Those who nourish themselves with hatred seldom realize they are starving.

—Zensunni warning

Though he was groggy and blinded for most of the journey, Griffin knew that his captors were not just taking him to a hiding hole in an Arrakis City slum. He awoke aboard a loud, vibrating aircraft that rose and fell on thermals and updrafts. He recognized the three voices, particularly the raspy woman’s, but they conversed with one another in a language he could not comprehend.

After he had been awake for several minutes, jostling and bumping in the flying craft, he called out through the opaque hood, “Where are you taking me? Who are you?” His hands were bound, and he couldn’t fight.

“No questions,” the woman said. He felt the needle-jet against his neck again and fell back into unconsciousness.…

When Griffin returned to fuzzy awareness, he found himself propped up in a chair, his wrists still bound behind his back. Someone yanked the hood from his head, and he felt as if light and fresh air had been splashed in his face like a bucket of icy water.

No one would waste water on Arrakis, he thought, and he realized he was still drugged, possibly delirious.

Griffin heaved a deep breath, and the smells that assaulted his nostrils snapped him to awareness like ancient smelling salts. The air roiled with raw spice fumes and human odors, like fermented perspiration and unwashed skin and hair. He saw he was surrounded by rock walls.

Sounding baffled, an unaccented male voice said, “I have never seen this person in my life. I have no idea who he is.”

Griffin turned toward the voice, focused his eyes on the face—and tried to lunge out of his chair. “Vorian Atreides!”

The other man recoiled in surprise. Two of Griffin’s captors shoved him back down into the chair. A gruff man with gray-black hair bound in a thick braid stood before Griffin, arms crossed over his chest. “Why have you been searching for this man?” he asked, nodding toward Atreides.

“Because he destroyed my family.” Griffin wanted to spit. His own visceral reaction surprised him.

Vorian just let out a long sigh and shook his head. “You’ll have to be more specific than that—I’ve lived a long life, and I don’t know how many of my enemies remain. I certainly don’t recognize you. What is your name?”

“Harkonnen.” He summoned all his courage and anger, imagining what Valya would do if she were here. “Griffin Harkonnen.”

The stunned look on Vorian’s face was almost worth the amount of time Griffin had waited to see it. When the realization blossomed behind Vor’s eyes, it was clear the man hadn’t forgotten what he’d done. “Are you Abulurd’s … grandson?”

“Great-grandson. Because of you, the Harkonnens have been stripped of our heritage and left as pariahs on Lankiveil for four generations!”

Vorian Atreides nodded, his expression distant. “Lankiveil … yes, I forgot that was where Abulurd went. Has it really been eight decades? I should have checked up on him.”

Griffin was not finished. “And before that, Xavier Harkonnen, hero of the Jihad and one of the greatest fighters of thinking machines! He died in disgrace because you ruined his career!”

Vorian’s gray eyes looked heavy. “I loved and respected Xavier Harkonnen, and I meant to make that right. I loved Abulurd, too—he was more of a son to me than my own sons were … until the Battle of Corrin.”

“You abandoned him!”

“There was nothing I could do.”

“You could have forgiven him!”

Vorian straightened. “No. I could not. I barely managed to prevent him from being executed. I sent him away to a place where he could live his life.… I did my best.”

“Your best! You could have told the truth. You could have asked for clemency. You, the great Vorian Atreides, Supreme Bashar of the Jihad, could have saved him.”

“I wish that were so, but the people would never have allowed it. Even his brother Faykan never forgave him. It saddens me the way this turned out for your family … especially for Xavier, who was a good man. But I was chased off the stage, and the Corrino Emperors have made it abundantly clear that I’m no longer wanted in public life. That’s why I came to Arrakis, to be forgotten.” His shoulders slumped. “And yet, you came hunting.”

Valya had attributed so many crimes to this man, and Griffin felt all of them piling up in his mind like reeking fish carcasses from a die-off, washed up on a shore. Avenge our family honor.

“The Harkonnens remember all you’ve done to our family, Atreides. You can’t hide from your past.”

The raspy-voiced desert woman said, “Your past is not just haunting you, Vorian Atreides—it has declared war.”

“But my conflict with Abulurd was a long time ago,” he said to Griffin. “How can that possibly concern you? You’ve had four generations to make your own life on Lankiveil—why go after me now?” Vorian frowned in apparent dismay. “How can an old grudge last that long?”

“How can it ever fade away?” Griffin felt an infusion of his sister’s anger. The poison had to be drained before the wound could heal. “My brothers and sisters know of our disgrace. My children will know of it.”

“I doubt you know the whole story.”

“I know enough.”

“I am sorry to hear how your family suffered, and I know what you blame me for, but it’s foolish to cling to your hatred for so long that it blinds you to the future. If I weren’t still alive, would you take revenge on my children and grandchildren? Any descendant, centuries from now, who bears the Atreides name? For how long?”

“Until House Harkonnen is satisfied,” Griffin answered.

“But I have no way of making amends. Your search for me has been in vain. The Naib already plans to cast me out into the desert.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “If you had just waited a little longer, your revenge would have taken care of itself.”

“Revenge never takes care of itself.” Griffin clung to a vision of Valya in his mind, and tried to think of what she would do in this situation. He did not want her to be disappointed in him.

The Naib was angry at both Griffin and Vor. “This is a blood feud that the Freemen have no part of, Vorian Atreides—and you have brought it to our doorstep.” He gestured for one of the desert men to slash the bindings on Griffin’s wrists, and when free, the young man pulled his aching arms around in front, rubbing his hands, flexing his fingers.

Vorian shook his head. “Once again, no matter how much I try to leave the universe alone, my enemies seek me out. And now I’ve made your tribe angry, as well. It is clear that I have overstayed my welcome.”

The Naib directed his men. “Separate them, and take them back to empty chambers. Tomorrow, the desert shall have them both, and let their water go with them.”

Griffin focused his gaze on Vorian Atreides as the desert men ushered him off into the tunnels.