Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [155]
The Old Duke looked over at her, noting the age-sharpened porcelain of her features, a few strands of gray in her dark hair. “This is the best time for training. Gets the blood flowing for the entire day. I taught Leto that when he was just a boy.”
From far out at sea he heard the clang of a reef-marking buoy and the putter of a fishing coracle, one of the local wickerwood boats with waterproofed hulls. He saw the hazy fog lights of a trawler farther out, cutting through the low-lying banks of sea mist as it harvested melon-kelp.
“Yes . . . the boys are exercising,” Helena said, “but have you noticed Kailea sitting there? Why do you think she’s up so early?” The lilt at the end of her question made him think twice.
The Duke looked down, for the first time marking the lovely daughter of House Vernius. Kailea lounged on a polished-coral bench in the sunshine, daintily eating from a plate of assorted fruits. She had her padded copy of the Orange Catholic Bible beside her on the bench—Helena’s gift—but she wasn’t reading it.
Puzzled, Paulus scratched his beard. “Does the girl always get up this early? I suspect she’s not adjusted to our Caladan days yet.”
Helena watched as Leto pressed with fury against Rhombur’s shield and slipped his stun-dagger in, jolting the Ixian Prince with an electric shock. Rhombur howled, then chuckled as he backed off. Leto raised his training sword as if scoring a point. He flashed a gray-eyed glance at Kailea, touching the tip of his sword to his forehead in a salute.
“Have you never seen the way your son looks at her, Paulus?” Helena’s voice was stern and disapproving.
“No, I hadn’t much noticed.” The Old Duke looked from Leto to the young woman again. In his mind Kailea, daughter of Dominic Vernius, was just a child. He had last seen her in infancy. Perhaps his sluggish old mind hadn’t seen her adulthood coming so fast. Nor Leto’s.
Considering this, he said, “That boy’s hormones are reaching their peak. Let me speak to Thufir. We’ll find some appropriate wenches for him.”
“Mistresses like yours?” Helena turned away from her husband, looking hurt.
“Nothing wrong with it.” He prayed with all his heart she wouldn’t pursue that subject again. “As long as it never becomes anything serious.”
Like any Lord in the Imperium, Paulus had his dalliances. His marriage to Helena, one of the daughters of House Richese, had been arranged for strictly political reasons after much consideration and bargaining. He’d done his best, had even loved her for a time—which had come as a genuine surprise to him. But then Helena had drifted away, becoming absorbed in religion and lost dreams instead of current realities.
Discreetly, quietly, Paulus had eventually gone back to his mistresses, treating them well, enjoying himself, and careful not to produce any bastards from them. He never spoke of it, but Helena knew. She always knew.
And she had to live with the fact.
“Never becomes serious?” Helena leaned over the balcony to see Kailea better. “I’m afraid Leto feels something for this girl, that he’s falling in love with her. I told you not to send him to Ix.”
“It isn’t love,” Paulus said, pretending to pay attention to the movements of the sword-and-shield duel below. The boys had more energy than skill; they needed to work on finesse. The clumsiest of Harkonnen guards would be able to wade in and dispatch both of them in an eyeblink.
“You’re sure about that?” Helena asked in a worried tone. “A great deal is at stake here. Leto is the heir to House Atreides, the son of a Duke. He has to take care and choose his romantic assignations with forethought. Consult with us, negotiate for terms, get the most he can—”
“I know that,” Paulus muttered.
“You know it all too well.” His wife’s voice became cold and brittle. “Maybe one of your wenches isn’t such a bad idea after all. At least it’ll keep him away from Kailea.”
Down below, the young woman nibbled