A dead guard, his uniform soaked with blood from a stab wound in his side, lay across the corridor on one of the lower levels of the Palace.

Leaving the latest victim to the men behind him, Duke Leto jumped over the slain soldier and ran faster, knowing he must be close to the person who had taken his son. He walked through a spreading pool on the floor and left diminishing red footprints as he rushed on. He drew the jeweled ceremonial dagger from his belt, with every intention of using it.

In a chamber in the Princesses’ study and play area, he found another corpse: a Bene Gesserit. Just as he was trying to identify her, two Sardaukar beside him let out stunned gasps. Leto caught his breath.

It was Lady Anirul, wife of Emperor Shaddam IV.

Reverend Mother Mohiam, also wearing black robes, appeared in the doorway. She looked at her fingers, then down at the waxy face of the dead woman. “I arrived too late. I could not help her… I could salvage nothing.”

With a clatter of boots and equipment, several men in Leto’s squad fanned out to search nearby rooms. Leto stared, immediately wondering if Mohiam herself had murdered the Emperor’s wife.

Mohiam’s birdlike eyes flicked across the faces of the men, recognizing their questions. “Of course I did not kill her,” she said, with firm conviction and just a touch of Voice. “Leto, your son is safe.”

Looking across the room, he saw the baby, wrapped in blankets on a cushion. The Duke stepped forward, his knees weak, surprised at his own hesitation. The newborn was red-faced and alert. He had wisps of black hair like Leto’s own and a chin reminiscent of Jessica’s. “Is this my son?”

“Yes, a son,” Mohiam responded in a flat, somehow bitter tone. “Exactly what you wanted.”

He didn’t understand what she meant by her tone, but didn’t care. He was just happy to have the child safe. He picked up the baby, cradling it in his arms, remembering how he had held Victor. I have another son! The child’s bright eyes were open wide.

“Support his head.” Reaching out, Mohiam adjusted the baby in Leto’s arms.

“I know well enough how to do it.” He remembered Kailea telling him the same thing after the birth of Victor. His heart wrenched at the thought. “Who was the kidnapper? Did you see?”

“No,” she said without the slightest hesitation. “He fled.”

Gazing down the bridge of his nose at the Reverend Mother, Leto asked in a suspicious tone, “And how is it that my son came to be here, and the kidnapper conveniently escaped? How did you find the baby?”

The robed Sister looked suddenly bored. “I found your boy on the floor here, beside the body of Lady Anirul. Do you see her hands there? I had to pry her fingers loose from the child’s blankets. Somehow she saved him.”

Leto looked at her, not believing. He noted no blood on the blankets or marks on the baby.

One of the Sardaukar came up and saluted. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. We have located the Princess Irulan, and she is unharmed.” He pointed toward the adjacent study room, where a guard stood beside the eleven-year-old girl.

The guard made clumsy attempts to comfort Irulan. Wearing a dress of alternating brown and white damask with the Corrino crest on one long sleeve, Irulan was visibly shaken, but she seemed to be dealing with the tragedy better than the guard was. How much had she seen? The Princess looked at the Reverend Mother with an impenetrable Bene Gesserit expression, as if the two of them shared one of the Sisterhood’s damnable secrets.

Her beautiful young face a stiff mask, Irulan walked into the chamber as if the milling guards were not even there. “It was a man. He wore a Sardaukar disguise, and makeup on his face. After killing my mother, he ran. I could not see his features well.”

Leto’s heart went out to the Emperor’s daughter, who stood as motionless as one of the many statues of her father. He thought she showed remarkable poise and cool-headedness. Though clearly shocked and filled with sadness, she maintained control of herself.

Irulan stared down at her mother’s body as one of the guards covered it with a gray cloak. No tears came to the girl’s bright green eyes; her classically beautiful face could have been an alabaster sculpture.

He knew the feeling well, a similar lesson his own father had taught him. Grieve only in private moments, when no one can observe you.

Irulan’s eyes met Mohiam’s, as if together they were erecting battlements. The Princess seemed to know more, something she kept between herself and the aging Reverend Mother. Leto would probably never know the truth.

“The criminal will be found,” the Duke vowed, holding his son closer. The guards spoke on their com-units and continued the search throughout the Palace.

Mohiam looked at him. “Lady Anirul gave her life to save your son.” Her expression became pinched, resentful. “Raise him well, Duke Atreides.” She touched the baby boy’s blankets and pushed him against Leto’s chest. “I am sure Shaddam will not rest until he sees justice done to the man who killed his wife.” She stepped back, as if dismissing him. “Go, see your Jessica.”

Reluctant and suspicious, but recognizing his priorities, Leto proudly carried the infant out of the chambers and headed back to the birthing room, where Jessica awaited him.

Irulan looked steadily at Mohiam, but not even a hand signal flickered between them. Unknown to anyone, even Mohiam, the Princess had hidden behind a slightly ajar door and watched her mother sacrifice herself for the sake of the newborn baby. She was amazed that such a powerful and reserved woman had placed so much importance on this Atreides infant, born of a mere concubine. What possible reason could there be?

Why is this child so special?