Fabled Artisia, the capital of House Taligari, became a center of anguish, outrage, and demands for answers. The beloved Docent Glax Othn, who normally spoke for Taligari in matters of state, had been murdered in the blatant attack against the fief world of Zanovar. Tyros Reffa knew it— he had seen the horrific images.

Now House Taligari reeled in shock. Governmental functionaries stumbled over each other in an attempt to formulate a unified response to the outrage. Five major Zanovar cities had been obliterated, plus several surrounding estates. The open-air Senate Coliseum was a cacophony of wails, shouted questions, and declarations of vengeance.

Reffa stood unnoticed on a high tier, dressed in the same rumpled clothes he had worn for three days now, ever since learning the terrible news. His old teacher had been correct in his fears and suspicions, though Reffa had not taken them seriously. Nothing remained for him on Zanovar. While he had a few accounts and investments on Taligari, his estate, his gardens, and staff had been obliterated in a puff of steam. Just like the Docent…

Alarmed Taligari emissaries had gathered inside the Senate Coliseum from the eight remaining Taligari planets. Near panic filled the air, an unruly and outraged crowd of citizens who felt helplessness and despair at the slaughter.

All eyes focused on the lead senator as he stepped to the imaging and loudspeaker podium, flanked by a pair of dour-looking representatives from other major Taligari worlds.

Because of his secret heritage, Tyros Reffa had studiously avoided any participation in politics. Still, he knew nothing would be accomplished here today. The politicians would bluster and deflect questions. In the end, formal complaints would amount to nothing. Shaddam Corrino did not care.

A tall man of commanding presence, the lead senator had a moonlike face and an expressive mouth. “Zanovar is lost,” he began in the most somber of tones, his tenor voice carrying over the speaker system. He moved his hands in a variety of gestures that expanded upon his words. “Every person here has lost friends or family members in this heinous attack.”

Among the Taligari people, it was traditional for gathered delegates and even common citizens to make public queries of their senators and to receive immediate answers. The people shouted, producing an overlapping drone of demands and questions.

Would the Taligarian military respond? How could they possibly hope to fight the Sardaukar, who had the power to lay waste to an entire world? Were other Taligari planets in danger?

“But why did this happen?” a man called out. “How could our Emperor commit such an atrocity?”

Reffa stood cold and speechless. Because of me. They came because of me. The Emperor wanted to kill me, but he tried to cover it up with this monstrous excess.

The senator lifted a message cube in the air. “Emperor Shaddam IV charges us with crimes against the Imperium and claims responsibility— claims credit in fact— for Zanovar. He has acted as our judge, jury, and executioner. He claims to have meted out appropriate punishment because we kept a private stockpile of melange.”

Grumbles of anger, howls of disbelief. All Houses of the Landsraad maintained reservoirs of spice, just as most families retained their own stockpiles of atomics, which were forbidden to use, though not technically illegal to keep.

Another senator stepped forward. “I believe Shaddam is using us as an example for the rest of the Imperium.”

“Why did my children have to die?” a tall woman shouted. “They had nothing to do with spice stockpiling.”

Your children died because Shaddam does not like the fact that I was born, Reffa thought. I got in his way, and he thought nothing of slaying millions just to kill one man. And even so, he missed the target.

The lead senator’s voice broke with emotion, then grew strong with anger. “Centuries ago the Emperor’s forefather, Hyek Corrino II, granted House Taligari a holding of nine planets, including Zanovar. We have records showing that Emperor Elrood IX even visited the amusement park and joked about the smell of spice near the sandworm. It was no secret!”

Questions continued to pour in, and the senators made a gallant effort to field them. Why, after all these years, was this happening? Why had there been no warning? What could be done about the injustice now?

In the upper tier, silent during the flurry of demands, Reffa simply listened. He had come to Artisia just for the suspensor opera, had been away from Zanovar thanks to a glimmer of the old Docent’s foresight. Now, having heard the tissue-thin excuses the Emperor used, he didn’t believe them for a moment.

His revered teacher had always told him, “If stated reasons don’t sit well with your conscience or stand the test of logic, look for deeper motivations.”

He had seen scans taken by unmanned probes flying over the crisped landscape, knew that his own estate had been one of the first targets in the devastation of the planet. Had loyal old Charence even seen the flame front coming his way? Reffa’s stomach burned as if he had swallowed a hot coal.

No one noticed him, just another man in the crowd. He recalled the blackened scar that remained of his home. Shaddam probably believes he has succeeded, too. He thinks I am dead.

Reffa stood wearing an enraged expression on his handsome, chiselfeatured face. Only once did he move, to wipe a tear from his cheek. Before the interminable public briefing reached its conclusion, he slipped out a side doorway, climbed down the sloping marble staircase, and melted into the anonymity of the city.

He had the remnants of his fortune, still a good deal of money. He had the complete freedom of movement afforded to one whom the Imperium thought dead. And now he had nothing to lose.

I am a scorpion under a rock. Now that my half brother has disturbed me, he had better beware of my sting.