Idaho felt that this had slipped out of Moneo, an inadvertent betrayal. What could it mean?

More reckless than any of the others.

It galled Idaho that he should have to bear comparison to himself-as-an-unknown. How careful had the others been?

Idaho came to his own door, put a hand on the palm lock and hesitated. He felt like a hunted animal retreating to his den. The guards in the mess surely would have reported that conversation to Leto by now. What would the God Emperor do? Idaho’s hand moved across the lock. The door swung inward. He entered the anteroom of his apartment and sealed the door, looking at it.

Will he send his Fish Speakers for me?

Idaho glanced around the entry area. It was a conventional space—racks for clothing and shoes, a full length mirror, a weapons cupboard. He looked at the closed door of the cupboard. Not one of the weapons behind that door offered any real threat to the God Emperor. There wasn’t even a lasgun… although even lasguns were ineffectual against the worm, according to all the accounts.

He knows I will defy him.

Idaho sighed and looked toward the arched portal which led into the sitting area. Moneo had replaced the soft furniture with heavier, stiffer pieces, some of them recognizably Fremen—culled from the coffers of the Museum Fremen.

Museum Fremen!

Idaho spat and strode through the portal. Two steps into the room he stopped, shocked. The soft light from the north windows revealed Hwi Noree seated on the low sling-divan. She wore a shimmering blue gown which draped itself revealingly around her figure. Hwi looked up at his entrance.

“Thank the gods you’ve not been harmed,” she said.

Idaho glanced back at his entry, at the palm-locked door. He returned a speculative look to Hwi. No one but a few selected guards should be able to open that door.

She smiled at his confusion. “We Ixians manufactured those locks,” she said.

He found himself filled with fear for her. “What are you doing here?”

“We must talk.”

“About what?”

“Duncan…” She shook her head. “About us.”

“They warned you,” he said.

“I’ve been told to reject you.”

“Moneo sent you!”

“Two guardswomen who overheard you in the mess—they brought me. They think you are in terrible danger.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

She stood, one graceful motion which reminded him of the way Leto’s grandmother, Jessica, had moved—the same fluid control of muscles, every movement beautiful.

Realization came as a shock. “You’re Bene Gesserit…”

“No! They were among my teachers, but I am not Bene Gesserit.”

Suspicions clouded his mind. What allegiances were really at work in Leto’s Empire? What does a ghola know about such things?

The changes since last I lived…

“I suppose you’re still just a simple Ixian,” he said.

“Please don’t sneer at me, Duncan.”

“What are you?”

“I am the intended bride of the God Emperor.”

“And you’ll serve him faithfully!”

“I will.”

“Then there’s nothing for us to talk about.”