When a grim and unsettled Dominic Vernius returned to the polar base on Arrakis, his men rushed to greet him. Seeing the man’s expression, though, they knew their leader did not bear welcome news.

Under the bald pate and heavy brow, his eyes were haunted, deep-set in shadowed hollows; his once-bronzed skin had aged prematurely, as if all the color and spirit had been scrubbed from him, leaving him with only an iron will. His last thread of hope had been severed, and now vengeance burned in his gaze.

Bundled in a heavy synfur coat open at the front to reveal his mat of white chest hair, the veteran Asuyo stood on the landing platform, his expression lined with concern. He scratched his bristly shock of hair. “What is it, Dom? What’s happened, eh?”

Dominic Vernius just stared at the towering walls of the crevasse that rose like a fortress around him. “I have seen things no Ixian should have to witness. My beloved world is as dead as my wife.”

In a daze, he walked from his empty ship into the warren of passages that his men had drilled into the frozen walls. More smugglers greeted him, asked him for tidings . . . but he continued without answering. In confusion, the men whispered.

Aimless, Dominic wandered from one passage to another. He trailed his fingertips along the polymer-sealed walls, imagining the caves of Ix. Coming to a stop, he drew a deep breath, and let his gaze fall half-closed. Through sheer force of will, he tried to summon the glory of House Vernius behind his eyelids, the wonders of the underground city of Vernii, the Grand Palais, the inverted stalactite buildings of crystalline architecture.

Despite centuries of fierce competition from Richese, Ixians had been the undisputed masters of technology and innovation. But in only a few years the Tleilaxu had gutted those accomplishments, closed access to Ix, even driven off the Guild Bank, causing financiers to deal through off-world headquarters of Tleilaxu choosing. . . .

In his prime, during the revolt on Ecaz, Dominic Vernius had given everything for his Emperor. He’d fought and sweated and bled to defend Corrino honor. So long ago, as if in another lifetime . . .

Back then, the Ecazi separatists had seemed to be misguided dreamers, violent yet naive guerrillas who needed to be crushed into submission, lest they set a bad precedent for other uneasy worlds in the galactic Imperium.

Dominic had lost many good men in those struggles. He had buried comrades. He had seen the painful deaths of soldiers who followed his orders into battle. He remembered rushing across the stubbled field of a burned forest beside Johdam’s brother, a brave and fast-thinking man. Yelling, weapons pointed ahead, they had fired into the nest of resistance fighters. Johdam’s brother had dropped to the ground. Dominic thought he’d tripped on a blackened root, but when he bent to pull the other man to his feet, he found only a smoldering neck stump from a photonic artillery blast. . . .

Dominic had won the battle that day, at the cost of nearly a third of his men. His troops had succeeded in wiping out the Ecazi rebels, and for that, he had received accolades. The fallen soldiers had received mass graves on a planet far from their homes.

The Corrinos did not deserve such sacrifices.

The CHOAM directorship of House Vernius had been expanded because of his great deeds. At the victory celebrations, with a very young Archduke Ecaz seated once again on the Mahogany Throne, he’d been a revered guest on Kaitain. At Elrood’s side, Dominic had strolled through halls brimming with crystal, precious metals, and polished woods. He’d sat at feasting tables that seemed to stretch for kilometers, while crowds outside cheered his name. He’d stood proudly below the Golden Lion Throne while the Emperor presented him with the Medal of Valor, and other medals for his lieutenants.

Dominic had emerged as a famous hero from those battles, earning the undying loyalty of his men— as they had shown him for years now, even here in this squalid place. No, the Corrinos deserved none of that.

What are you thinking, Dominic? The voice seemed to whisper in his head, a soft musical tone that was oddly familiar . . . yet nearly forgotten.

Shando. But it could not be. What are you thinking, Dominic?

“What I saw on Ix drove away the last vestiges of my fear. It killed my restraint,” he said aloud, but in a quiet voice so that no one heard him . . . no one but the ethereal presence of his lovely Lady. “I’ve decided to do something, my love— something I should have done twenty years ago.”

In the months-long Antarctic day, Dominic did not mark the passage of hours or weeks on his chronometer. Shortly after he returned from Ix, with plans formed like stone sculptures in his mind, he went out alone. Dressed in worker’s clothes, he requested an audience with the water merchant, Rondo Tuek.

The smugglers paid handsomely for Tuek’s silence every month, and the industrial baron arranged secret connections with the Guild for transport to other worlds. Dominic had never been interested in turning a profit and only stole solaris from the Imperial treasury in order to sabotage the Corrino name, so he’d never regretted paying the bribes. He spent what was necessary to do what he needed to do.

None of the off-worlders at the water-processing factory recognized him, though some gave Dominic disapproving glances when he strode into the complex and insisted on seeing the water merchant.

Tuek recognized him, but did not manage to cover his expression of shock. “It’s been years since you’ve shown your face here.”

“I need your help,” Dominic said. “I want to purchase more services.”

Rondo Tuek smiled, his wide-set eyes glimmering. He scratched the thick tuft of hair on the left side of his head. “Always happy to sell.” He gestured to a corridor. “This way, please.”

As they rounded a bend, Dominic saw a man approaching. His heavy white parka was open at the front, and he carried a plex-file pack, which he flipped through as he walked. He had his head down.

“Lingar Bewt,” Tuek said, his tone bemused. “Watch out or he’ll run into you.”

Though Dominic tried to avoid him, the man wasn’t paying attention and brushed against Dominic anyway. Bewt leaned over to retrieve a dropped plex-file. His face, bland and round, was deeply tanned. He looked soft around the chin and the belly— definitely not military material.

As the preoccupied man hurried on his way, Tuek said, “Bewt handles all my accounting and shipping. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Inside Tuek’s locked personal offices, Dominic barely noticed the treasures, the wall hangings, the artwork.

“I require a transport ship. Unmarked, a heavy hauler. I need to get it on board a Heighliner with no mention of my name.”

Tuek folded his splayed hands together and blinked repeatedly. A slight tic in his neck caused his head to twitch from side to side. “You’ve found a large strike, then? How much spice did you get?” The squat man leaned forward. “I can help you sell it. I have my connections—”

Dominic cut him off. “Not spice. And there’s no percentage in it for you. This is a . . . personal matter.”

Disappointed, Tuek sat back, his shoulders slumping. “All right, then. For a price— which we can negotiate— I’ll find a big hauler. We will provide whatever you require. Let me contact the Guild and arrange for passage aboard the next Heighliner. Where’s your final destination?”

Dominic looked away. “Kaitain, of course . . . the den of the Corrinos.” Then he blinked and sat up stiffly. “But then, that’s none of your business, Tuek.”

“No,” the water merchant agreed, shaking his head. “None of my business.” A troubled expression crossed his face, and he distracted his guest as he shuffled papers and attended to the useless business cluttering his office. “Come back in a week, Dominic, and I will give you all the equipment you need. Shall we establish a price now?”

Dominic turned away, not even looking at him. “Charge me whatever is fair.” Then he walked to the door, anxious to get back to his base.

After Dominic summoned his men into the largest chamber in his base, he spoke in a somber, cadaverous voice as he described the horrors he had witnessed on Ix. “Long ago when I brought you here, I took you from your homes and your lives, and you agreed to join me. We allied ourselves against the Corrinos.”

“With no regrets, Dom,” Asuyo interrupted.

Dominic made no acknowledgment, but continued in his droning voice. “We meant to become wolves, but instead we were only gnats.” He rested his large hands on the tabletop and drew a long, slow breath. “That’s about to change.”

Without explanation, the renegade Earl left the room. He knew where he had to go and what he had to do. These men could follow him or not. It was their choice, because this was his battle. No one else’s. It was well past time to bring an accounting to House Corrino.

He penetrated deep into the cold fortress, down dim corridors where the floors were coated with grit and dust. Few people came there; it had been years since he himself had set foot in the armored storehouses.

Don’t do it, Dominic. The whispering voice prickled the back of his head again. A chill ran down his spine. It sounded so much like Shando, his conscience trying to make him reconsider. Don’t do it.

But the time for any choice in the matter had long since passed. The thousands of years of Corrino rule following the Butlerian Jihad had left a deep scar on the glorious timelines. The Imperial House did not deserve it. At the watershed of the old Empire, that other renegade family— whatever their names had been, whatever their motivations— had not finished the job. Though Salusa Secundus lay destroyed, the other renegades had not done enough.

Dominic would take vengeance one step further.

At the sealed doors of the deepest storage chamber, he keyed in the proper code before slapping his palm against the scanner plate. No one else had access to this vault.

When the doors slid open, he saw the collection of forbidden weaponry, the family atomics that had been House Vernius’s last resort, held in reserve for millennia. The Great Convention absolutely forbade the use of such devices, but Dominic no longer cared. He had nothing to lose.

Absolutely nothing.

After the Tleilaxu overthrow, Dominic and his men had retrieved the secret stockpile from a moon in the Ixian system and brought it here. Now, he ran his gaze over the whole array. Sealed in gleaming metal containers were warheads, planet-killers, stone burners, devices that would ignite the atmosphere of a world and transform Kaitain into a tiny, short-lived star.

It was time. First, Dominic would visit his children on Caladan to see them one last time, to say goodbye. Before this he hadn’t wanted to risk calling attention to them or incriminating them . . . Rhombur and Kailea had been granted amnesty while he was a hunted fugitive.

But he would do it just this once, with utmost discretion. It was appropriate to do that after all these years. Then he would strike his final blow and become the victor after all. The entire corrupt bloodline of the Corrinos would become extinct.

But the voice of Shando in his conscience was filled with sadness and regret. Despite all they’d been through, she didn’t approve. You always were a stubborn man, Dominic Vernius.