When Duncan suddenly sprang forward, Paul danced out of the way, and spun to face him with the broadsword raised. “On the other hand,” the young man said, “we can never abandon our primal ways, never allow our basic senses and inborn traits to atrophy.” Duncan swung hard, and Paul used his shield to slow and block the blow, then stepped away, hefting his own broadsword.
“Well said, young Master.” Duncan laughed, a deep chuckle similar to Gurney’s. “Words are an effective weapon for the human to use. You just used them on me.”
“Effectively?”
He raised his sword in a salute to Paul. “You’re the young Master, and I shall never forget that, but in the world of the classroom, I am the master, and you will do as I say … for your own good.”
Their sparring was interrupted when Jessica appeared at the door of the training room. Duncan lowered his sword, giving Paul’s mother a deferential nod. Paul could sense that uneasiness hung around her like a shawl; she herself had taught him how to read the signs. “When you are finished with your session, Paul, I must speak with you.”
The young man wiped sweat from his forehead. “I think I have exhausted Duncan enough for one day.”
Jessica turned to the Swordmaster. Her tone was polite, but firm. “If you would be so kind as to grant us privacy?”
“Of course, my Lady.” Duncan returned his broadsword to the rack and left the chamber while toweling himself off.
Though his trainer had shown the proper deference to the Duke’s concubine, Paul had seen a hardness in his eyes when he looked at Jessica. He didn’t understand why his mother and Duncan were often at odds. Paul wanted to use every technique, along with the ones Gurney and Thufir showed him, to become as skilled as possible. They all wanted him to be the best Duke, and he appreciated that.
Jessica’s expression seemed both warm and sad at the same time. “There is something you must know … plans your father is making.” Paul returned his broadsword to the rack, and he and his mother took seats on a hard bench. She framed her words carefully. “Leto is the moral foundation on which House Atreides stands. He is my anchor and my love. After looking at many marriage possibilities, he has reached a decision, an important one for our future—in consultation with Thufir Hawat and me.”
Paul read into what she said, the nuances of her voice, her flicker of expressions. He dreaded what she would say next.
Jessica handed him an image plate bearing the face of a beautiful young blond-haired woman. “Who is this?” he asked, suddenly wary.
“Her name is Junu Verdun, the daughter of Duke Fausto Verdun, an influential Landsraad noble. Joining their House to ours in a marriage alliance would significantly strengthen House Atreides. Your father has sent a proposal to Duke Verdun, suggesting negotiations for a possible betrothal.”
Paul’s anger flared toward his father, as well as a deep hurt for his mother. Duke Leto had promised he would not marry. “She looks my age! And my father intends to marry her?” He felt dizzy.
Surprised, Jessica let out a quick laugh, which perplexed him. “Oh, Paul! No, your father is suggesting Junu Verdun as your future wife.”
Now Paul reeled in sudden confusion, even astonishment. Searching for words, he finally said, “I’m only fourteen! When does he expect me to marry?”
Jessica’s eyes bored into his, and she reached out to touch his hand. “When I look at you, I often forget how young you are, even though you have wisdom and fighting skills beyond your years.”
He took pride in that, but felt disoriented. “A betrothal … for me? When does he propose that the wedding happen?” In his mind, he was shouting, wanting to know how much time he had to be a young man, instead of a future Duke.
“We are exploring options, and this is merely a suggestion of a proposal, for now, an exploratory idea that will nevertheless set the Landsraad buzzing. If accepted, however, it could become a legally binding pact between our two Houses.” She drew a breath. “We can draw out the negotiations, if need be. And I will insist that you meet her yourself. The timing is still up for discussion.” Her voice took on a lighter tone. “Several of the other candidates Thufir suggested were far less compatible. I will make sure those are never again considered.”
Though his thoughts were spinning, he smiled in gratitude. Suddenly, his entire world was uncertain.
She handed him the image plate so he could look at Junu more closely. “You don’t know the girl, of course, but you can review the information we have compiled about her. If we receive a positive response from Duke Verdun, we will arrange for the two of you to be introduced.”
He looked down at her features, found her pretty. He rolled the name over in his mind. Junu Verdun. Paul would be expected to take her as his formal, legal wife for political reasons. One day, she could be the Duchess of Caladan.
Jessica regarded him for a long while, and he worked hard to control his breathing, his pulse, exactly as she had taught him. She did not guide him in the technique but let him work through the exercise on his own. Finally, his heartbeat calmed, his breathing slowed, and he gathered a sense of stillness about him.
He opened his eyes again and stared sadly at the image of Junu Verdun. “But this isn’t right. She is not the girl I see in my dreams.”
The comment drew Jessica’s interest. “Your dreams? You see a girl?”
“Often the same dream again and again. I’m sure it will come true—sometimes I can tell.” He explained about the young woman in the cave and the vast desert, her all-blue eyes, dark red hair, and elfin features. He set the image plate aside on the bench, then picked up a drawing pad there among the records and training logs. “I’ve dreamed of her enough that I know her features. And it is not the daughter of Duke Verdun.” To the best of his ability, he sketched an image of the dream girl. “I think this is the person who will be my wife and my love.”
“Those two are not always the same thing.” Jessica’s voice had a quick undertone of bitterness from her own situation. “And dreams do not always come true.”
“Maybe we need to listen to dreams, though,” Paul said. “Remember the dream I had not long ago, one that terrified me in my sleep? I dreamed my father was in danger.” He paused. “I consulted the Ixian chronometer in his study and confirmed what I already suspected. My dream occurred at the same time as the Otorio attack.”
Jessica was alarmed. “That is strange indeed. Prescient dreams are of great interest to the Sisterhood.” She had always known there was something special about Paul, and now she felt more certain than ever that her son had an important future. But she worried about him.
* * *
THE MESSAGE CYLINDER came from Lord Atikk. From their brief conversation on Otorio, Leto remembered the loud and blustery man. Now when he unsealed the cylinder and read the words, Atikk’s sheer venom and fury struck him like a physical blow.
“The Landsraad has heard of Atreides honor, Duke Leto, but now I know it is a lie to cover your hateful corruption. Have you no inkling of the harm and suffering you caused? Damn you and your drug operations.”
Leto felt as if he had been impaled by an icicle. The unexpected condemnation from this stranger did not even seem real.