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Chapter Two: Periphery
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The journey from Dering House Hall to Black Heron Hall was approximately 3 hours by ornithopter and upwards of twenty by groundcar. Without the tip from Rhiannon's spies at Dering House Hall, the first advance warning Black Heron Hall would have received of an approaching aircraft would have been from the watchtowers hidden in the mountains — about thirty minutes out.
Except those towers had been abandoned at the end of the Last Great Ironian House War (Rhiannon had quietly kept them manned anyway), so the first 'official' warning would have been fifteen minutes before arrival, when an approaching aircraft was legally required to announce its presence and request permission to land or risk being shot down.
Rhiannon was grateful that she had longer than fifteen minutes to decide how she would receive two of her future husband's closest advisors. It was easy to imagine the chaos that would've ensued in order to make sure the house was ready to host. Three hours gave Rhiannon and the staff the breathing space to not only put in the effort to make everything perfect, but to also make it look as if no effort had been made at all.
Three hours also gave Rhiannon time to decide how she wanted to dress. Although it was highly unlikely that he would arrive on the shuttle with Hawat and Idaho (but Rhiannon had not discounted the possibility), he could probably be expected to arrive on another shuttle anywhere between three to five hours after the first. This meant that the outfit she chose to greet Hawat and Idaho in would probably also be the one she wore to meet the Duke.
It seemed a frivolous thing to dwell on, but Rhiannon had long since learned the power of perception. It was more about the character she portrayed. She could dress in her finest and be the vain, air-headed creature she used to make her enemies discount her. She could wear the stiff, militaristic suits she wore when she needed others to recognize her for her leadership skills and cunning. She could be a simple, sweet widow to garner pity, or witty and charismatic to make friends. Everything in between or none at all.
By the time the ornithopter settled onto a landing pad by the air hangar, Rhiannon had dressed in a dusky blue jumpsuit of satin and chiffon. For her, it was business casual — the kind of thing she wore around Dering House Hall, when any moment might turn into a politically charged negotiation. Intricate lace patterns ran from each shoulder down to the silver belt at her waist, then down further to her hips; a matching cape sewn over her shoulders floated behind her as she moved. The only jewelry in the ensemble were the silver pins that held her hair in an updo and the diamond encrusted brooch in the shape of the fish that was Dering House Crest.
As Lady of the House, there was no need for her to greet Hawat and Idaho on the landing pad. The correct procedure was for her Chief of Staff and a small complement of guards to meet the visitors, who would request an audience with Rhiannon and be promptly escorted to where she waited in her study.
The Chief of Staff materialized at the doorway, a haughty man with papery skin and the overall disposition of an unimpressed ferret. He was unflappable and efficient, so Rhiannon liked him very much. "M'Lady Countess. Thufir Hawat and Duncan Idaho."
Rhiannon stood from where she'd been seated and walked around her desk. "Yes. Send them in, please."
The Chief of Staff stood to the side and bade two men dressed black Atreides work uniforms to enter. Rhiannon smiled and greeted them warmly, clasping each of their hands in the half handshake of the Imperium.
Thufir Hawat was an old man, though Rhiannon could not guess as to his actual age. His dark skin had the cracked, weathered look of old leather and his lips were stained in the manner of Mentats. He stood proudly, shoulders squared and chin high, and Rhiannon noted the way his wary eyes flickered quickly around the room, observing and cataloging the space in the way expected of any good Master of Assassins.
Duncan Idaho was much younger, perhaps in his early thirties, but no less impressive. Tall and broad shouldered, he embodied what every soldier and warrior aspired to be. Idaho's hair was on the long side, dark and wavy, tied behind his head in a ponytail. While his physique inclined him to be physically intimidating, the way he held himself marked him as humble and fairly easygoing. Despite the kindness in his dark eyes, Rhiannon didn't doubt that he was perfectly capable of great violence.
Rhiannon neatly clasped her hands in front of her and looked between her two guests. "Now then, are you here on business, or is this a social call?"
"Business, m'Lady," Hawat said. "Apologies for such short notice, but we've had some… security concerns that have made announcing our movements unwise."
"Oh dear. Trouble, sir?"
"With other Houses beyond Iro," he added. "Nothing that you need to concern yourself with, m'Lady."
Rhiannon already knew about this, of course. Some of House Atreides' enemies also had an eye on Ironian profits, and had been sniffing around, looking for ways to disrupt the alliance Atreides was forging with Dering. The most obvious way of doing this was by removing Rhiannon from the picture, by assassination or otherwise, but those who sought that path quickly learned that it was extraordinarily difficult to get anywhere near her, and those who managed it had the peculiar tendency to disappear without a trace.
She nodded seriously. "I see."
"We're here on account of Duke Atreides, who hopes it would not be too inconvenient for him to visit Black Heron Hall later today."
Rhiannon lifted her eyebrows slightly, her only outward sign of surprise, even though it was fake. "It would not be inconvenient at all. The Duke Atreides and his men are always welcome at Black Heron Hall."
Hawat dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, m'Lady. With your permission, I would like to conduct a security search to secure the house, for both your and the Duke's safety."
"Of course. The house and staff are at your disposal. Is there anything you require to accomplish your task?"
"No, my Lady, the guards I brought with me and those already stationed here will suffice." He was clearly on a schedule, and anxious to get started. "Now, if you'll excuse me. There is work to be done."
At Rhiannon's acknowledgment, the Mentat turned and left the study, already familiar with the estate's layout and not needing any assistance finding his way around. Rhiannon was left with Idaho, who stayed standing politely, clearly with other things to discuss.
Sensing that he was less formal, and having noted the way he had been sneaking interested glances at the refreshments that had been left out on a low table in the sitting area, Rhiannon visibly relaxed and took one of the drinks for herself before settling back into one of the velvet chairs. Idaho took this as permission to do the same, sitting opposite of her and taking a sip from the glass. He coughed a bit, surprised but pleased.
Rhiannon smiled knowingly. "I take it no one's offered you pepper-sap tea yet?"
Pepper-sap tea was an Ironian favorite. Served hot in the winter and cold in the summer, the beloved beverage was made from the leaves and sap of a tree only found in the mountains of Iro, very spicy and usually mixed with whatever alcohol was available. Rhiannon had taken the liberty of adding a splash of a locally-brewed rum to each cup.
"No, my Lady," he coughed. "It's good."
"Well, I suppose it is more popular in the mountains it is than in the Flats," she mused. "Try it with one of the sweet-salmon bites. They pair well together."
Idaho did, and agreed that the combination was very good. Ice broken, Rhiannon gave a satisfied nod and steered the conversation back to business. She sat her glass of spicy tea down and gave him her full attention.
"Now then, was there more you wanted to discuss?"
"Yes, m'Lady," he said, taking her cue and straightening up. "It has to do with the security concerns Hawat mentioned. While we don't think that there is a direct threat to your person, there's still the possibility that you may be approached by people who want to interfere with House Atreides affairs."
Rhiannon frowned. She wondered if he was just trying not to worry her, or if they genuinely weren't aware that several would-be assassins had already passed through her orbit. Something about Idaho's wording sparked her interest, too. You may be approached by people who want to interfere with House Atreides affairs. Did they think a rival house would try to turn her into a spy for them?
Possibly. A Duchess infiltrator would be very dangerous indeed. She wondered if House Atreides had a history of the high ranking women of Castle Caladan turning against the Great House. She'd heard rumors about Lady Kailea, the concubine that served Duke Leto before Lady Jessica, and had formulated a few of her own suspicions about the Duke's estranged mother. She made a mental note to look into it more later.
The fact that they may already be suspicious of her was worrying. While Rhiannon had no intention of betraying House Atreides, she had enemies that would like nothing more than to make the Duke think that she was plotting against him. The ground Rhiannon walked on was already unstable. She needed the Duke and his council to trust her, at least until she was established enough on Caladan to protect herself.
Idaho continued, oblivious to her troubled thoughts. "Since the Duke is returning to Caladan, he fears that our rivals may think you're vulnerable. My Duke has asked that I be assigned as your Personal Guard until you travel to Caladan in a few weeks time."
So which is it, Duncan? Rhiannon thought. Are you here to protect me, to keep people from whispering in my ear, or to spy on me?
"I'd be honored," Rhiannon said, entirely polite and composed. "Trevil Pennon is the head of my Personal Guard. I'll tell him that he is to collaborate with you." She paused for a moment as her mind suddenly switched tracks. Rhiannon intoned a groan.
Idaho stiffened, glass halfway to his lips. "My Lady?"
"I forgot to warn Hawat about Aunt Elsbeth's sex room," Rhiannon complained. Idaho choked. "Is he likely to take offense to that sort of thing?"
Idaho, coughing over his drink for an entirely different reason than before, took a few moments to respond.
"…Her… she…" He finally sputtered, sinuses burning from the wrongly swallowed pepper-sap. "What?"
"Yes, well," she went on, graciously ignoring the Sword Master's suffering, "you can't walk into it accidentally, because it's only accessible through her private rooms. But it can be a bit… let's say shocking… if you aren't prepared for it."
Idaho stared at her for a few long moments, utterly perplexed. Then his mouth twitched. Trying to hide a smile. Failing at it. Rhiannon tutted at Hawat's misfortune, seemingly serious, but her dark eyes glittered with mirth.
Suddenly they were both snickering at the thought of the no-nonsense Master of Assassins suddenly finding himself in a noblewoman's personal sex den.
"At least she isn't home at the moment," Rhiannon said eventually, rubbing at the corner of her eye. "I sent her to town to look at travel dresses. For Hawat's sake, I hope he's finished searching her private chambers by the time she gets back. Otherwise he may get more than he bargained for."
"Would she actually fuc—?" Idaho floundered, remembering that he was speaking to his future Duchess. "Excuse me, m'Lady, I mean… Thufir Hawat's a good man, but… would Lady Levin actually…"
"Anything," Rhiannon smirked, full of exasperated affection, "everything. If it moves, it's fair game. She's a spider, and I've lost count of the number of political incidents my beloved aunt has caused by luring people into her web."
Idaho raised his eyebrows and looked at the empty doorway that his companion had vanished through. "I don't claim to know much of anything about Thurfir's personal life, but… maybe it would do him some good."
Rhiannon laughed. She knew that she'd won him over, and was pleased. As a member of Duke Leto's inner circle, she would undoubtedly need Duncan Idaho's seal of approval in the coming months. "Part of the reason I'm leaving Aunt Elsbeth here at Black Heron Hall is because I don't want to traumatize the poor movers. If nothing else, I'd be interested to know if he says anything to you about it. "
Duncan Idaho grinned roguishly at her, all outward wariness towards her evaporated. "I'll keep that in mind, m'Lady."
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Iro was a planet of mountains; low, rolling seas of forest separating the jagged, snowcapped spines of the numerous Great Ranges that crisscrossed the planet. There were no oceans, only freshwater lakes and raging rivers. In the lower latitudes around the equator was a ribbon of tundra, known as the Great Flats, where most of the planet's major cities were located.
Two Atreides ornithopters droned their way out of the Great Flats, heading north from the city of Talay and Dering House Hall towards a distant Great Range known as the Keninias. The first ornithopter carried Duke Leto Atreides and Gurney Halleck, as well as two extra guards. The second 'thopter's singular purpose was to protect the first.
Although there was no real reason for Duke Leto to pilot the 'thopter, he did anyway, if only to give his hands something to do. Anything to distract him from his troubled thoughts.
The Old Duke Paulus Atreides would ask his son, "What's the first rule of the House?"
Leto would have to repeat it back to him, word for word: "Never marry for love, or it will bring our House down."
It was something Leto's father had said many times throughout his youth, and one of the few things he and his mother could actually agree on.
Leto had taken this rule to heart, though there had been times where he wished he had the nerve to defy it. He hadn't been willing to marry Kailea Vernius, and it had torn them apart in a spectacularly tragic fashion. Now he wouldn't marry Jessica either, and he feared the same thing might happen to their relationship.
Leto knew that Jessica understood why he couldn't marry her, knew that she saw the value in political marriages, knew she saw the value in this marriage. She was far too smart and practical not to. But he also knew, despite it all, that she had been quietly hanging onto the hope that he would marry her anyway. They'd fallen in love, she'd given him a son, and they had been happy.
But now Leto was finally going to marry, and that quiet hope she'd been nurturing had been squandered.
Leto had hoped that bringing Jessica into making the decision would ease whatever pain it was causing. She had agreed that gaining access to Iro — complete access, at that — would benefit House Atreides in almost unimaginable ways. Despite Leto's influence in the Landstraad, House Atreides had never been particularly wealthy — Caladan's primary exports were humble: pundi rice, wine, and fish.
Mining and selling the raw materials of Iro would be a major economic boon for his House, and it wasn't an opportunity that Leto could afford to pass up.
Jessica had seen the advantages and agreed to support the decision. During his visits back to Caladan he and Jessica had gone over everything in length, all the potential problems that might arise with Leto's new wife: children, household duties, intimacy, the fact that Paul would technically be considered a bastard, that House Dering might dislike that the ducal heir wasn't of Dering blood. Other things.
They planned together, and so far Leto had taken measures to insure that there were as few misunderstandings as possible. Since then, though, Jessica had been cold towards him, and while he hoped that the animosity would pass once the wedding was over and everyone had had time to settle, he feared that the problems had only just begun.
It probably didn't help that marriage had technically been Leto's idea in the first place.
Technically.
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House Dering had finally expressed interest in selling mining rights, and several Great Houses were trying to make a deal. Leto had traveled to Iro to meet with Viscount Dering and his council in person, but it hadn't gone particularly well.
While House Atreides had a lot to offer House Dering, it wasn't any more than the other Houses could provide.
Frustrated, Leto wandered the house for a while afterwards, seeking to clear his head. He eventually found himself in a great hall filled with paintings — the official portraits of each head of the Dering family, spanning back some thirty-odd generations. The most recent one was, naturally, of Viscount Larion Dering.
The Viscount was a tall man. His weak chin and beady hazel eyes kept him from being considered handsome, but his athletic build and easygoing personality made him easy enough to like. He stood proudly at the center of the portrait, clad in the blue and silver uniform of House Dering, one hand resting on the back of a gilded chair, the other on a ceremonial rapier sheathed at his side — every inch the man who had conquered the other Houses of Iro to end centuries of warfare.
After meeting him in person, however, Leto had his doubts. Larion Dering had no interest in politics and quickly grew bored with business, more interested in discussing the hunting trip he was planning than the future of his House.
In the portrait, the Viscount was joined by two other people, a woman and a child. This struck Leto as odd, since the other Viscounts had been depicted with their wives and children, and Larion was — to Leto's knowledge — unmarried and childless.
The woman sat in the gilded chair. She was very beautiful, clad in a flowing silver dress with silver pins to hold back her silken brown hair. Her eyes were of the deepest brown, full of a kind of haughty benevolence. A young girl of about eight or nine sat on a low stool at the woman's feet. She seemed small for her age, fair skinned and as delicate as a china doll. She wore a bright, happy smile that none of the other figures in any of the other paintings shared.
A little gold plaque below the portrait identified them as:
The Honorable
Viscount Larion Dering
shown with his sister
The Honorable
Countess Rhiannon Varvara
and niece
Hetta Varvara
"Ah, yes, poor little Hetta," a voice said from behind Leto. "Such a shame, that was."
Odon Abrax, the Viscount's Master of Finances, stood beside him. Odon was a short man with honey-brown skin and angular features, and Leto knew him because he'd been one of the few members of the Dering Council to seem to support the Atreides' bid.
Leto straightened up from where he'd bent to examine the portrait more closely. "What shame?"
"She passed away last winter, poor thing." Odon sounded genuinely rueful, but there was something else in his voice that Leto couldn't quite place. "Such a sweet child."
"That's terrible," Leto agreed. "I'll pass along my condolences to the Viscount."
Odon nodded earnestly. "The Viscount has no desire to become a father, but he adored Hetta. Things have been quite different for my poor Viscount since then, especially since his beloved sister decided to move back north. She has needed her space to grieve, of course, but I know he sorely misses her council."
Leto looked back to the plaque for the name. "The Lady Varvara, I presume?"
"Indeed. She was devastated, of course. Hetta was her only child, and it happened quite suddenly. I know he wishes that she would return to Dering House Hall, though. For her company, if nothing else. But she seems to have lost interest in politics."
Leto studied Odon carefully out of the corner of his eye. The Master of Finances was a strange man. Always scheming. Just from the handful of conversations they'd had, Leto had learned that, instead of making his point directly, Odon would steer the conversation in a certain direction so that it would seem like the point he was trying to make had occurred to the other person first.
The Duke sensed that this was one of those times, but had yet to see the point the Master of Finances was trying to make.
"Well, she's still young," Leto said carefully. "I imagine she could have more children, if she likes. Especially if Count Varvara doesn't have an heir, he may hope that she'll bear a son."
"She may have more children," Odon conceded, "but her husband Count Bence Varvara died… oh… over a decade ago, now, because that was when Lady Varvara was pregnant with Hetta."
It clicked.
Odon kept talking, seemingly oblivious to the suspicious look Leto was giving him. "Did you know, the late Count's death indirectly triggered the Last Great Ironian House War? You see, at the time, House Varvara was feuding with House Dax, and—"
Leto tried to listen as Odon gave him a rough history lesson, but he was too distracted to hear much of what was said. He wanted to dismiss the idea immediately, but couldn't. Leto had long been eligible for a marriage alliance. For years, the heads of Landstraad houses had paraded their daughters before him, hoping he'd take an interest. Over time, Leto had listened to many proposals, even absently considered a few.
Arguably, his eligibility was one of his greatest assets, and might be enough to clinch an exclusive deal with House Dering.
Maybe it was time.
Odon's eyes glittered knowingly.
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"That's Ilta," Gurney said, pointing out a small cluster of red roofed buildings clinging to the side of a barefaced mountain. He consulted the charts. "We're near the old Varvara border — about an hour out."
"Not much out here," Leto commented, looking down at the lonely settlement. The people there would be hunters and trappers, mostly, who would scratch out an existence living off the land, and trade for the things they couldn't make themselves with the larger villages outside of the Keninias Mountain Range.
Gurney nodded seriously. "Yes, m'Lord. It's said that the people of Iro won't build their towns too close to the borders, so that they don't get caught in the crossfire when the Houses go to war."
Leto shook his head in mild wonder, trying to imagine what it would be like to live on a planet shaped by constant kanly. The Great Convention acted to protect innocent bystanders from blood feuds, but it did little to protect individuals in a warzone. It had been a long time since the Landstraad had paid any attention to what the Houses of Iro did, anyway.
He pushed the thoughts from his head and refocused on the challenge ahead of him.
In less than an hour, Duke Leto Atreides was going to meet the woman who was to be his wife. And though he wasn't willing to admit it to himself, he was terrified.
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