Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [242]
“It is a good tactic,” Thufir Hawat agreed with a grim nod. “Shaddam has always reveled in the trappings of his position. The more finery you wear and the more gifts you present him, the more impressed he’ll be . . . and therefore the more inclined to grant your request.”
“He appears to value form over substance,” Leto mused. “But appearances can be deceiving, and I dare not underestimate him.”
Kailea had worn her own gorgeous sky-blue-and-lilac dress to see them off, but she would remain at the Castle, with no one to see her finery. Leto could see how much she longed to go to the Imperial Court, but he refused to bend in his decision. Old Paulus had taught him stubbornness as well.
Rhombur emerged into the staging area wearing pantaloons, a synthetic merh-silk shirt, and a billowing cape of purple and copper, colors of the lost House Vernius. He stood proudly, while Kailea gasped at her brother’s bravery for flaunting his family heritage. He seemed much more a man now, muscular and tanned, without the gentle roundings of baby fat.
“Some might see that as arrogance, my Duke,” Hawat said, nodding toward Rhombur’s clothes.
“This is all a gamble, Thufir,” Leto said. “We need to hark back to the grandeur that was lost when Tleilaxu treachery forced this noble family to go renegade. We must show the shortsightedness of Emperor Elrood’s malicious decision. We must help Shaddam see what a great ally House Vernius could be to the Imperial throne. After all”—he gestured to the proud Rhombur—“would you rather have this man as your ally, or the filthy Tleilaxu?”
The Master of Assassins favored him with a small, contained smile. “I wouldn’t come out and say that directly to Shaddam.”
“We’ll say it without words,” Leto replied.
“You are going to make a formidable Duke, m’Lord,” Hawat said.
They walked together from the staging area to the landing field, where twice the usual complement of Atreides troops had just finished boarding the frigate that would take them up to the waiting Heighliner.
Kailea came forward and gave Leto a brief, formal hug. Her pastel dress rustled with her movements, and he pressed his cheek against one of the gold combs in her copper-dark hair. He could feel the tension in her arms, and sensed that they both wanted to share a much more passionate embrace.
Then, with tears in her eyes, the daughter of Dominic and Shando Vernius clutched her brother even more desperately. “Be careful, Rhombur. This is so dangerous.”
“This may be the only way we can restore our family name,” Rhombur answered. “We must throw ourselves upon the mercy of Shaddam. Perhaps he’ll be different from his father. He has nothing to gain by maintaining the sentence against us, and much to lose—especially with the restlessness in the Imperium. He needs all the friends and strength he can get.” He smiled and swirled the purple-and-copper cape.
“Ix is wasted on the Bene Tleilax,” Kailea noted. “They don’t have an inkling about how to run a galactic business.”
Leto, Rhombur, and Hawat would be representatives from Caladan. Brash perhaps, and showy in their impertinence—or would it be seen as calm confidence? Leto hoped for the latter.
As Duke, he knew that flying in the face of Court politics was unwise. But his heart told him to gamble when the stakes were important enough, when he was on the side of righteousness—where he always intended to be. The Old Duke had taught him no less.
His father had shown him that a gambit filled with bravado often paid off far more substantially than a conservative and unimaginative plan . . . so why not this? Would the Old Duke have done something similar, or would he, guided by his wife, have taken a safer course? Leto had no answer for that, but was thankful that he didn’t have anyone like the stern and inflexible Lady Helena getting in his way now. When he decided to marry, it would never be to anyone like her.
He had sent a formal