Stilgar, Idaho’s Naib of the ancient days on Dune, would have looked on that room with scorn. “Shameful!” he would have said. “Decadent! Weak!” Stilgar would have used many scornful words about this entire village which dared to compare itself with a true Fremen sietch.

Paper rustled as Siona turned a page. She lay with her head propped on two pillows, a thin white robe covering her body. The robe still revealed clinging wetness from her bath.

Idaho shook his head. What was it on those pages which held her interest this way? She had been reading and rereading since their arrival at Tuono. The volumes were thin but numerous, bearing only numbers on their black bindings. Idaho had seen a number nine.

Swinging his feet to the floor, he stood and went to the window. There was an old man out there at a distance digging in flowers. The garden was protected by buildings on three sides. The flowers bore large blossoms—red on the outside but, when they unfolded, white in the centre. The old man’s uncovered grey hair was a kind of blossom waving among the floral white and jewelled buds. Idaho smelled mouldering leaves and freshly turned dirt against a background of pungent floral perfume.

A Fremen tending flowers in the open!

Siona volunteered nothing about her strange reading matter. She’s taunting me, Idaho thought. She wants me to ask.

He tried not to think about Hwi. Rage threatened to engulf him when he did. He remembered the Fremen word for that intense emotion: kanawa, the iron ring of jealousy. Where is Hwi? What is she doing at this moment?

The door from the garden opened without a knock and Teishar, an aide to Garun, entered. Teishar had a dead-coloured face full of dark wrinkles. His eyes were sunken with pale yellow around the pupils. Teishar wore a brown robe. He had hair like old grass that had been left out to rot. He seemed unnecessarily ugly, like a dark and elemental spirit. Teishar closed the door and stood there looking at them.

Siona’s voice came from behind Idaho. “Well, what is it?”

Idaho noticed then that Teishar seemed strangely excited, vibrating with it.

“The God Emperor…” Teishar cleared his throat and began again. “The God Emperor will come to Tuono!”

Siona sat upright on the bed, folding her white robe over her knees. Idaho glanced back at her, then once more at Teishar.

“He will be wed here, here in Tuono!” Teishar said. “It will be done in the ancient Fremen way! The God Emperor and his bride will be guests of Tuono!”

Full in the grip of kanawa, Idaho glared at him, fists clenched. Teishar bobbed his head briefly, turned and let himself out, shutting the door hard.

“Let me read you something, Duncan,” Siona said.

Idaho was a moment understanding her words. Fists still clenched at his sides, he turned and looked at her. Siona sat on the edge of her cot, a book in her lap. She took his attention as agreement.