princess hesitated, Jessica said clearly, “It is water, Ir-ulan. Nothing more.”

“The water of the vanquished traitor.” Alia lifted her goblet. “As the enemy of Muad’Dib vanishes, his water rejuvenates us and gives us strength.” She took a long sip.

“Bronso of Ix,” Jessica said, then drank.

Irulan shuddered, suddenly understanding Jessica’s motives. To her, it was not a condemnation, but a toast, a salute to acknowledge his brave, selfless actions, and the terrible sacrifice he had made for Paul and for the legacy of humankind. In a way, it was a counterpoint to the harsh but necessary thing that Jessica had done to the ten foolish rebels on Caladan, so many years ago. But this was not a goblet of poison, merely water. . . .

Irulan drove back her uncomfortable feelings. It is water. The liquid was warm and tasteless, distilled, filtered, pure . . . and not at all satisfying. But she drank it to honor Bronso, as Jessica had intended.

Afterward, Alia commanded that the rest of the traitor’s water be distributed among the highest ranking members of the priesthood, as a sort of communion.

As the crowds began to disperse following the execution spectacle, a commotion erupted in the streets. With great fanfare, a troupe of acrobats began bounding and pirouetting, using suspensor belts to fly high in the air and perform tricks. People laughed and applauded, their good humor hard-edged and barely slaked by the blood of the man they had just seen put to death.

“Jongleurs!” someone called. Jessica watched them come, saw them use the crowd as a springboard. Agile acrobats, seemingly made of an elastic substance, pranced and danced and flew, moving closer to the dais, performing for the crowd as well as for the royal spectators.

At the front strutted an elegant man in an amazingly white outfit. He stood tall, raised one hand, and shouted: “I am Rheinvar the Magnificent, and we have come to perform for you in honor of Paul-Muad’Dib!” With a gracious gesture, he extended both hands toward the platform. “And of course, to honor the Regent Alia, the Princess Irulan, and the lovely Lady Jessica.”

In the midst of polite applause, Jessica recalled something Bronso had said when telling his tale about Rheinvar: Many things have changed . . . only appearances remain the same.

The dignitaries remained to watch as the Jongleurs completed their show. Then Alia directed her priests to pay them handsomely.