Wandering alone through the corridor outside her apartment, trying to escape the persistent attentions of Medical Sister Yohsa, Lady Anirul bumped into Count Hasimir Fenring just as he rounded a corner at a brisk pace.

“Mmmm, pardon me, my Lady.” When he looked at the Emperor’s wife, his flickering eyes assessed her weakened condition. “So good to see you up and about. Good, very good. I heard about your illness, hmmm, and your husband has been so worried.”

Anirul had never liked this slippery little man. Suddenly, a chorus of voices in her mind encouraged her, and she could withhold her feelings no longer. “Maybe I would have a true husband if you did not interfere so much, Count Fenring.”

Recoiling in surprise, he said, “Whatever do you mean, hmmm-ah? I spend most of my time away from Kaitain, on business. How could I possibly interfere?” His large eyes narrowed, analyzing her further.

Impulsively, she decided to jab and parry with words, then watch for his reaction to learn more about him. “So tell me about Project Amal and the Tleilaxu. And Ix.”

Fenring’s face showed just the hint of a flush. “I’m afraid you must be suffering a relapse. Shall I call a Suk doctor?”

She glared at him. “Shaddam doesn’t have the foresight and intuition to develop such a scheme by himself, so it must have been your idea. Tell me, why are you doing this?”

Though the Count appeared ready to lash out at her, he made a visible effort to calm himself. Automatically, Anirul adopted a subtle fighting stance, a barely perceptible shifting of her muscles. A well-placed toe-kick could disembowel him.

Fenring smiled even as he studied her closely. From living with Margot, he had learned to watch for minute details. “I am afraid your information is incorrect, my Lady, mm-m-m?” Although he carried a neuroknife in his pocket, Fenring now wished for a more substantial weapon. He took a half step backward, and said in his calmest tone, “With all due respect, perhaps my Lady is imagining things.” He bowed stiffly and left in a great hurry.

As Anirul watched him scurry away, the clamor of voices increased inside her skull. Finally, through the haze of drugs, after searching for so long, she heard old Lobia’s familiar voice rising above the others. “That was very human of you,” the dead Truthsayer scolded, “very human, and very foolish.”

As he disappeared into the maze of corridors, Fenring pondered damage control. In these unstable times, the Sisterhood could significantly undermine Shaddam’s power base if they chose to turn against him.

If the Emperor falls, I go down with him.

For the first time Fenring considered that it might be necessary to kill Shaddam’s wife. Quite accidentally, of course.

Inside the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, noblemen and ambassadors had begun to speak openly of revolt. Representatives from Great and Minor Houses stood in line for the podium, where they shouted red-faced or spoke with cold venom. The emergency session had already lasted a night and most of the following day without respite.

Emperor Shaddam, though, was totally unconcerned. He sat unruffled in the elaborate seat reserved for him within the Great Hall. The nobles fumed and talked among themselves, an ill-tempered, rowdy assemblage. Shaddam was disappointed to see their uncouth behavior.

He lounged in the immense chair, his manicured hands folded on his lap. If this meeting went as planned, the Emperor wouldn’t need to say a word. He had already requested more Sardaukar troops from Salusa Secundus, though he doubted they would be necessary to control this minor civil unrest.

Somewhat recovered from her recent episodes, but still looking dazed, Lady Anirul sat in her subordinate seat, wearing a formal black aba robe, as he had requested. Beside her stood the Imperial Truthsayer Gaius Helen Mohiam in a matching robe. Their presence clearly implied that the powerful Sisterhood still supported Shaddam’s reign. It was high time the witches followed through on their duties and veiled promises.

Before the opening complaints from the Landsraad were heard, Shaddam’s lawyers stepped forth and presented his position, citing appropriate precedents and technicalities.

Next, a primary envoy from the Spacing Guild took the podium. The Guild had transported Shaddam’s warships to Richese for the attack on Korona, and they defended their decision to do so, referencing legal precedents of their own. Thanks to Shaddam’s benevolence, the Guild had reaped half of the recovered spice stockpile from Korona, and they would stand by House Corrino.

Shaddam sat with regal confidence.

The President of CHOAM stepped forward after this, a man with stooped posture and a silvery gray beard. His voice carried loud and far. “CHOAM supports the Emperor’s right to enforce order in the Imperium. The law against stockpiling melange has long been a part of the Imperial Code. Though many of you complain vociferously, every House is aware of it.” He looked around the assemblage, waiting for any voices of dissent, then continued.

“The Emperor issued repeated warnings that he intended to enforce this law. Yet, even after he took action against Zanovar for the same crime, Richese foolishly ignored the rule.” The CHOAM President jabbed a sharp-nailed finger out toward the delegates.

“What evidence is there against House Richese?” a nobleman shouted.

“We have the word of a Corrino Emperor. That is sufficient.” The CHOAM President let his words hang in a confrontational pause. “And, in private session, we have seen holo-images of the Richesian stockpiles before they were confiscated.”

The President started to leave the podium, then stepped back, and added, “The Emperor’s legal position is solid, and you cannot censure him to cover your own crimes. If any of you violate the stockpiling edict, you do so at your own peril. It is the Imperial prerogative to use any means necessary to maintain political and economic stability, supported by the rule of law.”

Shaddam suppressed a smile. Anirul glanced at him, then back across the Great Hall and the throng of unruly Landsraad representatives.

Finally, Chamberlain Beely Ridondo boomed his sonic staff to restore order. Gazing out at the nobles, he announced, “These proceedings are formally open. Now, who dares to speak against the Emperor’s actions?”

Shaddam’s loyal staff members rose to their feet with scrolls and scribing pens, ready to take down names. The implication was clear.

The simmering discontent settled to a murmur, and no one came forward to be the first. The Emperor made a public show of patting his wife’s hand, knowing he had won. For now.