the Corrino bloodline back onto the throne. That would have been the tidiest way to end this mess. Irulan was beautiful, skilled, trained by the witches. How difficult could it be to seduce a young man at the peak of his hormonal tides? Or had Irulan made the mistake of succumbing to her own fiction, believing the myths she herself created?
Shaddam’s eyes slipped briefly out of focus. Even Hasimir Fenring had apparently abandoned him. Though Bashar Garon had tracked him down years ago and dutifully delivered the jewel-handled Imperial knife as a gift, Fenring had not come running back to Salusa.
If Hasimir would only work beside him again, Shaddam was sure they could find a solution to this galactic crisis. But the Count refused to come back, which led to unsettling questions. What was Hasimir really up to? Why would he voluntarily live among the disgusting Tleilaxu for years — and raise his daughter there?
Beaming and bubbling as a new father, Dalak Zor-Fenring left Wensicia’s bedside and looked up at the Emperor’s troubled expression. “Are you all right, Father?” The man’s voice sounded almost feminine in its timbre. He was five years younger than Wensicia.
Shaddam glared at him. “I have not granted you leave to call me that.”
His son-in-law backed away quickly, flushing. “Excuse me if I have been too familiar, Sire. If you are not comfortable with my expression of affection, I will never call you Father again.”
“Very little about you makes me comfortable, Dalak. I will always be Emperor
Fenring’s cousin had pinched features and overlarge, dark eyes, but his physical resemblance to the Count went no farther than that. Hasimir’s dapper dress suited him well, but similar garments made Dalak look like a dandy. He was the only person in exile on Salusa who wore silk and lace. Wensicia didn’t even seem to like him (a small mercy there).
Stranded here and in disgrace, he despaired of finding any better matches for his three remaining daughters. Mercifully, even though Dalak had no formal title, at least he had some noble blood flowing in his veins, and at least he had managed to create a male child. None of Shaddam’s wives had succeeded in that.
Behind him, the door of the birthing room opened without his permission — another indication of the lack of decorum here. “We came to see the baby.” Chalice, heavyset and tall, was a little older than Wensicia; the two youngest daughters, Josifa and Rugi, were both adults, though they remained sheltered, despite their initial Bene Gesserit-supervised instruction. They all rushed to Wensicia’s bedside to coo over the infant.
“Have you chosen a name yet?” Rugi asked, looking from Wensicia to Dalak. With her medium-brown curly hair, high cheekbones, and lavender eyes, his youngest daughter was pretty enough, but she seemed waifish and quiet, with few thoughts in her head. Rugi was just…
“We have decided to call him Farad’n,” Shaddam said, using the Imperial
He let his words trail off when he noticed that no one was listening to him. Josifa had picked up the baby to rock it in her arms, talking to him in a silly fashion. Shaddam grimaced.
He stepped closer to the bed. “Give him to me, Josifa.” She looked startled. “And stop babbling at him like a fool. You will pollute his mind with the nonsense contained in yours. I will place Farad’n with the best tutors I can find. He is the heir to the Imperium.”
Getting his way, Shaddam held the baby awkwardly. He spoke with great portent down to the bundle, “You will be a true Corrino one day, Farad’n. Mark my words.”
“A Zor-Fenring-Corrino,” Dalak said, a proud smile crossing his cherubic features.
“He is Farad’n
The room went silent, except for Shaddam’s voice, as he droned on to the child about how great he would be one day.
7
There are many ways to teach, and many ways to unteach. It is frequently a matter of inflicting pain in precise ways.
“The Twisting process is one of the most sacred of Tleilaxu secrets,” Dr. Ereboam said, an edge of warning in his voice, “and is comprised of many subtle steps.” At the entrance of his cluttered office, he looked with particular ire at Lady Margot and little Marie. “You will understand, of course, that I can show you only one small part of the lengthy routine.”
“Ahh, of course.” Standing with his wife and little Marie, Count Hasimir Fenring did not blink. His personality, like a loaded weapon, was intimidating in itself. “We each have secrets, hmmm? In all these years I have not told my friend Shaddam about the true plans… and mistakes… you Tleilaxu made during the amal project.” He ran a finger along his upper lip. “Wouldn’t the Emperor Muad’Dib be interested to learn of them? Yes, I know he would.”
“Hidar Fen Ajidica was a rogue researcher! His plan was not sanctioned by the kehl!” Ereboam’s excuse sounded thin. His milky skin turned even paler.
“Hmmm-ahh, yes, I am sure Muad’Dib would believe you.” Lady Margot took her husband’s arm. “You have nothing to fear from the truth, Dr. Ereboam… if it is the truth.”
Looking cornered, the albino researcher tugged on his white goatee. “You have already used that to blackmail us, and we have given you sanctuary for years. Further threats are not necessary.”
“Yes, ahh-hmmm, our destinies are intertwined.” A crafty smile worked at the edges of his mouth. “We should have nothing to fear from each other… and few secrets. Let us witness this Twisting process. Perhaps my Lady and I can learn techniques applicable to the raising of our dear daughter.”
Months ago, Fenring hadn’t believed Ereboam’s altruistic assertions for a moment when the researcher had proposed using the Twisting process on Marie. “It could unlock hitherto unseen potentials in the female child. Do you not want the girl to be armed against any sort of challenge?” Ereboam had asked. The very existence of free and independent women offended the Tleilaxu Masters. And the girl child seemed to be a thorn in their side as well. No, Count Fenring didn’t trust their motives.
Fenring said, “Hmmm, perhaps we should observe this process of yours first.” When he saw how the Tleilaxu researcher balked at the idea, he knew he had reached the right decision. “I insist.”
Marie gave an angelic smile. “I am just a little girl, but I want to learn.”
Given Marie’s superior breeding, as well as impeccable upbringing and training, Fenring knew he and Margot could accomplish a great deal with the girl. Spy, assassin, savior, child Empress… So much more than the Bene Gesserits would have allowed.
Now the albino researcher’s long white hair was unkempt, and he had dark circles under his eyes, as if he had not slept. Even so, he spoke in an energetic — even frenetic — voice. “Come with me, but do not expect to understand all the nuances. I find it a wildly exciting process.”
Ereboam led them into a laboratory chamber that contained many tall clearplaz cylinders that extended from floor to ceiling, surrounded by pipes, brackets, and two levels of upper walkways. Around the room, sullen middle- caste technicians tended humming, pulsing machinery at identical-looking control panels. Eight men with shaved heads stood near the tubes wearing modest filmsuits that did not entirely disguise their different bodily configurations. One of them shivered and two others appeared fearful, while the rest seemed stoic. Fenring did not
