Free Dune by Frank Herbert Page B

we are!”
    The voice was Duke Leto’s.
    She whirled, saw him striding from the arched passage to the dining hall.
His black working uniform with red armorial hawk crest at the breast looked
dusty and rumpled.
    “I thought you might have lost yourself in this hideous place,” he said.
    “It is a cold house,” she said. She looked at his tallness, at the dark skin
that made her think of olive groves and golden sun on blue waters. There was
woodsmoke in the gray of his eyes, but the face was predatory: thin, full of
sharp angles and planes.
    A sudden fear of him tightened her breast. He had become such a savage,
driving person since the decision to bow to the Emperor’s command.
    “The whole city feels cold,” she said.
    “It’s a dirty, dusty little garrison town,” he agreed. “But we’ll change
that.” He looked around the hall. “These are public rooms for state occasions.
I’ve just glanced at some of the family apartments in the south wing. They’re
much nicer.” He stepped closer, touched her arm, admiring her stateliness.
    And again, he wondered at her unknown ancestry — a renegade House, perhaps?
Some black-?barred royalty? She looked more regal than the Emperor’s own blood.
    Under the pressure of his stare, she turned half away, exposing her profile.
And he realized there was no single and precise thing that brought her beauty to
focus. The face was oval under a cap of hair the color of polished bronze. Her
eyes were set wide, as green and clear as the morning skies of Caladan. The nose
was small, the mouth wide and generous. Her figure was good but scant: tall and
with its curves gone to slimness.
    He remembered that the lay sisters at the school had called her skinny, so
his buyers had told him. But that description oversimplified. She had brought a
regal beauty back into the Atreides line. He was glad that Paul favored her.
    “Where’s Paul?” he asked.
    “Someplace around the house taking his lessons with Yueh.”
    “Probably in the south wing,” he said. “I thought I heard Yueh’s voice, but
I couldn’t take time to look.” He glanced down at her, hesitating. “I came here
only to hang the key of Caladan Castle in the dining hall.”
    She caught her breath, stopped the impulse to reach out to him. Hanging the
key — there was finality in that action. But this was not the time or place for
comforting. “I saw our banner over the house as we came in,” she said.
    He glanced at the painting of his father. “Where were you going to hang
that?”
    “Somewhere in here.”
    “No.” The word rang flat and final, telling her she could use trickery to
persuade, but open argument was useless. Still, she had to try, even if the
gesture served only to remind herself that she would not trick him.
    “My Lord,” she said, “if you’d only . . . ”
    “The answer remains no. I indulge you shamefully in most things, not in
this. I’ve just come from the dining hall where there are –”
    “My Lord! Please.”
    “The choice is between your digestion and my ancestral dignity, my dear,” he
said. “They will hang in the dining hall.”
    She sighed. “Yes, my Lord.”
    “You may resume your custom of dining in your rooms whenever possible. I
shall expect you at your proper position only on formal occasions.”
    “Thank you, my Lord.”
    “And don’t go all cold and formal on me! Be thankful that I never married
you, my dear. Then it’d be your duty to join me at table for every meal.”
    She held her face immobile, nodded.
    “Hawat already has our own poison snooper over the dining table,” he said.
“There’s a portable in your room.”
    “You anticipated this . . . disagreement,” she said.
    “My dear, I think also of your comfort. I’ve engaged servants. They’re
locals, but Hawat has cleared them — they’re Fremen all. They’ll do until our
own people can be released from their other duties.”
    “Can anyone from this place be