Leto considered his response for a long moment. “You are my son and heir, Paul, and everyone knows it. Your opinion is valuable to me, but Imperial politics place certain obligations on a person of my station.”
A ball of ice formed in the pit of Paul’s stomach. What was his father saying?
Leto continued, “You have studied history and politics, the Landsraad code, the Great Convention, the rules of conflict and alliances between houses. House Atreides is a Great House, but not a particularly powerful one, and that is fine with me. My peers in the Landsraad accept me well enough, but after the Otorio massacre, I fear that a large part of our social fabric could shift, maybe even unravel. We are facing a time of turmoil, and many conditions may change.”
Paul felt his cheeks grow hot, wondering if his father was once again considering a political marriage, which would shift his role and that of his mother. Assailed by unaccustomed insecurity, the young man rose to his feet, not wanting to hear any justifications his father might offer.
“If you will excuse me, sir. I’ll return to my room to reflect on what you said.” He tried not to let Leto see his distress, but could not hide it. “I will do my best to understand.”
I have faced the most extreme conflicting loyalties. And I made my decision.
—LADY JESSICA
The next morning, Paul faced off against both Duncan and Gurney in shield fighting. They put him through more than the customary exercises, attacking from two directions in one lesson. As always, his trainers fought to their utmost and expected Paul to do the same.
“A real assassin would show you no mercy, lad,” Gurney said, striking harder.
Wiping sweat from his brow with his free hand, Duncan was especially complimentary of Paul’s technique. “Excellent work today. You’re close to passing a threshold that’s been holding you back. For two months, you’ve been at a plateau in personal combat, and we need to push you beyond it. Even if it takes two of us.”
“Aye, a true statement,” Gurney said. “I saw the same thing. There’s something … more about you now.”
Paul beamed, glad that they had noticed. “I practiced a couple of specific techniques over and over, just as both of you taught me to do.” His mother had also been quietly teaching him Bene Gesserit skills, helping him master muscular control beyond any ability Duncan or Gurney possessed. He grinned at his two opponents now. “Every aspect makes me a better fighter. Learn each method slowly and get it right before moving on to the next.”
Gurney laughed, a deep roar. “So now you think you’re in charge of these lessons and not us? You decide when you move on, and when you hang back?”
“Ah, but if I’m doing what you tell me to do, doesn’t that mean you’re still in charge of me?” Paul asked.
“And a slippery lad you are, fighting with both words and blades.”
Though it was designed to prepare him for life-or-death encounters, Paul enjoyed his training, was proud of his progress. But he did not let himself grow overconfident, because each stage of improvement only pointed to some higher rung he needed to reach. Always more to learn, always more to know.
The trio clasped arms as they did at the end of a particularly good session, then parted. Paul showered and changed into a simple tunic and trousers, then went back to his quarters, which were like a museum of his young life—sports and fencing equipment, an assortment of projectile weapons, framed images of his parents and Paul on his fourteenth birthday the previous month.
He stood at the center bank of windows and gazed out on the Caladan Sea, which stretched to the horizon. Looking down the sheer cliff beneath his window, he saw the white spray of surf hitting the rocks. Out on the waves, fishing boats bounced around in the whitecaps. An ornithopter buzzed overhead on its security patrol, like one of the scout craft Thufir Hawat liked to fly, keeping watch over House Atreides.
The thought of the Mentat teacher and his frequent admonishments made Paul suddenly self-conscious. Thufir insisted that he never sit or stand with his back to a door. Situational awareness. As part of this, the young man always knew where doors were, where threats could arise, what direction a potential assassin might use, and what Paul’s escape routes were. His room had a second door that led to his private bedchamber, where he could take refuge in an attack. He had even practiced escaping through the balcony door and climbing down the castle wall, or up to other balconies.
He turned to face the closed door with one hand on a dagger at his waist. He’d heard a small noise out in the corridor, but at the sound of a soft knock, a familiar knock, he let himself relax. “Enter, Mother.”
Jessica opened the door and stepped through. She looked regal with her bronze hair secured in a formal wrap with a blue sapphire pin on the front. It had been a gift from Duke Leto on a special occasion. Her expression was serious, concerned. “I heard you and your father having a tense conversation yesterday. I sensed the uneasiness in your words, maybe more than he did. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Paul looked at her for a long moment. She was also one of his teachers. Thanks to her lessons, he could adjust his breathing, his pulse, his reflexes. Jessica was far more advanced than he was, could even control her metabolism, alter some of her biochemical processes.
He had tried to use those Sisterhood techniques to steady his own doubts, but he had not entirely succeeded. He was disappointed in himself, though he refused to admit it to her.
Jessica saw his expression, recognized the Atreides pride not unlike that which she often saw in Leto. She stood before Paul now, saw that he was hurt, trying to show her support. She wanted to reach out and hug him, but held back. “You still seem distressed, but if you don’t want me here—”
“I didn’t say that.” He smiled a little. “I’m still processing.”
She touched his arm. “Will you talk about it?”
He disengaged. “I always appreciate your concern for me.”
“My love for you,” she corrected him.
“I already talked with my father about my future and his plans for House Atreides.” He turned to the window. “But he is the Duke.” That single phrase raised, and answered, so many questions.
She moved to his side and stood gazing out at the ocean with him. Jessica understood Paul’s pride, his streak of independence. She watched him, but did not pamper him. Leto would not want his son to seem weak. Paul was finding out who he was, growing up and breaking free of his parents. It was a normal process.
With all her Bene Gesserit responsibilities and training, Jessica had stepped into a role here far more complex than she had ever anticipated. Though she still had unbreakable ties to the Sisterhood, she had become a vital part of House Atreides, a true companion to Leto. But her most important job was to be a mother to Paul. The Sisterhood, however, might disagree.…
She considered all the Bene Gesserit around the Imperium, the Sisterhood’s unspoken but widespread agenda, how they watched noble houses and pulled the strings of government. Even though Jessica had been raised in the Mother School, she was not power hungry. She was content, even happy, as the bound concubine of Leto Atreides and the mother of Paul. She had found love, despite Bene Gesserit warnings against emotions. The Sisterhood’s paramount command was to put the order above her personal interests. Jessica was doing both, walking a fine line and succeeding.