After descending from the orbiting Heighliner and passing through the intricate atmospheric defensive systems, Duke Leto Atreides and Rhombur Vernius were met in the Mother School’s spaceport by a contingent of three black-robed women.

Wallach IX’s blue-white sun was not visible from the ground. A bone-chilling breeze whipped into the open-air portico where the group stood. Leto felt it through his clothing and could see white feathers of breath curl from his exhalations. At his side, Rhombur pulled the collar of his jacket tight.

The leader of the escort committee introduced herself as Mother Superior Harishka— an honor Leto had not expected. What have I ever done to warrant such attention? When he’d been imprisoned on Kaitain, awaiting his Trial by Forfeiture, the Bene Gesserit had secretly offered him assistance, but had never explained their reasons. The Bene Gesserit do nothing without a clear purpose.

Old but energetic, Harishka had dark almond eyes and a direct manner of speaking. “Prince Rhombur Vernius.” She bowed to the round-faced young man, who swept his purple-and-copper cape in a dashing gesture of his own. “It is a pity what happened to your Great House, a terrible pity. Even the Sisterhood finds the Bene Tleilax . . . incomprehensible.”

“Thank you, but uh, I am certain everything will work out. Just the other day our Ambassador in Exile submitted another petition to the Landsraad Council.” He smiled with forced optimism. “I seek no sympathy.”

“You seek only a concubine, correct?” The old woman turned to lead the way out of the portico and onto the grounds of the Mother School complex. “We welcome the opportunity to place one of our Sisters in Castle Caladan. I am sure she will benefit you, and the Atreides.”

They followed a cobblestone pathway between interlinked stucco buildings with terra-cotta roof tiles, arranged like the scales on a reef lizard. In a flower-filled courtyard, they paused at a stylized black quartz statue of a woman kneeling. “The founder of our ancient School,” Harishka said, “Raquella Berto-Anirul. By manipulating her own body chemistry, Raquella survived what would have been a lethal poisoning.”

Rhombur bent to read the brass plaque. “It says that all written and pictorial records of this woman were lost long ago when invaders set fire to the library building and destroyed the original statue. Uh, how do you know what she looked like?”

With a wrinkled smile, Harishka said cryptically, “Why, because we are witches.” Without another word, the robed old woman led the way down a short stairway and through a humid greenhouse where Acolytes and Sisters tended exotic plants and herbs. Perhaps medicines, perhaps even poisons.

The Mother School was a place of legend and mythology seen by few men, and Leto had been astonished at the warm acceptance that his brash request had received. He had asked the Bene Gesserit to select a talented, intelligent mate for Rhombur, and his tousle-haired friend had agreed to go “shopping.”

At a brisk pace Harishka crossed a grassy field where women in short, lightweight robes performed impossible stretching exercises to a vocal cadence called out by a wrinkled, stooped old woman who matched them, move for move. Leto found their bodily control astonishing.

When they finally entered a large stucco building with dark timbered beams and highly polished wooden floors, Leto was glad to be out of the sharp wind. The building had a dusty chalkboard smell from old plaster walls. The foyer opened into a practice hall, where a dozen young women in white robes stood motionless in the center, as erect as soldiers waiting for inspection. Their hoods were thrown back over their shoulders.

Mother Superior stopped in front of the acolytes. The two Reverend Mothers accompanying her went to stand behind the young women. “Who here seeks a concubine?” Harishka inquired. It was a traditional question, part of the ritual.

Rhombur stepped forward. “I do— uh, Prince Rhombur, firstborn son and heir of House Vernius. Or perhaps I seek even a wife.” He glanced over at Leto and lowered his voice. “Since my House is renegade, I don’t have to play silly political games. Unlike some people I know.”

Leto flushed, remembering the lessons his father had taught him. Find love wherever you like, but never marry for love. Your title belongs to House Atreides— use it to strike the best possible bargain.

He had recently traveled to forested Ecaz to meet with Archduke Armand in his provisional capital after the Moritani carpet-bombing of his ancestral château. Under the Emperor’s crackdown, sending a legion of Sardaukar to Grumman to keep the fuming Viscount at bay, open hostilities between the two Houses had stopped, at least for the moment.

Archduke Armand Ecaz had requested an investigation team to study the alleged sabotage of the famous Ecazi fogtree forests and other crops, but Shaddam had refused. “Let sleeping dogs lie” had been his official Imperial response. And he expected the problem to end there.

Recognizing Leto’s diligent attempts to calm the still-uneasy tensions, the Archduke had informally mentioned that his eldest daughter, Sanyá, might be a marriageable prospect for House Atreides. Upon hearing the suggestion, Leto had considered the assets of House Ecaz, their commercial, political, and military power, and how they might complement the resources of Caladan. He had not even looked at the girl in question. Study the political advantages of a marriage alliance. His father would have been pleased. . . .

Now, Mother Superior said, “These young women are well trained in the myriad ways of pleasing nobility. All have been chosen according to your profile, Prince.”

Rhombur approached the line of women and looked closely at each of their faces. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, some with skin as pale as milk, some as sleek and dark as ebony. All were beautiful, all intelligent . . . and all studied him with poise and anticipation.

Knowing his friend as he did, Leto was not surprised to see Rhombur pause in front of a rather plain-looking girl with wide-set sepia eyes and mousy brown hair cut as short as a man’s. She met Rhombur’s appraisal without looking away, without feigning a demure reaction as some of the others had done. Leto noted the faintest smile curving her lips upward.

“Her name is Tessia,” the Mother Superior said. “A very intelligent, talented young woman. She can recite the ancient classics perfectly, and plays several musical instruments.”

Rhombur tilted her chin up, looked into her dark brown eyes. “But can you laugh at a joke? And tell an even better one in return?”

“Clever wordplay, my Lord?” Tessia answered. “Do you prefer a distressingly bad pun, or a joke so bawdy it’ll make your cheeks burn?”

Rhombur guffawed with delight. “This one!” As he touched Tessia’s arm, she stepped out of line and walked with him for the first time. Leto was pleased to see his friend so happy, but his heart was heavy as well, considering his own lack of a relationship. Rhombur often did things on impulse, but had the fortitude to make them turn out right.

“Come here, children,” Harishka said in a solemn tone. “Stand before me and bow your heads.” They did so, holding hands.

With a paternal frown, Leto stepped forward to straighten Rhombur’s collar and brushed an offending wrinkle from his shoulder pad. The Ixian Prince flushed, then mumbled his thanks.

Harishka continued, “May you both lead long, productive lives and enjoy each other’s honorable company. You are now bound. If, in years to come, you should choose to marry and seal the bond beyond concubinage, you have the blessings of the Bene Gesserit. If you are not satisfied with Tessia, she may return here to the Mother School.”

Leto was surprised to witness so many ceremonial trappings in what was, fundamentally, a business agreement. By Courier from Caladan, he had already agreed upon a range of prices. Still, Mother Superior’s words imbued the relationship with some structure and established a foundation for good things to come.

“Prince Rhombur, this is a special woman, trained in ways that may surprise you. Heed her advice, for Tessia is wise beyond her years.” Mother Superior stepped back.

Tessia leaned forward to whisper in Rhombur’s ear, and the exiled Prince laughed. Looking at his friend, he said, “Tessia has an interesting idea. Leto, why don’t you select a concubine for yourself? There’s plenty to choose from.” He gestured toward the other Acolytes. “That way you won’t have to keep making eyes at my sister!”

Leto blushed furiously. His long-standing attraction to Kailea must be obvious, though he had taken steps over the years to conceal it. He had refused to take her to his bed, torn as he was by the demands of ducal duty and the admonitions of his father.

“I’ve had other lovers, Rhombur. You know that. City and village girls find their Duke attractive enough. There’s no shame in it— and I can maintain my honor with your sister.”

Rhombur rolled his eyes. “So, some fisherman’s daughter from the docks is good enough for you, but my sister isn’t?”

“That’s not it at all. I do this out of respect for House Vernius, and for you.”

Harishka broke in, “I am afraid the women we have brought here are not suitable for Duke Atreides. These have been selected for compatibility with Prince Rhombur.” Her prunish lips smiled. “Nonetheless, other arrangements might be made. . . .” She glanced up at an interior balcony, as if someone were watching them in concealment from above.

“I am not here for a concubine,” Leto said gruffly.

“Uh, he’s the independent sort,” Rhombur said to Mother Superior, then raised his eyebrows at Tessia. “What are we to do with him?”

“He knows what he wants, but does not know to admit it to himself,” Tessia said with a clever smile. “A bad habit for a Duke.”

Rhombur patted Leto on the back. “See, she’s already giving good advice. Why don’t you just take Kailea as your concubine and be done with it, Leto? I’m growing tired of your schoolboy angst. It’s certainly within your rights and, uh, we, both know it’s the best she can aspire to be.”

With an uneasy laugh, Leto dismissed the idea, though he had considered it many times. He had been hesitant to approach Kailea with such a suggestion. What might her reaction be? Would she demand to be more than a concubine? That was impossible.

Still, Rhombur’s sister understood political realities. Before the Ixian tragedy, the daughter of Earl Vernius would have been an acceptable match for a Duke (perhaps that’s what old Paulus had had in mind). But now, as head of House Atreides, Leto could never marry into a family that no longer held any Imperial title or fief.