Eighteen months had passed.

A full moon bathed Castle Caladan in silver, casting shadows of the turrets along the edge of the cliff that overlooked a troubled sea. From his discreet vantage in the ornamental garden, Thufir Hawat saw Duke Leto and Kailea Vernius strolling along the verge of the precipice, star-crossed lovers.

She had been his official, but unbound, concubine for more than a year, and sometimes the two enjoyed quiet, romantic moments like this one. Leto was in no hurry to accept any of the numerous offers of marriage alliances that came to him from other Houses of the Landsraad.

Hawat’s constant surveillance irritated the Duke, who demanded some measure of privacy. But as Security Commander of House Atreides, the Mentat did not care. Leto had a troubling tendency to place himself in vulnerable positions, to be too trusting of the people around him. Hawat would rather incur his Duke’s disfavor by being too attentive, than allow a fatal mistake to slip past his scrutiny. Duke Paulus had died in the bullring because Hawat hadn’t watched closely enough. He vowed never to make such an error again.

As Leto and Kailea walked in the chill night, Hawat worried that the trail was too narrow, too close to a deadly drop into the rocky surf. Leto refused to permit guardrails. He wanted the path exactly as his father had left it, since the Old Duke had also walked along the headlands, pondering problems of state. It was a matter of tradition, and the Atreides were brave men.

Hawat scanned the darkness with infrared glasses, saw no movement in the shadows other than his own troopers stationed on the trail and along the base of the rock face. With a tiny blacklight he signaled two of the men to take different positions.

He had to be constantly on the alert.

Leto held Kailea’s hand and looked at her delicate features and her dark copper hair blowing in the night breeze. Her coat collar was turned up around her slender neck. As stunningly beautiful as any lady of the Imperium, Rhombur’s sister carried herself like an Empress. But Leto could never marry her. He must remain true to traditions, as his father had done, and his grandfather before that. The course of honor . . . and political expediency.

However, no one, not even the ghost of Paulus Atreides, could argue against such a union if the fortunes of House Vernius were ever restored. For months, with Leto’s wholehearted support, Rhombur had secretly been sending modest funds and other resources to C’tair Pilru and the Freedom Fighters of Ix through surreptitious channels, and he had received bits of information in return, schedules, surveillance images. Now that he had taken some action at last, Rhombur seemed more vital and alive than he’d been in a long time.

Pausing at the top of the trail that led down to the beach, Leto smiled, knowing Hawat was somewhere nearby, as always. He turned to the woman beside him. “Caladan has been my home since childhood, Kailea, and to me it is always beautiful. But I can see you’re not really happy here.” A nightgull flew up into the air, startling them with its thin screams.

“It’s not your fault, Leto. You’ve already done so much for my brother and me.” Kailea didn’t look at him. “This just isn’t . . . where I had imagined I would be.”

Knowing her dreams, he said, “I wish I could take you to Kaitain more often, so that you might enjoy the Imperial Court. I’ve seen how you light up at gala events. You’re so radiant that it makes me sad having to bring you back to Caladan. It isn’t glamorous here, not the life you were accustomed to.” The words were an apology for all the things he could not offer her— the luxury, the prestige, the legitimacy of belonging to a Great House again. He wondered if she understood the sense of duty that bound him.

Kailea’s soft voice sounded uncertain; she had seemed nervous all afternoon. She paused on the path. “Ix is gone, Leto, and all the glamour with it. I have accepted that.” They turned to gaze in silence upon the night-black ocean before she spoke again. “Rhombur’s rebels can never overthrow the Tleilaxu, can they?”

“We know too little about what’s really going on there. Reports are scattered. You think he’s better off not trying?” Leto looked hard at her with his smoke-gray eyes, trying to understand her anxiety. “Miracles can happen.”

She seized the opening she had been waiting for. “Miracles, yes. And now I have one to tell you, my Duke.” He looked at her with a blank expression. Kailea’s lips curved in a complex smile. “I am going to have your child.”

Stunned, he froze in place. Far out at sea, a pod of murmons sang a deep song as a counterpoint to throbbing sonic buoys that marked the treacherous reefs. Then, slowly leaning down, Leto kissed Kailea, felt the familiar moistness of her mouth.

“Are you pleased?” She sounded very fragile. “I didn’t try to conceive. It just happened.”

He stepped away from Kailea, held her at arm’s length so he could study her face. “Of course!” He touched her stomach gently. “I’ve imagined having a son.”

“Perhaps now would be a good time for me to consider obtaining another lady-in-waiting?” Kailea asked, anxiously. “I’ll need assistance in preparing for childbirth— not to mention help with the baby when it is born.”

He hugged her with strong arms. “If you want another lady-in-waiting, then you shall have her.” Thufir Hawat would check out any candidates for the Atreides household with his usual thoroughness. “I’ll get you ten if you wish!”

“Thank you, Leto.” She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “But one should be sufficient.”

Dust and heat hung over everything. Hoping that the dry climate might help his condition, Baron Harkonnen spent more time on Arrakis. But he still felt miserable.

In his Carthag workroom, the Baron reviewed spice-harvesting reports, trying to concoct new ways to conceal earnings from the Emperor, from CHOAM, from the Spacing Guild. Owing to his increasing bulk, the desk had been customized with a cutout to accommodate his belly. His flaccid arms rested on the gritty desktop.

A year and a half ago, the Bene Gesserit had brought him to an impasse, with threats and counterthreats, blackmail in both directions. Rabban had lost their no-ship. He and the witches had remained at a safe but uneasy distance from each other.

Still, the wounds rankled, and he grew weaker— and fatter— every day.

His scientists had been trying to build another no-ship, without the assistance of the Richesian genius Chobyn, whom Rabban had slain. The Baron saw red every time he thought of his nephew’s numerous blunders.

Plans and holorecordings of the original construction process had been flawed, or so the Baron’s scientists claimed. As a result, their first new prototype had crashed into the obsidian slopes of Mount Ebony, killing the entire crew. Serves them right.

The Baron wondered if he would prefer a sudden death like that to torturous debilitation and decay. He had poured an enormous amount of solaris into a state-of-the-art medical research facility on Giedi Prime, with the grudging, part-time assistance of the Richesian Suk doctor Wellington Yueh, who was still more interested in his cyborg research than in finding ways to help the suffering Baron. The Richesian Premier still hadn’t sent him a bill for the services, but the Baron didn’t care.

Despite all this effort, there had been no results, and continued threats didn’t seem to help. For the Baron, the simple act of walking, which he’d once done so effortlessly and with such grace, was now a major task. Soon the wormhead cane would not be enough.

“I have news of an interesting development, my Baron,” Piter de Vries said, gliding into the dusty Carthag offices.

He frowned at the interruption. The gaunt Mentat, wearing a pale blue robe, hid his sapho-stained smile. “The concubine of Duke Leto Atreides has sent inquiries to the Imperial Court, seeking the services of a personal lady-in-waiting. I came to inform you as soon as I was able. However, because of the urgency involved, I . . . took the liberty of setting a plan in motion.”

The Baron raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And what is this interesting plan that you felt needed no approval from me?”

“There is a certain matron living in the household of Suuwok Hesban, the son of Elrood’s former Court Chamberlain Aken Hesban. For some time now, she has provided us with excellent information on the Hesban family. At my instigation, this matron, Chiara Rash-Olin, has let it be known that she is interested in the Atreides position, and is to be interviewed on Caladan.”

“Inside the Atreides household?” the fat man said. He saw a crafty smile form on the slender Mentat’s face, which mirrored the Baron’s own delight. “That provides some . . . interesting opportunities.”

Kailea waited in the lobby of the Cala Municipal Spaceport, pacing a floor of embedded seashells and limestone fossils. Behind her stood dashing Captain Swain Goire, whom Leto had assigned as her personal bodyguard. The guard’s dark hair and lean features reminded her of Leto’s own.

She was early for the arriving shuttle and its passenger from Kaitain. She had already met Chiara, interviewing the matronly woman here on Caladan. The new lady-in-waiting came with impeccable references, had even worked for the family of Emperor Elrood’s personal Chamberlain. She was able to tell endless stories about the splendid court life on Kaitain. Kailea had accepted her immediately.

Why an intelligent old woman would ever want to leave the Imperial capital for the comparative backwater of Caladan, she could not understand. “Oh, but I love the sea. And I love the peace,” Chiara had answered. “When you get older, lovely child, you may feel the same way.”

Kailea doubted that, but could hardly contain her excitement at the good fortune in finding this woman. She had waited anxiously while Thufir Hawat inspected Chiara Rash-Olin’s past, questioned her about previous years of service. Even the old Mentat had been unable to find fault with her background.

As her pregnancy progressed, Kailea had counted the days until Chiara began to fulfill her duties. On the day of the scheduled arrival, Leto was holding court in Castle Caladan, listening to the complaints and disputes of his people, but Kailea had departed early for the nearby airfield, which was dotted with skyclippers, ’thopters, and other aircraft.

With barely restrained anticipation, Kailea studied the large spaceport building, marking details she hadn’t noticed before. The original bulbous shape had been modified with interior moldings, modern windows, and decorations. But it still looked old and quaint, unlike the marvelous architecture of Kaitain.

She heard an atmospheric thump, felt it even through the floor. A streak of blue-orange light broke through the cloud cover from the supersonic descent of the bullet-shaped lighter. The small vessel slowed abruptly on high-powered suspensors, then came to a gentle perch on the field. Shields pulsed, flicked off.

“Precisely on time,” Swain Goire said beside her. The handsome captain stood straight and tall, like a hero from a filmbook. “The Guild prides itself on punctuality.”

“Not soon enough for me.” Kailea hurried forward to meet the disembarking passengers.

Chiara chose not to dress the part of a servant. Over her plump form she wore a traveling suit of comfortable zeetwill, and her iron-gray hair was coiffed into an elegant swirl, capped with a jeweled beret. Her pink cheeks glowed.

“What a pleasure to see you again, dear,” Chiara purred. She breathed deeply of the moist, salty air. Behind her trailed eight suspensor-borne trunks, bulging at their clasps.

With a glance at Kailea’s barely rounded belly and then into her green eyes, she commented, “It must be a routine pregnancy so far. You’re looking well, my dear. A little peaked, perhaps, but I have remedies for that.”

Kailea beamed. At last she had an intelligent companion, someone with Imperial sophistication to help her with the troubling details— household matters and business decisions required by her demanding, though loving, Duke.

Walking beside the old lady-in-waiting, Kailea asked the foremost question on her mind. “What’s the latest from the Imperial Court?”

“Oh, my dear! There is so much to tell you.”