“Lord, you have made me terribly afraid.”

“And you do not understand why I have done this.”

“Is it possible for me to understand?”

“Oh, yes. Many could understand it. What people do with understanding is another matter.”

“Will you teach me what to do?”

“You already know.”

She absorbed this silently, then: “It has something to do with your religion. I can feel it.”

Leto smiled. “I can forgive your Ixian masters almost anything for the precious gift of you. Ask and you shall receive.”

She leaned toward him, rocking forward on her pillow. “Tell me about the inner workings of your religion.”

“You will know all of me soon enough, Hwi. I promise it. Just remember that sun worship among our primitive ancestors was not far off the mark.”

“Sun… worship?” She rocked backward.

“That sun which controls all of the movement but which cannot be touched—that sun is death.”

“Your… death?”

“Any religion circles like a planet around a sun which it must use for its energy, upon which it depends for its very existence.”

Her voice came barely above a whisper: “What do you see in your sun, Lord?”

“A universe of many windows through which I may peer. Whatever the window frames, that is what I see.”

“The future?”

“The universe is timeless at its roots and contains therefore all times and all futures.”

“It’s true then,” she said. “You saw a thing which this…” she gestured at his long, ribbed body, “… prevents.”

“Do you find it in you to believe that this may be, in some small way, holy?” he asked.

She could only nod her head.

“If you share it all with me,” he said, “I warn you that it will be a terrible burden.”

“Will it make your burden lighter, Lord?”

“Not lighter, but easier to accept.”

“Then I will share. Tell me, Lord.”

“Not yet, Hwi. You must be patient a while longer.”

She swallowed her disappointment, sighing.

“It’s only that my Duncan Idaho grows impatient,” Leto said. “I must deal with him.”

She glanced backward, but the small room remained empty.

“Do you wish me to leave now?”

“I wish you would never leave me.”

She stared at him, noting the intensity of his regard, a hungry emptiness in his expression which filled her with sadness. “Lord, why do you tell me your secrets?”

“I would not ask you to be the bride of a god.”

Her eyes went wide with shock.

“Do not answer,” he said.

Barely moving her head, she sent her gaze along the shadowy length of his body.

“Do not search for parts of me which no longer exist,” he said. “Some forms of physical intimacy are no longer possible for me.”

She returned her attention to his cowled face, noting the pink skin of his cheeks, the intensely human effect of his features in that alien frame.

“If you require children,” he said, “I would ask only that you let me choose the father. But I have not yet asked you anything.”