Chapter Text
The walk from the Keep’s grand entrance to the throne room was long, and the old woman in willowy blacks was showing it all to Paul with his unveiled face, a very unfamiliar sight that one could see ever on a Bene Gesserit expression, let alone from a Reverend Mother.
The tall and old woman stood rigidly, her back slightly inclined forward to display the fatigue she had endured as she looked up at Paul as he sat on his throne and looked back at those beady eyes he had not seen for a long time.
Only his most trusted aides and attendants stood around him as Paul preferred it in this way before he led the discussion to a more personal space. After the half-curtsey the old crone wandered her beady gaze around them, quietly taking in considering who was attending, and obviously noting Chani’s presence. She must have already heard the rumors, the Emperor not having any important audience without his women’s presence—yet here Paul was; having neither at his side—not his wife who had been sent to exile, nor his concubine. Not for this one.
Paul also wondered if she had any idea what he was going to ask from the woman after Irulan’s banishments. Paul watched her closely as she took note of Chani’s absence, shrouded thoughts swirling through her beaded eyes. Paul had shielded his oracle from this present, not wanting his prescience affecting this critical moment, a chip caught in the wave, waiting to see where it was going to land.
There was never literal cause and effect in the oracle. Causes were occasions of convections and confluences, places where the currents met. But even those had become so unpredictable in the last days that his prescient abilities could not distinguish them, could not sense any segregation. Irulan had become so volatile and unstable that she had become truly a chip caught in the way, impossible to foresee where she would land, truly unpredictable.
The last time Paul had seen her showing up at Professor Jackson’s door under a summer downpour, at the heart of the night and she was giving her water openly before she lunged and kissed the man. The man was surprised to see her, and it gave Paul an insight that it had been the first time she had come to his home.
Something had happened between them in the last days— Paul had sensed it through his vision-memories, although he could not determine how further she took it beyond a few kisses. They were not chaste though, they were kissing passionately and longingly in his visions, and Paul had been that close to sending a holo-message to order her to end the affair.
But he had not done it.
Not yet.
I’d be stupid to feel otherwise given the circumstances, he had told her in their argument for the issue, and Paul had to own his word now.
Until he dealt with this and the old crone went to speak with Irulan. His urge to end it was still strong, he still didn’t like seeing his wife—the woman who was going to carry his heir soon-- kissing another man— I’d be stupid to feel otherwise given the circumstances.
Paul had repeated himself many times that the circumstances had changed now, it was not the same thing anymore, but the sight still bothered him beyond it, something deep in his chest telling him he had been right. He should have never let her get under his skin with her irritating threats to manipulate him. He could not begrudge her any male alliance as he had told her, but she was still his wife—and Paul did not like seeing his wife even only in name kissing other men.
Stupid or not, what he felt did not correlate with what his intellect advised him. It did not make sense, it was not consistent, but was Irulan right? When was he ever consistent? Did she feel like that once more Paul was inconsistent if he ordered her to stop the affair? Or egotistical?
Treat his subtle jealousy as something more?
As the questions swirled in his mind, Paul realized he had truly believed Irulan would have done it, would have given up in her pursuit, and taken another lover—even to test him. Now she did it, Paul felt conflicted.
Did it mean she had truly given up on hope after her banishment? Accepting their situation? Or was there more? Was this a test to measure him like Paul had assumed at first? His lips thinned as his jaw tensed, the thoughts making his ire rise further as he kept his silence in the throne room.
The Princess Consort and her plots. They were as easy as breathing was for her. When you gave in to one of her plots, she would just advance another of them. Even the man she had finally chosen to take up this license that Paul had freely bestowed on her was a message. She had decided to take a lover who was twice her age, the man who had called Paul a sociopath without fear.
And the man was having gals now to kiss his wife!
Anger hit him, the audacity of it, reimagining them whilst sharing passionate kisses. It must have amused Irulan as she really looked like enjoying herself as the man’s hands traveled across her body and his lips devoured hers. If this was a form of sending him a message, Paul surely had taken it.
His mood was sour since last week and most of his household had noticed it, including Chani. His beloved had asked him a couple of times what Paul had seen, and every time Paul had refused to answer her, making the unspoken chasm between them grow deeper and wider, not knowing how to say Irulan had taken a lover.
It would have made her even angrier with Paul’s decision, to see how Irulan had also started to enjoy her punishment. Chani was still faithful and supportive, accepting his silence like sand accepting water, but their foundation was murkier now. Paul could not tell his beloved.
Her guard had stopped the old woman ten paces from the foot of the dais where his throne was sat above, and the old woman gave a cursory glance at his audience, noting further Alia who stood two steps below Paul, and on his left, there was Stilgar among his other Naibs, and below them, there was Hayt, the gift that would bring his downfall. The beady eyes lingered on the ghola for a few seconds before it moved toward Paul once more. She could observe the shimmering effect of his shield around him and noted the maula pistols and crysknives, some even carrying lasguns. His most trusted household that Paul allowed to carry guns and knives in his presence.
His focus completely turned to her, Paul nodded to her, silent, measuring. How much did she already know? She knew the Princess Consort was sent to exile because of drugging Chani like everyone else, but no further explanation had been made. Paul had played the dumb and had not accused the Bene Gesserit of giving her orders to do it formally, but the old crone’s tension and apprehension were clear.
She did not know what games Paul was playing and it contented Paul, making him assured that Irulan had not contacted them in another way beyond his knowledge.
The Reverend Mother took his silent assessment offensive and said, “So, the great Paul Atreides deigns to see the one he banished.”
Paul smiled wryly. She knew she was asked here for something. That knowledge had been inevitable. The Bene Gesserit didn’t become Reverend Mothers by chance. Paul recognized her powers.
“Shall we dispense with fencing?” he asked, cutting to the point.
Her expression remained the same, but Paul caught a flicker of agreement pass over it before it vanished quickly like a sand shift. “Name the thing you want.”
Her tone was curt and ordering, and Stilgar stirred, casting a sharp glance at Paul. He didn’t like her tone. He had advised Paul not to accept the witch in his presence, not wanting them to get into affiliations with the Bene Gesserit once more openly. A mutual feeling Alia also shared. Even if his sister had sensed what Paul sensed with Chani’s pregnancy, she had not commented.
“Stilgar wants me to send you away,” Paul remarked, mostly to cut the sudden silence between them instead of answering her. It was not time yet for that.
“Not kill me?” Reverend Mother asked. “I would’ve expected something more direct from a Fremen Naib.”
Stilgar scowled. “Often, I must speak otherwise than I think. That is called diplomacy.”
Paul almost laughed at his retort, his most trusted Naib’s answer reminding him of Irulan—how she used to insist to the Fremen that they must use diplomacy more to solve their issues with the Imperial affairs, not always with their fist so that they would not escalate the situations. Irulan was as tough as a Fremen when the decisions had to be made, like her father, her life spent in the royal court had necessitated it, but after twelve years Paul had become assured that if they had not hidden their plot from her, she would have found a way to stop her father from allying himself with the Harkonnens to end them.
Paul knew this now as he knew himself, and it panged his chest. He had known her innocence even before he had required her hand for marriage. But knowing she would have also stopped them—knowing it was also the reason why they had not told her anything about the conspiracy made everything that had happened to her worse—made Paul feel…guiltier.
“Then let us dispense with diplomacy as well,” the Reverend Mother said as her voice cut through the image of Irulan that filled his mind, but she was not alone in his imagination, she was with that mana again, kissing him and smiling in a way Paul had never seen her in his company.
His lips strained as the Reverend Mother asked, “Was it necessary to have me walk all that distance? I am an old woman.”
“You had to be shown how callous I can be,” Paul replied curtly, deadpan. Other people had to be shown how callous he could be, it seemed. “That way, you’ll appreciate magnanimity.”
“You dare such gaucheries with a Bene Gesserit?” she asked.
“Gross actions carry their own messages.”
The image of the man’s hands traveling across her chest and fondling her breasts flickered across his mind once more as his lips sucked that spot under her ear, making her tremble and letting a soft moaning sound that Paul too had never heard from her. Gross actions did carry their own messages, indeed.
Such lewd, unadulterated passion—only two people who loved each other passionately would share in the temple of their self-ruh. Irulan delving into such animalistic pleasures freely greatly disturbed him. It was unbefitting to her. Paul knew he was not fair to her once more, he had not given her any other choice than this, but he still had not expected this from her. Irulan would have regarded this beneath her. She should have regarded this beneath her.
He also knew he was being hypocritical once more, he was going to ask her something even more…animalistic, but his intellect still did not care what Paul felt. The hidden fear was there too—the thing that Paul did not want to ponder—what if she had taken this further than a few kisses?
What if she had taken the man in her bed? Paul had not seen anything, but how could be ever sure of anything that concerned his wife now? Irulan had become an element of surprise in his prescience.
“Say what it is you want from me,” the Reverend Mother muttered in his heavy silence, and Paul took it as a sight of victory against the old crone as he wondered if Irulan had flown the nest so far away that even this woman could not bring her back anymore.
“You must be careful how you speak to me, old woman,” Paul said and stood up from his throne. “It was a long walk and I can see that you’re tired. We will retire to my private chamber behind the throne. You may sit there.”
He gave a hand signal to Stilgar, and he and the ghola converged on her to help her up the steps. They followed him through a passage concealed by the draperies as Paul wondered idly if the woman realized now why he had greeted her in the hall: a dumb-show for the guards and Naibs.
He still did not fear them, but messages sometimes had to be sent. Now, he played the gracious host, displaying kindly benevolence toward his rival, daring such wiles even on a Bene Gesserit. Surely the news would reach Cobra. Paul had not allowed his presence today here. It was going to occupy the Qizarate for a while.
Paul seated her on a divan in his private chambers and stood over her, studying the ancient face—steely teeth, eyes that hid more than they revealed, deeply wrinkled skin. He indicated a water flagon. She shook her head, dislodging a wisp of gray hair. He took the seat across from her and sat reclining in a comfortable position, watching her with an open and keen interest.
The woman was a stone now, revealing nothing, simply holding his inquiring gaze and waiting. “Do you not wonder how your student is?” Paul questioned, cocking his head aside, his eyes still on the woman.
“I do not,” she replied calmly. “I know how she is.”
Paul smiled wryly. He highly doubted it. “She’s been drugging Chani for years under your command.”
A stir passed through their little audience after his simple statement, but the woman and the ghola did not even flinch. The metallic eyes of the ghola recorded every instant, as beady eyes stayed impassive.
“The Princess Consort knew she was tasked to carry the imperial heir,” she replied, and Paul noted the past tense and her avoidance of answering his statement openly.
“So do you deny you were giving her orders?”
Two Bene Gesserit questioning each other. Lies would not save their pretenses now. “We do what we must. Your bloodlines must be preserved.”
“Chani will be pregnant in a month,” Paul revealed.
“Have you foreseen it?”
“I have,” Paul admitted. “She’ll give me what I want.” He voiced out carefully, so the woman’s Truthsense could not detect his intent to deceive. Paul knew her powers, and he also knew his. She was powerful, but Paul was unprecedented.
Paul had not only wanted an heir. He had always wanted a child—a daughter like Chani, fierce and nimble at the same time, his only real spoils of war. A treasure amid this bloody war that had taken almost everything from him. Chani was going to give him that.
“If that’s so what I’m doing here, oh you divine?”
“I know you’ll attempt her life,” Paul stated with the iciness of a cold hard fact. “You cannot allow your precious plans would interfere with the unknown quality of Fremen genetics. You cannot allow my bloodline to get altered with them. I know that. I also know you ordered Irulan to kill Chani many times but she resisted it every time. I know now she doesn’t even speak to you. She does not answer your calls. She fled over the nest, Gaius.”
The woman stared at Paul as shocked and frightened at the time when Paul had used his Voice on her. Her beady eyes widened. “So here we all are,” he lowly stated, leaning toward her an inch from his seat. “I wish to bargain with you for the life of my beloved.”
Stilgar cleared his throat.
Alia fingered the handle of the crysknife sheathed at her neck.
The ghola remained at the door, face impassive, metal eyes pointed at the air above the Reverend Mother’s head.
“I know what it is you want from me,” Paul said, leaning back once more after what he had revealed. “And I also know you will not stop until you attain it. I wish not to continue this pantomime. Irulan is beyond your control now, but she still can prove herself useful. For both of us.”
She lifted her chin and met with Paul’s eyes. “How?” she asked, a touch of intrigue brushing her tone. She was interested, and she could barely contain it even with her hard Bene Gesserit training. “What coin do you offer?”
“I’ll give you what the Bene Gesserit desires the most. Not in my person, but you may have my seed,” Paul said openly. “Irulan will get inseminated by artificial—”
“You dare!” the Reverend Mother flared, stiffening and cutting him even before Paul finished.
Paul gave her another wry tight smile as Stilgar took a half step forward. Disconcertingly, the ghola smiled. And now Alia was studying him more carefully. Not for the first, Paul wondered how much she had known—how far she had seen. He could have done this alone, too, but the old crone needed to realize Paul had witnesses for this discussion and draft her conclusions accordingly.
“We’ll not discuss the things your Sisterhood forbids,” he said calmly. “I will listen to no talk of sins, abominations, or the beliefs left over from past Jihads. Irulan may have my seed, but by artificial means only. That’s my offer.”
Paul watched the Reverend Mother close her eyes for a split second, the alluring trap Paul had cast for her becoming perfectly visible to her insight. She looked at their audience after the brief interlude, and Paul could almost hear what she thought.
She must have hated casting the genetic dice in such a way—against every teaching of the Bene Gesserit and the lessons of the Butlerian Jihad. It all proscribed such an act. One did not demean the highest aspirations of humankind. No machine could function in the way of a human mind. No word or deed could imply that men might be bred on the level of animals. For the Sisterhood, mating mingled more than sperm and ovum. One aimed to capture the psyche.
Paul knew all of it, and even agreed, but his personal proscription went deeper than the general proscription. He had given his promise to Chani, and he could not break it. Still, not.
He had changed the fabric of the universe so much, so deeply that he told himself one more change wouldn’t hurt anyone. His decision necessitated it. There was still a part of him that felt disturbed with his decision, and Paul told himself it was the best. He also needed to break a path free from the influence of the Bene Gesserit over his child.
It was paramount to ascertain that Bene Gesserit stayed away from him when he sat on the throne. Paul could deal with Irulan, but the whole Sisterhood had to be kept under a tight leash until his heir came to age. As long as Paul dangled the truth above their heads, the Sisterhood would heed carefully.
Were it ever discovered this move would bring down popular wrath. They could not admit such paternity if the Emperor denied it. This coin might save the precious Atreides genes for the Sisterhood, but it would entirely bind them to his will for the throne, making them dependent on Paul’s collaboration. Which was his gambit for the safety of his child—and also for Irulan.
Irulan would turn her back on the Sisterhood even further, burning down all the bridges to protect her child. Her strong maternal instincts would not allow otherwise. Paul knew his wife, knew her scheming nature, but he also knew her maternal side.
This was his queen’s gambit.
Irulan was his queen gambit. Making her carry his heir via artificial ways was his sacrifice—both for his personal integrity and the safety of the child and mother, and his Empire, and in return, this gambit was going to secure his control of the center of the board.
“Your decision,” he prompted the older woman calmly, holding back his wry smile, assured that she was tempted by the carrot Paul was dangling for her.
The precious Atreides genes. They were too important to miss. Need went deeper than proscription also for the Bene Gesserit.
She swept her gaze around the room, studying each face, the witnesses Paul had brought himself today. His most trusted men—who would back up his claim if the need arose. Paul trusted Stilgar with everything, and Alia was his sister and his heir at the moment. And the ghola—well, the ghola had to witness this event, too, not for Paul, but for his self. If Duncan had been alive, he would have also stood with Paul here today, so Paul also allowed him to stand.
To show them clearly how he felt about their tool of conspiracy. Today also confirmed it. The Bene Gesserit still did not know how far Irulan had broken away from them. They did not know Irulan had also confessed to the conspiracy.
“This is your only offer?” the old woman asked.
“My only offer,” he replied with a firm nod and added to make it absolute with the Sisterhood. “And I will only allow this license for her. Not for another Bene Gesserit. Only for the Princess Consort.”
The second license Paul had allowed for his wife. Let’s hope it’s going to work better than the first license, Paul thought ironically to himself, recalling her with her new lover but pushed away the thought from himself as the Reverend Mother peered at him long. Paul held her piercing gaze, letting the woman see the seriousness of his decision. She would not let her entertain herself with other contingencies in case Irulan refused the offer stronger than Paul predicted or the Reverend Mother decided to place someone more trusted than Irulan now in her place.
After the brief tense moment, the woman turned to the ghola. “You, ghola,” she called. “Should such an offer be made? Having been made, should it be accepted? Function as the mentat for us.”
The metallic eyes turned to Paul for approval.
Paul tilted his head. “Answer as you will.”
The ghola returned his gleaming attention to the Reverend Mother and gave her a smile that took her unawares. Paul observed the nuances of her slight trembling of the muscles of her cheek.
“An offer is only as good as the real thing it buys,” Duncan’s ghost said. “The exchange offered here is life-for-life, a high order of business.”
Paul wondered if the ghola had predicted there was more lining underneath in this bargain, but it was Alia who spoke it aloud: “I can see human arguments and the political ones. But what else is hidden in this bargain?”
The Reverend Mother refused to look at Alia like she had been doing since she arrived, but between them a subtle understanding had passed, two Reverend Mothers communicating through their mutual distrust and hostility.
“What else?” the ghola asked. “One crossing the line may lead another one. One might wonder why the witches of the Bene Gesserit have not used Tleilaxu methods.”
The Tleilaxu methods…altered genetics. Even if it were only for political arguments that Paul sought this, could have he done this?
The artificial ways might be…an unorthodox method for having a child, avowed as a strong taboo by all the Empire but the sperms and eggs fertilized in a clinic and then the fertilized egg was going to be placed in a real womb, in his wife’s womb. This child was going to belong to them despite how it was conceived. The Tleilaxu methods were beyond being unorthodox. It was an abomination.
“If we set the Atreides genes adrift in a Bene Gesserit river, who knows what may result?” his sister mused out. The Reverend Mother’s head whirled at her and she finally met his sister’s eyes of Ibad.
His lips strained as Paul, observing the play of emotion around him, felt abruptly that he no longer knew these people. He could see only strangers. Even Alia was a stranger.
“One tended to believe power could overcome any barrier, including one’s own ignorance,” the old crone muttered under her breath, averting her gaze from Alia.
Paul arched an eyebrow. “You reject my proposal?”
The beady eyes returned to him, and she almost snapped, “I’m thinking.”
Paul stayed silent and stared back at her.
“Tell me, oh flawless exemplar of all that’s holy, why did you ask me?” she asked eventually. “You would’ve bargained with the Princess in person.”
“I would have,” Paul agreed. “But Irulan was your student. And as the matters stand between us as they are, she may be more inclined to listen to your counsel than mine.”
A low scoff escaped from her. “And you claim she’s flown the nest.”
“Yet, she used to be your cuckoo. You trained her for this task.”
“And you’d just use Irulan to gain your own ends, eh?”
“Wasn’t she trained to be used?” Paul asked. All her life they had trained her for this.
“Prove yourself useful to me, Gaius.” His expression became studier and stonier as he leaned forward in his seat, more threatening. “Prove to me I was right when I sensed you would be more useful to me banished twelve years ago.”
His threat did not go unnoticed, her Truthsense observing what his tongue did not say aloud. Prove me wrong, I’ll take your life.
“What if she declines?” she asked. “What if she has truly fled the nest, Your Grace? What will you do? Will you force this upon her, too?”
His lips strained, but he held his temper in check. “That’s why I’ve asked for you, Reverend Mother. I’m trusting your Bene Gesserit persuasion tactics. You convinced her for many things in recent years.”
“And she rejected many times, Your Grace, like you also know,” she pointed. “Your wife has been always a whining shrew—”
“Be careful how you speak of my wife in my presence,” Paul warned icily, cutting her off. “Whatever she is, she’s still my wife.”
“And your wife has a temperament as we all know,” she retorted. “There were some occasions in which we needed to put certain edges in our persuasion tactics to give her…incentive to carry out our commands. It was not pleasant.”
Paul felt a cold shiver run down his spine with the implications, sugarcoating the facts with semantics to sound more civilized and sterile. The Imperium called torture enhanced interrogation techniques, and the Bene Gesserit called it persuasion tactics. The fact that Paul had caused her this made the bile rise to his mouth with his anger, a part of him wanting to throw this old sociopathic witch into the desert to find her own end like an animal.
The stir passed over their audience in the same way, understanding what lay beneath the words. Torture. They had hurt Irulan until she broke and submitted to her orders. How many times they had asked her to kill Chani, and how many times she had refused? A vision of her contracting with spasms and trembling crouched into a corner flickered over his insight, hugging tightly herself and crying.
“I’ll ask openly as you speak so,” the Bene Gesserit continued with the same sterile matter-of-factness. “How far do you wish me to go if she resists?”
Paul stood up and loomed above her. “You will not hurt her. If you do, I’ll kill you.”
She firmed her jaw, and insisted for an answer, “And if she declines?”
Paul fixated his hard gaze on her blue-flecked old eyes. “I’ll kill you the same. Make no mistake,” he warned to drill his point through her. “If she declines, your life is also forfeited and the Sisterhood will never have again a pure sample of our bloodlines. But if you hurt her again, I’ll make you wish for your end.”
“I see,” the woman mused, holding his stern stare. “You presume putting me between a rock and a hard place would create sympathy in her.”
Paul remained silent once more, letting his stony silence speak for himself. “Let’s hope then you assume correct and she’s not gone from the nest that far away,” the Reverend Mother commented in a low voice and she sounded for a second as if a true old woman.
Then the beady eyes turned to him and Paul saw the Mother Superior of the Sisterhood, ready to do everything to ensure his bloodline continued pure.
“Will you put Chani’s child on the throne?” she prompted, the beady eyes having another glint.
Paul had been waiting for this. “On my throne,” he corrected, avoiding to answer.
He glanced at Alia, who stood with eyes closed, an odd stillness-of-person about her. Seeing his sister thus, Paul felt Alia stood on a shore that was receding from him. Though, Paul could not be sure who was moving adrift from whom. Him or her?
Sometimes, Paul could not be sure. Oracles were blind to each other.
The Reverend Mother smiled a little but it reached to her beady eyes. The woman was amused now and intrigued more than Paul would have liked. “And what if we decide to have a boy?” she finally asked openly. “Will you allow it?”
“I decide who sits on my throne,” Paul warned darkly, taking a step closer to the woman. Not a lie, either. “Not the Bene Gesserit. Always remember it. This child will not buy you a throne.”
“I understood that as soon as you demanded the artificial ways, Your Grace,” she replied. “You were very clear.”
Paul smiled curtly, with no humor at all. “Glad we’re on the same page then, Bene Gesserit. Go and see Princess Consort now. I wish to have her answer at once.”
“Will you permit me to counsel my council at Wallach IX before I go to Caladan?”
“Permitted,” he agreed. “But don’t delay too long. Chani and Irulan must bear my children around the same time.”
Her eyes glinted again with his preference to refer to both as his children, and Paul did not mind. He did not wish to hide it. But her tone had a leery note when she asked, “May I ask how we would arrange the…uh…logistics, my Lord?”
Logistics… such a civilized manner to ask how they would have his seeds. The easiest answer was to attain them here and then send them to Caladan in a nitro-container tank, but his seeds traveling in the vast space freely before they reached Irulan gave him pause. It felt too…unorthodox even for him.
Furthermore, Paul could not let the Bene Gesserit put some schemes with them, too tempted by his genes. He must be there when the insemination happened, and make sure the rest of his seeds were retrieved and destroyed properly. He could not trust any Bene Gesserit with his seeds. Even to his mother.
“Talk with her,” Paul ordered once more. “As soon as she accepts, I’ll come to Caladan. We’ll deal with the logistics there.”
That surprised her, Paul could see it openly this time. “Will you be there?”
Paul looked back at her straight in the eye. The old woman smiled pleased and it was one of the most disconcerting sights that Paul had ever seen as she commented what Paul had not spoken aloud: “You still don’t trust us with your seeds.”
“Only a fool would trust a Bene Gesserit.”
“Does your mother know about your decision?”
Paul held back a sigh. Her mother—well, she wanted to stay away and Paul respected her decision. She did not have any right to say anything about this anymore. “You’re free to give her the news.”
The old woman nodded and slowly started to rise from the divan. Stilgar quickly moved to her side, ready to escort her out but the Reverend Mother paused by the draped door and turned aside to Paul.
“Oh, the last thing before we part ways,” she started as Paul simply waited to see what the old witch was going to spawn this time. “We reached some rumors from Caladan in the past weeks.”
Paul, still silent, felt his face darken, knowing where this was going. “The rumors say the Princess has taken a lover. What do you want us to do about it?”
The corner of his mouth almost twitched as Paul forced himself to stay impassive. “Nothing,” he said coldly. “That’s between me and my wife. You won’t get involved.”
Even though his cold acceptance of the rumors surprised the old woman, she did not display it, but Paul still could sense her keen interest. Alia’s eyes held the same burning interest and…worry. Paul turned away from them, dismissing his company wordlessly. After the Reverend Mother was escorted, the ghola also left, but Alia lingered.
Paul still did not look at her, but Alia was still watching him, suspicious and wary. Her question had revealed though she had not seen the alternatives here…Vision varied from sibyl to sibyl. Why not a variance from brother to sister, one oracle from the other? Paul wondered.
Paul wondered many things, his attention wandering … wandering … He came back from each thought with a start to pick up shards of the correlations in his insight. He had done it.
He had done what was incomprehensible, what was beyond folly.
Alia was confused. Paul did not blame her. Let her wonder. If they still could wonder, it was a kindness. He remembered the man Irulan was kissing—the teenage boy who punched him right across his face. Wondering was a blessing.
“Paul…” she finally called out to him. “Will you really do this, brother?” Disbelief colored her voice, low and hesitant.
Paul turned and looked at his sister in silence. “You still trust that woman this much even after what she did?”
“We caused her to do it,” Paul murmured, averting his eyes. “She tried her best.”
Alia approached him and her eyes of Ibad were stern. “You knew it, didn’t you?” she finally asked. Paul swallowed but remained silent as Alia comprehended all.
“Will Chani die?”
The question trembled it, hearing it aloud from another human being, the terrible destiny that had clutched on him, the terrible fate that Paul had been trying to evade, trying to flee for years. It was there, and there was no place to run anymore. An incredible sadness wrapped him once more as Paul slowly—lowly breathed the breath he was holding.
A sole tear rolled down his cheek as vision-memories filled him.
Chani touching a tear on his cheek…
Whispers in the desert… it was mostly the sweet, and you were the sweetest of all.
Irulan knelt in the dark, giving water to the dead.
Alia let out a deep, grave sound, shaking her head. “We must not grieve for those dear to us before their passing.”
“Before their passing,” Paul repeated in a mutter. “Tell me, little sister, what is before?”