"You trust her?"
"She reeks of trustworthiness!"
"Ahhh," Idaho murmured. The final pattern unreeled before his awareness like a design on fabric. The defection of the Princess Irulan was the last step. It left the Bene Gesserit with no remaining lever against the Atreides heirs.
Alia began to sob, leaned against him, face pressed into his chest. "Ohhh, Duncan, Duncan! He's gone!"
Idaho put his lips against her hair. "Please," he whispered. He felt her grief mingling with his like two streams entering the same pool.
"I need you, Duncan," she sobbed. "Love me!"
"I do," he whispered.
She lifted her head, peered at the moon-frosted outline of his face. "I know, Duncan. Love knows love."
Her words sent a shudder through him, a feeling of estrangement from his old self. He had come out here looking for one thing and had found another. It was as though he'd lurched into a room full of familiar people only to realize too late that he knew none of them.
She pushed away from him, took his hand. "Will you come with me, Duncan?"
"Wherever you lead," he said.
She led him back across the qanat into the darkness at the base of the massif and its Place of Safety.
Epilogue
No bitter stench of funeral-still for Muad'dib. No knell nor solemn rite to free the mind From avaricious shadows. He is the fool saint, The golden stranger living forever On the edge of reason. Let your guard fall and he is there! His crimson peace and sovereign pallor Strike into our universe on prophetic webs To the verge, of a quiet glance - there! Out of bristling star-jungles: Mysterious, lethal, an oracle without eyes, Catspaw of prophecy, whose voice never dies! Shai-hulud, he awaits thee upon a strand Where couples walk and fix, eye to eye, The delicious ennui of love. He strides through the long cavern of time, Scattering the fool-self of his dream.