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Chapter Four: The Countess
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In the month and a half since she'd taken residence on Caladan, Mariona had watched Castle Caladan's transformation from a tranquil seaside fortress into an epicenter of prenuptial industry. In the last week alone, the pensive atmosphere had been shattered by a tsunami of event coordinators, interior designers, and noble-born guests hailing from all across the Imperium.
Knowing her Lady's tastes just as well as she knew her own, Mariona had taken an advance group to Caladan to streamline the move and oversee the early stages of wedding planning. As the wedding was scheduled for less than a week after the after the actual wedding party arrived on Caladan, the usually lengthy process of unpacking needed to be completed as quickly as possible; once she arrived Rhiannon would need to dedicate her time to focusing on the several thousand things that still required the bride's attention.
Mariona threw the glass doors to the balcony open, relishing the ocean breeze as it cooled the sweat on her forehead and toyed with the flyaway strands of hair that had tugged loose from her braid. By Imperium standards, Caladan had a cool climate — but Iro was much colder. After a lifetime spent on a world of ice and snow, Mariona found it uncomfortably warm and humid. She instructed a maid to open all the other windows in the apartment so that the space would be full of fresh, moving air when the Countess arrived.
"Over there," Mariona said to an Atreides servant pushing a levitating suspensor-cart bearing a dusky blue chaise lounge. "On the rug, facing the others."
In preparation for the Countess's arrival, Mariona was putting the finishing touches on what would soon be Rhiannon's private apartment, consisting of a large bedchamber, a dressing room, a study, and a decent sized bath. The Duke had been worried that the living arrangement wouldn't be enough for his Duchess, and Mariona had to repeatedly reassure him that this apartment would more than suffice; the Countess would absolutely prefer the airy rooms and large windows with a view of the sea over a more sumptuous space.
"Is that the crate of books we've been missing?"
Privately, Mariona decided that the Duke's worry over Rhiannon's apartment stemmed from harboring guilt that his wife wouldn't be granted the usual living arrangement afforded to a woman of her station. Typically, it was expected that the Duchess would share a bedchamber with her husband — to keep up appearances, if nothing else. Even if it was eventually decided that they were happier in separate rooms, denying her the symbolic position at the Duke's side from the very beginning was nothing short of insulting.
While Mariona didn't think that it was intended as an insult — she knew for a fact that the Duke and his concubine had initially planned for Rhiannon to share his rooms, as Lady Jessica had moved her own furniture out of the Duke's bedchamber to make space for his new bride — she did think it was odd.
Very few noblemen actually cared for their wives more than they did their lovers, but the facade of nobility depended on symbolism; the status of imagery was more potent that of the heart. Even if the Duke personally preferred Lady Jessica's company over Rhiannon's, the bound concubine should be the one to keep separate apartments. Otherwise, it was implied that the Duchess was the lower ranking member of the household, which wasn't acceptable by any standard.
"Yes this is it. Thank you." Mariona fished through the crate of books, separating the physical paper copies from the filmbooks and shelving them accordingly. "Pass on my gratitude to that fellow from the storage holds, please."
Unsurprisingly, Mariona was more annoyed about the arrangement than Rhiannon. In coded messages over the secret channels that Mariona had come to establish on Caladan, the Countess had informed her lady-in-waiting of her encounter with the Duke at Black Heron Hall and instructed her to do whatever she could to minimize the conflict between Duke Leto and his mistress.
Not that there was much Mariona could do without them noticing. She didn't see much of Lady Jessica, but was as friendly to her as the concubine would allow. Otherwise, the best she could do was to cheerfully accept all the subtle slights while reassuring the Duke that they didn't matter in the least. The Duke seemed to take some comfort from Mariona's insistence. Lady Jessica, on the other hand, knew the intricacies of noble women too well to be fooled.
Mariona had served Rhiannon for over thirteen years; she knew her well enough to realize that her acceptance of the snub was a strategic move — not indifference. While Rhiannon quietly established her power and influence as Duchess Atreides, she would be courting dangers far greater than household drama. Making an enemy of Lady Jessica would only serve as a distraction and inconvenience.
As if summoned by the thought, Lady Jessica glided through the open doorway and into the study. She seemed distracted, glancing from the holo-image of Hetta on the desk to the ancient battered sword in a glass case above the hearth like she was surprised to see any personal adornments in the room at all.
"Lady Jessica," Mariona greeted politely from where she'd been shelving books. Despite the tension, she actually did like Jessica and thought Rhiannon would too. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"No, Mariona. Thank you." She wandered a few steps further into the room, stopping in front of the open balcony to look out at the sea. "The wedding party is scheduled to arrive in an hour. I wanted to see that everything was in order."
"Of course." Mariona nodded understandingly. Up until the wedding, Jessica would still serve as the Lady of the House. Organizing sleeping arrangements fell under her jurisdiction. Mariona blew out a breath and mopped her forehead with her sleeve. "Goodness, only an hour? The day has gone fast!"
Interestingly, the Duke's announcement that Lady Rhiannon would not take residence with him seemed to have angered Lady Jessica more than reassure her. Although it had been weeks since the Duke announced the change of plans, Lady Jessica had yet to move any of her possessions back into the Ducal Chambers. From what Mariona could tell, Duke Leto was perplexed by lover's negative reaction.
"I suppose it has," Jessica mused absently. "You've been awfully busy. But I imagine you must be eager to be reunited with the Countess."
For Mariona, Jessica's response made perfect sense: it was an acknowledgment of the awkwardness the decision had caused, as well as a way of softening the insult to Rhiannon — so that symbolically, the two women were at least equals.
Mariona smiled in spite of herself. "Yes, m'Lady. I must admit that I've missed her greatly."
"You've served her for a long time," Jessica observed.
Lady Jessica didn't want to make an enemy, either.
Maybe that's where Duke Leto was getting confused. He only saw the pain caused by him marrying someone else. And while that pain was genuine and deep, there were other factors at play. Feelings didn't matter. Love didn't matter. Sex didn't matter. But openly choosing his concubine over his Duchess set the stage for a particularly nasty conflict.
Mariona knew from personal experience just how terrifying Rhiannon could be. How merciless. How cunning. How cruel. She had watched her tear a planet apart with her bare hands and piece it back together by her own design. But even if Rhiannon wasn't Rhiannon, a Duchess could make life miserable — if not extremely dangerous — for a concubine, regardless of the Duke's favor and protection.
For a clever, powerful woman, organizing an 'accident' was easy. The ire of the Duchess could spell death for Jessica.
It could spell death for her son.
"Thirteen years, m'Lady." Mariona accepted a locked ornate box from a servant. She sat it on the desk and pressed her palm to the sensor pad on the lid, unlocking it with her handprint. Inside was a carefully sorted variety of jewelry. She did a quick inventory before closing it and passing it off to a maid to place in the Countess's dressing room. "I was twelve when I started serving as her personal maid in the Varvara household."
Jessica nodded, face pleasantly blank. "You must be very close."
Mariona found her almost impossible to read, but if she had to guess, she imagined that Jessica was frustrated with Duke Leto for not recognizing the threat and the fact that his actions were likely to have made it worse. She was probably worried for her son. Jealous that the man she loved was marrying another woman. Heartbroken, for the same reason.
And in this moment now, she was probably filled with an all-consuming dread; the bride-to-be would be invading her home within the hour, and Jessica was probably trying to soak in the little time that was left before she had to face reality.
"She's a bit like an older sister to me," Mariona admitted. She felt for her, but there was little she could do to ease the other woman's mind; she wouldn't believe her if she told her that Rhiannon wanted to avoid conflict almost as much as Jessica did. "Lady Varvara gave my younger sister and I a home and a purpose, and for that I love her dearly."
Jessica's face flickered briefly. Mariona couldn't read the expression, but thought that it seemed like she was considering a question. But before she could decide whether or not she wanted to ask it, a slightly harried looking and rumpled Duke Leto drifted into the study.
Mariona stiffened with surprise at his sudden appearance, but quickly covered it with a polite smile and a curtsy. "My Lord Duke."
The Duke nodded an absent greeting. He hadn't visited the apartment since Mariona had moved Rhiannon's belongings into it. Like Lady Jessica, he seemed startled to see what had once been a uniform space for guests transformed into a place uniquely suited for Lady Rhiannon. He'd been busy all day making preparations for the wedding, but seeing his bride's belongings taking over a space in his castle was what made it actually seem real.
"Jessica."
He usually moved with confidence, but in this alien space he was on uncertain ground. The Duke went to his lover's side and lightly touched her elbow. Lady Jessica allowed it, but turned her green eyes towards the sea.
Mariona, an experienced lady-in-waiting, knew when to pretend that she didn't exist. A maid had just entered the room with an armful of fresh sheets for the Countess's bed, and Mariona summoned her towards the bedroom with a flick of her hand.
As soon as the door between the bedroom and the study was closed, Mariona walked normally to the bed, then skittered back silently to listen. The maid, who was from Black Heron Hall and knew what was expected of her, started speaking aloud in a one-way conversation with Mariona about the wedding guests that had arrived in the last hour while going through the motions of dressing the bed.
The walls were thick and they spoke softly, but Mariona was an expert eavesdropper.
"I'm not sure that it's worth it," Duke Leto said, voice taut with agony. "If you ask me to call it off, I think that I will. Politics be damned."
It was much harder to make out what Jessica said in reply; perhaps she knew that Mariona would be listening. "Your father raised you never to marry for love, only for political advantage. I am just a concubine, my Duke, and I understand that my word would never be enough to sway you from his teachings."
The Duke said something else, but they apparently had decided to leave the room and so the conversation drifted out of Mariona's range of hearing.
Disappointed, Mariona opened the door again and strode back into the study. She made a mental note of the conversation and went back to her duties.
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Rhiannon had never seen so much water in her life.
From space, Caladan was a planet of blue and gray, accented by the green smudge of small continents and swirling cloud banks. For all the spies she had dispatched across the Imperium and all the secret trips she herself had taken, she had never seen an ocean before.
As the lighter swept away from the Heighliner's gargantuan hold and towards the atmosphere, she switched off the wallscreen and turned her attention back to orchestrating the storm of organized chaos that consumed the ship's corridors. Rhiannon was a kind and forgiving mistress, but her servants knew how irritated she could get when duties weren't performed at peak efficiency; it was worth doing a final check to ensure everything was as it should be before arriving at the spaceport in Cala City, rather than frustrate the Countess with disorganization and misplaced luggage.
Larion, of course, was no help whatsoever. Moments after Rhiannon had turned the wallscreen off, he switched it back on again. She was trying to be understanding — he had never been off Iro before — but he was being distracting and her patience was already wearing thin.
"Turn it off," she told him. "We'll be there in a few minutes, then you can look at the ocean all you want."
He ignored her. "Do you think I'll get the chance to learn to sail while I'm there?"
"I imagine the Duke would be happy to take you out onto the water." Rhiannon stepped out of the path of a suspensor-cart. "But don't you dare ask him until after the wedding. There's far too much to do beforehand."
"And what if he offers before?"
She scowled. "I don't think you understand the amount of work that goes into a wedding ceremony."
Duncan Idaho rounded the corner with his travel bag tossed over his shoulder. He clapped Larion heartily on the back. "Don't worry, my friend. If the Duke doesn't find the time, I'll take you out and teach you to sail myself."
Larion brightened. Duncan had done a good job of blending into the Ironian wedding party, even managing to make a begrudging friend out of Trevil, which was no small feat. There hadn't been any obvious threat to Rhiannon's safety since Duncan had been assigned to protect her, so he had passed the time he wasn't on active guard duty by learning as much as he could about the people and culture of Iro.
Rhiannon liked Duncan, too. Under different circumstances, he might have made an interesting lover. But something about Duncan's behavior towards her had given her the impression that, while Duke Leto had given her permission to take lovers, he wouldn't be happy to learn that one of his men was among them. She didn't quite understand the logic there, but also didn't care enough to try and figure it out.
The com device she'd placed in her ear chimed quietly, followed by the voice of the pilot. "Ten minutes to Cala City, Lady Varvara."
She touched her finger to the device and thanked him, then returned her attention to the mountain of tasks that lay ahead of her.
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The moment she stepped out of the lighter, Rhiannon was struck by a wet breeze and the taste of salt. The spaceport at Cala City was the same as most of the others that she had been through: gray and utilitarian. The sky was also gray, hidden behind a boiling blanket of clouds threatening rain.
She took her place behind Larion, with Duncan to one side, Trevil on the other, and her handmaid Loah just behind. Elsbeth had stayed behind on Iro, and Rhiannon already missed her terribly. But someone had to make sure the less significant houses that remained on Iro didn't do anything stupid while Larion and half of the Dering bureaucrats attended the wedding, and there was no one Rhiannon trusted more to keep bloodthirsty nobles in line.
They were greeted by Gurney Halleck, who helped Duncan shepherd the retinue into ground cars and the luggage onto cargo flats, all of which then was escorted to Castle Caladan in an agonizingly slow procession.
Rhiannon's first sight of her new home was overshadowed by her first look at the sea. The water was infinite, an endless moody gray expanse that was somehow flatter than the tundra but with twice the personality. A heavy mist drifted across the horizon, periodically hiding and revealing a faint scattering of boats as they trundled their way from one fishing spot to the next. From the rocky shores rose rugged cliffs covered with windblown trees and long grasses. At the top of it all stood Castle Caladan.
Unlike the Duke's visit to Black Heron Hall, the arrival of the wedding party was a formal occasion, especially with so many representatives from other Landstraad houses already present in the castle. In this case, Rhiannon was expected to stay in the back while Larion handled the social niceties, silent unless spoken to. The perfect embodiment of demure grace, Rhiannon allowed herself to be helped out of the groundcar and resumed her position behind Larion as they were escorted inside. In this case, she didn't mind, as it gave her the opportunity to sit back and observe.
Castle Caladan was a proud, but weatherbeaten palace of stone and wood. Rhiannon thought there was something romantic about it, like the ancient castles described in filmbooks and painted by artists dreaming of old Earth, of princesses and dragons and knights. This impression was infinitely enhanced by the wedding decorations, which elevated the ambiance from charming to near magical. The entire castle brimmed with tasteful wealth and priceless wedding gifts. Fabric streamers blended the Atreides green and Dering blue house colors in symbolic braids and exotic flowers spilled from vases placed in nearly every corner. It was a pleasant change from Dering House Hall, where the halls were filled with lush carpets and velvet furniture, gleaming with the type of gaudy luxury that suggested that the household had recently come into more money than it knew what to do with — which it had.
Duke Leto was waiting for them in the main reception hall. Rhiannon noted that he looked a bit tired and strained. Hopefully, now that Rhiannon was there, she'd be able to shoulder some of the weight of the prenuptial burden.
"Duke Leto, my soon-to-be brother!" Larion greeted in his booming voice. He strode forward, his luxurious fur cloak rippling, and clasped Leto's hand heartily. "It's good to see you again, my friend. Caladan is a fine planet. I hope to see more of it in the coming days."
Leto's smile became genuine. While his disinterest in business was often annoying, few understood hospitality and social politics better than Larion.
"It's good to see you too, Larion. Welcome to Castle Caladan." Leto's eyes flickered to the side to find Rhiannon, smiling shyly when he saw her. She was dressed in fine furs and silk, every inch the Ironian princess. "We have much to discuss."
There wasn't time for formal introductions, but Rhiannon spotted Lady Jessica hovering in a back corner of the room. Rhiannon found her very attractive — hair the color of polished copper, a lovely oval face, delicate nose, and quick green eyes. While Leto and Larion spoke of room assignments and schedules, Rhiannon caught Jessica's eye and inclined her head in silent greeting. The concubine returned the gesture, then slipped noiselessly out of the room.
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The lace frill scratched uncomfortably against her throat. The bodice was too stiff for her liking and her arms didn't have full range of motion. Feeling a bit like a trussed-up chicken, Rhiannon tried not to fidget as the dressmaker's assistant measured and pinned the opalescent fabric to fit her willowy figure.
"I really think I prefer the third one," Rhiannon said, trying not to sound petulant. "This one is… a bit too complex for my tastes."
"You look so lovely, though!" Mariona stood just off the side, carefully arranging the flowing train of fabric so it didn't rumple as Rhiannon turned to get a better look at herself in the full sized mirrors hanging from her dressing room walls. "Like a character I saw in a filmbook, once. I don't remember her name, but she was a virgin goddess. And so beautiful!"
Rhiannon eyed her reflection critically. Layers of intricate lace cascaded down her body, highlighting the gentle curves of her breasts and hips. She did look stunning — but the same could be said about the seven other dresses she had tried on, and in some of those she could at least breathe.
"I am neither a goddess nor a virgin," she declared with a scowl, ignoring the dressmaker assistant's blush. "I am a Countess and a widow, and the third dress suits my description much more aptly."
"Can I at least see it first?" Larion called from the bedroom, feeling left out. He had initially planned on spending the afternoon exploring the grounds of Castle Caladan, but had changed his mind when heard that his sister would be choosing her wedding dress.
"Yes, you can come in," Rhiannon called back, starting to feel itchy as well as constricted.
She had only been on Caladan for a few hours, and hadn't yet had the time to rest from the long trip from Iro or even appreciate her new apartment. She was getting tired and cranky, but choosing a wedding dress was arguably one of the most important details left to establish, and with only days left until the ceremony there wasn't any time to spare. Mariona had narrowed the selection down to a handful of options, but Rhiannon had insisted on making the final decision. Otherwise, she might've ended up spending her wedding day in this itchy monstrosity.
Larion strode into the dressing room and considered the dress thoughtfully, scratching his chin. It finally seemed to have set in that Rhiannon wouldn't be coming back to Iro with him, and that he was losing her in a way that he hadn't during her first marriage or when she had exiled herself to Black Heron Hall. This time, she would be literal star-systems away, and he couldn't take a day trip to visit her whenever he wanted. It could be years before they saw each other again, and he seemed determined to savor the time they had left.
"Still the third one," Larion agreed. "I think this one might've suited you for your first wedding, but delicate doesn't match you anymore."
Rhiannon paused, considering the statement. "Is that good or bad?"
"Both and neither, I imagine," Mariona sniffed before Larion could hazard a response, a little disappointed that her favorite dress had been vetoed. "Now off with you, Larion. We need to get her back into dress number three so we can match hair pieces."
"Very well." Larion ambled over to press a kiss to Rhiannon's cheek. "I'll see you later, dear sister. Gurney promised to show me the docks and the fisheries, but I should be back in time for dinner."
As he left, Rhiannon heaved a sigh, wanting nothing more than to join him. A walk to the waterside sounded wonderful. Her view of the sea from her balcony was glorious, but she would appreciate the chance to stretch her legs and see it up close.
Instead, she was shuffled out of the uncomfortable dress and into the one she would wear at the ceremony. It was much more similar to an Ironian style, designed to be versatile, to be moved in — even fought in — while maintaining the required air of beauty and grace.
"You have a visitor, m'Lady," Loah announced, appearing at the dressing room door. "Young Master Paul has asked to see you."
Rhiannon perked up, surprised but not displeased. Since the wedding party arrived, Duke Leto had yet to speak with her directly, and she hadn't so much as glimpsed Lady Jessica after their almost-interaction in the reception hall, so it seemed odd for their son to seek Rhiannon out by his own volition.
"We still need to decide on jewelry, m'Lady," Mariona reminded her, but Rhiannon waved her concern away.
"Tell him that he's welcome to come in," Rhiannon said, "or if he would prefer to wait in the study, I'll be only a few minutes."
Loah went back out and returned a few moments later with Paul. He was only eight years old, a bit small for his age, wearing a specially tailored version of the black Atreides work uniform. He had his mother's delicate features and his father's black curls — and though he was still a child, his gray eyes were sharp and thoughtful.
"You must be Paul." Rhiannon smiled warmly, suddenly struck by the realization that this boy was to be her stepson. It was a little surreal. "I've heard a lot about you over the past few weeks. Duncan speaks very highly of you."
Paul bowed formally, which Rhiannon found amusing. "I am very pleased to meet you, Countess Varvara. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all. We were just finishing up here." She held out her arms to show off her wedding dress. "What do you think?"
He looked surprised to have his opinion asked after, but considered her clothing very seriously for a few moments before offering his assessment.
"You look very beautiful, m'Lady," he concluded with far more gravity than the question called for. "All eyes will be on you."
Rhiannon laughed, delighted by this small, serious child. "I should hope so. It's my wedding."
"My father says that it's the bride's job to be the center of the ceremony."
"Your father's right." Rhiannon gave in to Mariona, who had set out boxes of jewelry for the Countess to choose from and was looming over them expectantly. "If it wasn't meant to be a show, weddings wouldn't be so elaborate. And if the bride wasn't meant to be at the center, the dresses wouldn't be so uncomfortable. What do you think: gemstones, pearls, or flowers?"
Paul came over to peer into the boxes. His calculating gray eyes narrowed.
"The gemstones would be a way of symbolizing Iro and it's mines," Paul offered eventually, "as homage to your homeworld. The pearls are quite nice too, and could represent Caladan and it's oceans."
"Hmm, yes. Consider, also, that the dress is reminiscent of the traditional Ironian style."
Paul nodded decisively. "Then I think the pearls would be best. That way, you can show Iro and Caladan coming together."
"I agree wholeheartedly." Rhiannon confirmed the decision with Mariona before giving Paul her full attention. "Now, my young friend, is there something I can do for you, or did you just come by to introduce yourself?"
"I wanted to meet you earlier, m'Lady, but I didn't get the chance." He shrugged his thin shoulders, seeming a little self conscious. "There are so many guests here. I've been trying to meet them all so I can make notes on all the prominent families in attendance, and I thought that it would be wrong to meet them and not the woman my father is marrying."
"Oh, you're making notes?" Rhiannon raised her eyebrows. Paul was thoughtful and well spoken, probably even more so than Rhiannon had been at his age. She was impressed. "That's very enterprising of you. Duncan was right. You are a very clever young boy, and will make a fine Duke one day."
For some reason, her words seemed to surprise Paul. Did he not think that he would be Duke? Possibly. A new wife brought the possibility of more children. Another son with greater claim to the title. That was something Leto was clearly worried about, and undoubtedly Jessica was as well. But that was an adult problem, and it disturbed Rhiannon to realize that this eight year old child might feel that his place in his family was uncertain. Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did; Paul had already proven that he was observant and smart.
"Thank you, m'Lady," Paul said, covering his surprise with more grace than one would expect from a boy his age.
She wanted to explain to him that she didn't want any more children, that her heart was too broken for it. She wanted to explain that in the extremely unlikely circumstance that she did bear her future husband a son, her plans of political gain had nothing to do with heirs.
But that conversation was either too intimate or too complicated to fully explain, so she let it go.
"We are to be family, Paul," she said kindly instead. "You don't have to call me 'm'Lady' if you don't want to."
Paul blinked. She'd surprised him again. "What should I call you instead?"
She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. "Whatever you're most comfortable with, I suppose. Rhiannon is my name, but my friends often call me Rhia. "
Paul frowned, not unhappily. Still confused, perhaps. "Are we friends?"
"I'll let you decide that for yourself." She rested her hand gently on his shoulder. "But I think I would like to be your friend, if that's alright with you."
He seemed to think it over for a few moments, but then it was his turn to surprise her. "I have a gift for you."
"Oh?"
Paul reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small decorative crystal vial. He gave it to her and she held it up to look at it clearly. The vial was full of water, and inside drifted the most beautiful pearl Rhiannon had ever seen. It seemed to be lit from within, a single droplet from a falling star.
"It's a coral gem," Paul explained. "They grow on the coral reefs here on Caladan. I got that one a few weeks ago, when my father took me coral diving."
"You harvested this yourself?" Deeply touched, Rhiannon tightened her grip around the vial and clutched it to her chest. "It's exquisite, Paul. Thank you."
"Just don't take it out of the bottle," he warned. "Coral gems have to stay wet at all times. If they dry out, they burst into flames."
Rhiannon laughed, even more pleased with the present than she had been before. "I won't take it out, then. This is a wonderful present. It'll look so pretty in my new study." She paused for a moment, then smiled. "I have something for you too. Wait here a moment. I need to go get it."
Finally, Paul acted like he was eight. Eyes wide and eager, he fidgeted with anticipation while Rhiannon momentarily left the room. When she came back carrying the plush fur coat she'd been wearing earlier, his expression clouded with confusion.
"I was going to wait until after the wedding to give it to you, but since we're giving gifts…" Rhiannon began rooting through the coat's pockets. "Now, which pocket was she in?"
Paul looked on, baffled. "She?"
"Yes. She was taking a nap in here somewhere… this coat has more pockets than you'd think…" Her hand closed around something furry and warm. "Ah! Found her!"
From one of the coat's many hidden pockets, Rhiannon produced a small weasel. The little creature uncurled itself and took in its new surroundings with dark, glistening eyes. It was tiny, no longer than her palm, nose to tail. It's fur was a wonderful shade of pure gold, with a cream throat and underbelly.
"She's a bark weasel," Rhiannon explained. "They live in the treetops on Iro, usually. But they can often be found living in the fur of some of the planet's megafauna — valley wolves, icebears, and such. Since they are too small for the big predators to bother eating, they use them for protection from the smaller predators that would turn them into a snack."
Paul was absolutely enraptured. Rhiannon held out the golden weasel and it willingly went into the boy's cupped hands.
"They don't see humans as predators, either," Rhiannon went on. "So they make good pets. Most children on Iro have one. I've had a few over the years."
"What do they eat?"
"Insects, mostly. Beetles and the like. You'll need to do research on the kinds of insects on Caladan to make sure she doesn't eat any that are toxic. I've also brought some special food for her for when you don't have time to help her hunt for bugs."
Rhiannon silently congratulated herself. Knowing that her sudden insertion to the Atreides family would be confusing, if not unpleasant, for Paul, she'd wanted to give him something to make up for it. A bark weasel was a bold gift, but she'd had Mariona check with both Leto and Jessica separately to make sure neither parent had any objections to their son keeping one as a pet. Hawat had checked it over as well, and was confident that it was harmless.
Paul gently rubbed the little creature's head with his index finger. "Does she have a name?"
"Not yet. I figured that you would want to think of one for her." Rhiannon motioned to the dressmaker's assistant, who had kept herself busy throughout the conversation by quietly putting away the rejected dresses. "If you have a few moments, Paul, I'll get you the rest of the things you'll need to care for your little friend. Just give me a few minutes to get back into some regular clothes, if you don't mind waiting in the study."
"Okay!" Paul's eyes never once drifted from the rodent in his hand as he ambled back out of the dressing room. He paused for a second in the doorway. "Thank you, Rhia. I've never had a pet before. I promise to take good care of her."
Rhiannon's smile was warm and heartfelt. "Paul, I don't doubt that for a moment."
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