Looking over her new husband’s shoulder, Tula caught Vor’s eye and abruptly whispered something in Orry’s ear. The young man looked disappointed by whatever it was, but then she whispered again, and he smiled.
When the dance was over, Orry raised his voice and spoke to the guests. “Since my wife has a special gift to give me from her entire family — and I am as intrigued by this as the rest of you are! — we’ll be taking our leave to begin our new life now. I insist you all stay here and enjoy yourselves. My brother will entertain you — he’s got nothing else to do.”
Willem looked surprised. Some guests murmured, but others chuckled or whistled as Orry and Tula hurried off to the home the two brothers had shared with Shander Atreides, which the couple would use as their honeymoon cottage. Willem had temporarily gotten a room at the local inn, so his brother and new wife could have their privacy
Vor was sorry that he’d had no opportunity to talk further with Tula, but there would be plenty of time for that later, and he didn’t want to intrude now. In fact, he made up his mind to help the young couple whenever he could, maybe even using part of his fortune to establish their new household, similar to the help he’d given to House Harkonnen on Lankiveil.
A spark of memory came back to him, and he tensed. The youngest daughter of Vergyl Harkonnen … Griffin’s other sister. Wasn’t her name Tula? Orry’s new wife did have a hint of Griffin’s features, but Vor wasn’t convinced. He had never met either of Vergyl Harkonnen’s daughters. Although he had seen a family portrait inside the Harkonnen household, he couldn’t quite remember what the girls looked like. It must just be a coincidence, similar names.
He set such thoughts aside and went to join Willem as the dancing and music continued.
AFTER THE WEDDING festivities, Vor returned to his room and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep, thoroughly reminded of his fondness for good Caladan wine, as opposed to mediocre kelpbeer.
Orry’s wedding had been different from others he recalled, but all of it had been pleasant; the music, the laughter, the camaraderie, and the warmth of the people. Willem had showed himself to be quite proficient at the traditional dances, and he had no trouble finding partners. Vor had done his best to keep up, and found some of the women flirtatious, some in awe of his history, and all vastly younger than he was. None could hold a candle to Leronica. Or Mariella.
When he drifted off to sleep in his bed at the inn, he was enfolded in a satisfied happiness, with the buzz of wine in his head and the ringing echoes of music. He had long since learned the folly of wallowing in regrets and second-guessing his decisions, but he did regret ever leaving beautiful Caladan. The weight and obligations of Serena Butler’s Jihad had made him think beyond his own personal interests.
All that had been over for such a long time. Even if he let himself put down roots in this place, he was not ready to start another family of his own. There were too many reminders of his beloved Leronica here, and he didn’t yet feel enough distance from Mariella and his other family on Kepler.…
He awoke in darkness, feeling that something was wrong. He sensed a stir in the silent shadows of his room, felt a creak of movement, heard a rustle. He remained utterly still.
A breeze whispered through the open window … yet he was certain he had closed it before going to bed. Through narrow-slitted eyes, he saw a figure dart through the faint shreds of starlight — and the silver glint of what appeared to be a knife blade. He still felt a little groggy, wondered if it was a dream.
But his instincts, honed by years of facing danger, kicked in. Vor rolled to one side on the large bed even before he grasped what was happening. He heard a quick expulsion of breath, an abrupt outcry, as the blade streaked down where he had been only a moment ago, slashing into the blanket. He flung his pillow at the indistinct figure, pulled off the blanket and threw it over the moving arm to snare it. He bore down with a steely grip, grabbing the wrist.
It was a small wrist, but the attacker had wiry strength, and writhed and thrashed. Vor felt an explosion of pain as the intruder struck him hard just beneath the left eye with what seemed to be a fist, but he didn’t release his grip on the wrist, and thrust up with one knee, after shifting his body to gain more leverage on the bed.
Fully awake now, he saw more details — blond hair, gleaming eyes filled with hatred. Another sharp blow from the intruder’s free hand bloodied his nose, and Vor released his grip. “Tula!” It was Orry’s new wife.
She recoiled and sprang backward, pulling free of his grip and the blanket with which he had tried to entangle her. Then, with barely a pause, Tula hurled herself upon him again like a rabid panther. She slashed with the dagger, this time ripping open his nightshirt and cutting a fiery line across his chest. He felt blood and burning pain, but he fought back.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. The nightstand crashed to the floor and he leaped free, gaining room to maneuver.
Tula fought with a ferocity he had rarely seen before, and he struggled to keep the knife away from him. “I had to change my plans,” she said, not even out of breath. “I came here for Orry, but you were always our target, Vorian Atreides. You killed my brother Griffin. You ruined House Harkonnen.”
Vor didn’t bother to respond, certain that conversation would make no difference. Tula — Tula Harkonnen—meant to kill him, not talk with him. She fought with techniques similar to the ones Griffin had demonstrated when he dueled with Vor in the desert sietch.
She flung herself at him again, but Vor used his right hand to snatch a water pitcher from the dresser. In a swift arc, he smashed it against her head, sending the young woman reeling. Her knife clattered to the wooden floor.
Now he heard pounding on the door, shouts of people roused by the disturbance. “In here!” he yelled.
In the low light he saw Tula glaring at him, blood dripping from her hair. As the door burst open, she dove out the window like a killer eel into a dark underwater lava tube.
Willem charged into the room from the hall, looking flushed, dressed in his nightclothes. “What’s happening?”
Vor grabbed him by the arm and raced out into the corridor. Tula had said she had come here seeking revenge, stalking Orry. “We have to check on your brother!”
Willem was confused. “Wait — you’re bleeding.”
Vor touched his chest. “It’s nothing. Come — we have to hurry!” After sounding an alarm, they raced off to what should have been the quiet, happy nuptial cottage of the newlyweds.
IT TOOK SEVERAL agonizing minutes to secure a groundcar, and by the time the two of them were speeding over a rough road with Willem at the controls, dawn was beginning to brighten the sky.
Shander’s cottage was just outside the village on a pristine sandy beach; it had been specially decorated for the newlyweds. A caterer had crafted a lavish traditional dinner and left a bottle of vintage wine, contributed by Vor himself. Orry and Tula were alone there with the roar of the surf, undisturbed by pranks or good-natured harassment from the locals.
Just ahead, Vor saw the cottage bathed in golden sunlight to herald the first full day of their marriage. A serving woman was knocking on the door, carrying a gourmet breakfast that she was ready to set up. When no one answered, she let herself inside, tiptoeing, calling out — only to run back out, screaming.
Vor and Willem jumped out of the vehicle and rushed past her, through the open cottage door. The air inside smelled sour and metallic, and Vor immediately identified the stench of blood — a great deal of it.
Young Orry Atreides lay dead on the wedding bed, his throat cut. The sheets were soaked in blood. There was no sign of Tula.