In the banquet hall of Castle Caladan, well-dressed servants maintained the appearance of normalcy, though their Duke was only a shell of his former self.

Women in bright dresses hurried down the stone corridors. Nutmeg-scented candles illuminated every alcove. But even the best meals prepared by the cook, the finest china and flatware service, and the gentlest music could not diminish the gloom that had settled over House Atreides. Every servant felt Leto’s pain, and they could do nothing to help him.

Lady Jessica occupied a chair of carved elacca wood near one end of the table, her formal position as the Duke’s chosen concubine. At the head of the table, her dark-haired lover, Leto Atreides, sat tall and proud, distractedly polite to the green-liveried servants as they brought forth various courses.

There were numerous empty seats in this hall— far too many. To ease Leto’s piercing grief, Jessica had discreetly removed the little chair that had been made for six-year-old Victor, the Duke’s dead son. Despite her years of Bene Gesserit training, Jessica had been unable to break through Leto’s grief, and her heart ached for him. She had so much to say to him, if only he would listen.

On opposite sides of the long table sat the Mentat Thufir Hawat and the scarred smuggler Gurney Halleck. Gurney, who could usually liven up a gathering with a song and his baliset, remained preoccupied with preparations for a covert trip to Ix that he and Thufir would soon undertake, spying to discover any weaknesses in the Tleilaxu defenses there.

With a mind like a computer, Thufir would be able to make hundreds of plans and contingencies in an instant, which made him vital to the mission. Gurney was good at slipping into places where he didn’t belong and escaping under the direst of circumstances. These two might be able to succeed where all others had failed.…

“I’ll have some more of that Caladan white,” said Swordmaster Duncan Idaho, raising his goblet. A servant rushed forward with a bottle of expensive local wine, and Duncan held his cup steady while rich golden liquid splashed out of the bottle. Raising his hand for the servant to wait, he gulped the wine, then gestured for more.

In the uncomfortable silence, Leto stared toward the wood-carved entrance doors… as if waiting, anticipating the arrival of one more person. His eyes were like chips of smoky ice.

The exploded skyclipper, the vessel in flames—

Rhombur mangled and burned, the boy Victor killed—

And then to learn it had all been caused by Leto’s jealous concubine Kailea, Victor’s own mother, who had thrown herself from a high tower of Castle Caladan in unspeakable shame and grief…

The cook emerged from the kitchen archway, proudly carrying a platter. “Our finest dish, my Lord Duke. Created in your honor.”

It was a fat parafish wrapped in crisped aromatic leaves. Spiky sprigs of rosemary were tucked into folds of the pinkish meat; purple-blue juniper berries lay sprinkled about the platter like jewels. Even though she served Leto the choicest part of the fillet, he did not lift his fork. He continued to watch the main doorway. Waiting.

Finally, responding to the sound of plodding footsteps and humming motors, Leto rose to his feet, his face filled with concern and anticipation. Moving quickly on feather-light feet, the plain-featured Bene Gesserit Tessia entered the banquet hall. She scanned the room, noted the chairs, the stone floor where the carpet had been removed, and gave an approving nod. “He’s progressing admirably, my Duke, but we must be patient.”

“He is patient enough for all of us,” Leto said, and his expression began to show the pale sunrise of hope.

With a calculated precision involving twitches of electrofluid muscle, the flexing of shigawire thread and microfiber nerves, Prince Rhombur Vernius lurched into the banquet hall. His scarred face, a blend of artificial and natural skin, reflected his intense concentration. Glistening pearls of perspiration stood out on his waxy forehead. He wore a short, loose robe; on the lapel glimmered a purple-and-copper helix, proud symbol of the fallen House Vernius.

Tessia hurried toward him, but Rhombur raised a finger of polished metal and polymers, signaling her to let him continue on his own.

The skyclipper explosion had blasted his body to a broken lump of flesh, burning away his limbs and half of his face, destroying most of his organs. Yet he had been kept alive, a fading ember of a once-bright flame. What remained now was little more than a passenger on a mechanical vehicle shaped like a man.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Leto.”

“There is no hurry.” The Duke’s heart went out to his brave friend. The two of them had fished together, played games, caroused, and planned strategies for decades. “I’d be loath to have you fall and break anything— such as the table, I mean.”

“Most funny, indeed.”

Leto remembered how badly the vile Tleilaxu had wanted genetic samples from the Atreides and Vernius bloodlines, trying to blackmail the Duke in his hour of greatest grief. They had made an anguished Leto a diabolical offer, that in exchange for the mangled but still-living body of his best friend Rhombur, they would grow a ghola— a clone from dead cells— of the boy Victor.

Their hatred of House Atreides ran deep— and deeper still for House Vernius, whom they had overthrown on Ix. The Tleilaxu had wanted access to complete Atreides and Vernius DNA. With the bodies of Victor and Rhombur, they would be able to create any number of gholas, clones, assassins, duplicates.

But Leto had turned down their offer. Instead, he had engaged the services of the Suk doctor Wellington Yueh, an expert in the replacement of organic limbs.

“Thank you for holding this dinner in my honor, all of you.” Rhombur looked at the serving platters and dishes arrayed on the table. “I’m sorry if the food has gotten cold.”

Leto brought his hands together in a firm round of applause. Smiling warmly, Duncan and Jessica joined in. With her sharp observational skills, Jessica noticed a sheen of captive tears deep within the Duke’s gaze.

The sallow-faced Dr. Yueh moved beside his patient, tracking readings, studying a dataplate in his hand that received impulses from Rhombur’s cybernetic systems. The slender doctor pursed his purplish lips into an intent flower-bud shape. “Excellent. You are functioning as designed, although a few components still need fine-tuning.” He circled Rhombur, moving like a ferret as the cyborg Prince took slow, self-conscious steps.

Tessia pulled out a chair for Rhombur. His synthetic legs were powerful and sturdy, but without grace. His hands looked like armored gloves; his arms hung like circuit-patterned oars at his sides.

Rhombur smiled at the big fish the cook had just served. “That smells wonderful.” He turned his head, a slow rotational movement, as if on ball bearings. “Do you think I might eat some of it, Dr. Yueh?”

The Suk doctor stroked his long mustaches. “Just taste it. Your digestive system needs more work.”

Rhombur swiveled his head toward Leto. “It appears I’m going to consume more power cells than desserts for a while.” He lowered himself into his chair, and the others finally resumed their seats.

Leto raised his wineglass, trying to think of a toast. Then his face acquired an anguished expression, and he simply took a sip. “I am so sorry this has happened to you, Rhombur. These… mechanical replacements… were the best I could do.”

Rhombur’s scarred face lit up in a combination of gratitude and annoyance. “Vermilion hells, Leto, stop apologizing! Trying to find all the facets of blame would consume House Atreides for years, and we’d all go mad.” He lifted a mechanical arm, rotated the hand at the wrist joint, and stared down at it. “This isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s marvelous. Dr. Yueh’s a genius, you know. You should keep him around as long as you can.” The Suk doctor fidgeted in an effort to keep from glowing at the compliment.

“Remember that I come from Ix, so I appreciate the marvels of technology,” Rhombur said. “Now I’m a living example of it. If any person is better suited to adapt to this new situation, I’d like to meet him.”

For years, the exiled Prince Rhombur had been biding his time, sending minimal support to the resistance movement on his devastated homeworld, including explosive wafers and military supplies provided by Duke Leto.

In recent months, as Rhombur grew stronger physically, he also grew stronger mentally. Though he was only a fraction of a man, every day he spoke of the need to recapture Ix, to the point where Duke Leto and even his concubine Tessia sometimes had to tell him to calm down.

Finally, Leto had agreed to risk sending the reconnaissance team of Gurney and Thufir, clutching at a goal of his own, a new determination to accomplish something good in the face of all the tragedies he had survived. It was not a matter of if they could mount an attack; it was a matter of when and how.

Tessia spoke without shifting her gaze. “Don’t underestimate Rhombur’s strength. You of all people know how one must adapt in order to survive.”

Jessica couldn’t help but notice the adoring look on the concubine’s face. Tessia and Rhombur had spent years together on Caladan, during which time she had encouraged him to support the freedom fighters on Ix, so that he might regain his royal position. Tessia had stood by him through the worst times, even after the explosion. Upon returning to consciousness, Rhombur had said, “I am surprised you stayed.”

“As long as you need me, I will remain.”

Tessia was a whirlwind working on his behalf, supervising the modification of his Castle apartments and preparing devices to assist him. Much of Tessia’s time was devoted to making him stronger. “Once Prince Rhombur is feeling better,” she had announced, “he will lead the Ixian people to victory.”

Jessica didn’t know if the brown-haired woman followed her heart, or fulfilled an unknown set of instructions secretly given to her by the Sisterhood.

All through her own childhood, Jessica had listened to her teacher and mentor, Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam. She had followed her every draconian instruction, learning what the old woman had to teach her.

But now the Sisterhood wanted the Duke’s genetics combined with hers. In no uncertain terms, Jessica had been ordered to seduce Leto and conceive an Atreides daughter. When she experienced unfamiliar and forbidden feelings of love for this dark and moody Duke, however, Jessica had developed a rebellious streak and delayed becoming pregnant. Then, in the wake of Victor’s death and Leto’s destructive depression, she had allowed herself to conceive a son, against the strictest of orders. Mohiam would feel betrayed and deeply disappointed. But Jessica could always bear a daughter later, couldn’t she?

In his reinforced chair, Rhombur bent his left arm and cautiously thrust his stiff fingertips into a pocket of the short robe. He aimed carefully with his fingers, fished about in there. Finally, he grasped a piece of paper, which he painstakingly unfolded.

“Look at the fine motor control,” Yueh said. “This is better than I had expected. You’ve been practicing, Rhombur?”

“Every second.” The Prince held up the paper. “I keep remembering new things each day. This is the best sketch I’ve been able to make of a few obscure access tunnels on Ix. Gurney and Thufir will find them useful.”

“The other paths have proven too dangerous,” the Mentat said. Over the decades spies had tried to break through the Tleilaxu defenses. Several Atreides infiltrators had slipped in but never returned. Others had been unable to enter the underground world at all.

But Rhombur, the son of Earl Dominic Vernius, had dredged his memory for information about secret security systems and hidden entrances to the cavern cities. During his long and enforced convalescence, he had begun to recall obscure details he had believed long forgotten, details that might make the difference in penetrating the enemy stronghold.

Turning his attention to his meal, Rhombur lifted a large piece of parafish on his fork. Then, noting Dr. Yueh’s disapproving gaze, he lowered the morsel to his plate and cut off a smaller portion instead.

Leto stared at his murky reflection in the hall’s polished blue-obsidian wall. “Like wolves ready to prey upon any member who shows weakness, some noble families are just waiting for me to falter. The Harkonnens, for example.” Since the skyclipper disaster, a hardened Duke Leto had grown unwilling to accept injustice in silence. He needed to make a difference on Ix as much as Rhombur did.

“We must let all the Imperium see that House Atreides is as strong as ever.”