Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Chapter 25 (We can never atone for all the harm we cause)
We can never atone for all the harm we cause in our lifetimes. We each make decisions based on personal priorities. In the process, people are invariably shunted aside. Someone suffers.
– teaching of the new Philosophical Academy
The shuttle that Vorian Atreides rode down to Lankiveil was a flying bus full of laborers, mostly offworlders ready to work in boats on the cold seas. More than fifty men and women had been transferred here to fill jobs promised by the wealthy Bushnell family, who had encroached on the best fur-whale harvesting waters. As House Harkonnen waned, the Bushnells saw an opportunity and moved into territory that Vergyl Harkonnen could no longer protect.
The Bushnells had noble blood, but a century ago they had fallen into political disfavor after withdrawing from some of the most vigorous battles in the Jihad. Even so far from Salusa Secundus, the Landsraad still had influence, and current Bushnell ambitions had been thwarted by other nobles who still held grudges. Seeking to recover their standing, the family had moved in on backwater Lankiveil, where the Harkonnens were also held in low esteem.
Vor knew the Harkonnens had little chance without good business leadership. Their noble house had fallen on hard times after several commercial failures, especially the loss of an entire season’s whale-fur harvest when a cheap cargo carrier vanished in foldspace. Vergyl Harkonnen was not a skilled planetary ruler, and his elder son, Griffin, had been the family’s best hope … until Griffin was murdered on Arrakis, with Vor at his side, unable to protect him.
Now Vor hoped that if he went to Lankiveil, he could do something for Griffin’s family. The proud Harkonnens would never accept charity or assistance from the man who had caused their downfall, but if he could accomplish it without their knowledge.…
He didn’t think he had ever been to this chill, windswept world before, even though he knew his former friend and protégé Abulurd had been exiled here. He promised himself he would make up for that now. During the journey that Captain Phillips arranged for him, Vor had studied images of the planet’s docks and city buildings nestled among rugged fjords. Vergyl Harkonnen and his family lived here, operated the planetary government offices, and managed their own fur-whale harvesting fleet.
As the shuttle landed in a wet, blowing sleetstorm, no one seemed concerned about the weather. After disembarking, the already assigned Bushnell hires took a snowbus that had been sent to pick them up. Vor paid for a local transport that took him to the other side of the fjord, the crowded village, and the wood-framed Harkonnen main house.
The gray clouds had thinned by the time he arrived in the small, snow-glazed whaling village and tramped along a wooden sidewalk on the main street. He wore thick, waterproofed clothing and carried a heavy satchel with personal belongings.
Before Vor left the Nalgan Shipping vessel, Captain Phillips had given him everything he needed, and he needed very little. Phillips had asked him to reconsider, but seeing the look of determination in Vor’s gray eyes, he let the matter drop. “I hope you find what you’re looking for down there.”
Even Vor wasn’t sure what he was looking for, except that he needed to lighten his conscience.
Only a few people were outside, men in heavy weatherproof clothing for a day on rough seas. The wind blew hard, and the harbor water was the color of dull steel, but several whaling craft were heading out, their running lights bright in the mist and falling snow.
After checking into a rooming house, Vor entered the adjacent restaurant, where diners were eating lunch. Unusual cooking odors assailed him: fish, salt, pungent spices. A woman with long red hair worked the floor, serving thick whale steaks accompanied by steamed greens and bowls brimming with chowder. While Vor waited for her to bring him a meal, he noticed two men standing at a message board, reading notices posted there.
The waitress brought his bowl of thick chowder. “Did you come in on the shuttle, looking for work on a whaling ship?”
“Is Vergyl Harkonnen hiring?”
“Usually, but the Bushnells pay better. That’s the only reason newcomers are interested in Lankiveil. Where are you from?”
“Lots of places. I travel and find work where I can.”
The waitress indicated the message board. “Post a note there with your qualifications. Somebody will see it.”
When Vor finished his meal, he wrote an unusual card, offering to work on a Harkonnen whale-fur boat at no salary, in exchange for taking images so he could compile a research report on his experiences. He claimed to be a freelance writer, using the assumed name of Jeron Egan. He knew well enough not to use the name Atreides around here.
The following morning, the boardinghouse manager told him that Vergyl Harkonnen wanted to see him. Vor went to the large weathered house on the fjord. As he regarded the imposing structure, the wooden walls, the lap-shingled roof, he realized that Abulurd had built this place decades ago, making his home here and enduring his exile, no doubt passing along his resentment of the Atreides to the next generation.
Now, as Vorian climbed the icy stairs to the front porch, the door opened before he could knock, and a bearded man greeted him. Vor recognized Vergyl Harkonnen. “You’re the fellow who posted the notice? You’re a writer?”
Looking at Vergyl’s face, Vor could see the clear resemblance to Griffin’s features. He remembered the last time he had seen the young man, lying dead in the sand with his neck broken. Seeing the lines on the father’s face, Vor felt a heavy sense of dread. This man had endured a terrible grief and had seen the family fortunes fall in the eight difficult decades after the Battle of Corrin.
Vor removed his warm coat and joined the Harkonnen patriarch in a small parlor to discuss his possible employment, as a research assignment. Sonia Harkonnen delivered cups of steaming tea.
“Benz flower tea,” she said. “In the thaw every summer, we pick the blossoms and berries. They’re hardy plants that bloom when they get the first opportunity.”
Vor had learned in his research that Sonia Harkonnen was a Bushnell by birth, but had been estranged from her family for marrying a lesser noble. He wondered now if an eventual reconciliation with the Bushnells would be the only way for Vergyl and Sonia to preserve what little the Harkonnens had left.
Without touching his hot beverage, Vergyl leaned forward. “We never get people wanting to work for free, Mr. Egan, so your offer intrigues me. You’re willing to stay at least a month? Work shifts on the whale-fur boats are physically demanding, with constant cold weather and rough seas. Are you sure your research is worth the misery? Who would want to read about that?”
Vor met the man’s haunted eyes, again seeing a shadow of Griffin. “Money can be spent and lost, but knowledge becomes a permanent part of you. What I learn here will be worthwhile, to me at least.”
Vergyl cocked his eyebrows. “Sometimes there are things I’d rather not know, things I can never forget.”
That afternoon, when the clouds thinned and the snow stopped, Vergyl gave Vor a tour of his boats. “These are workhorses, and I admit they need better maintenance, but our fortunes aren’t what they once were. I’m trying to keep the boats running, but I may have to sell everything before long.”
Although it could never make up for the things the Harkonnens blamed him for, Vor wanted to help them financially, and he had the resources to do so, spread across many planetary banks, even though he could not explain who he was, could never let them know the identity of their benefactor. First, he wanted to get to know them better.
That evening he was invited to dinner in the Harkonnen family home, where Vergyl and Sonia sat at a long, near-empty table with their sixteen-year-old son, Danvis, a pink-faced and lonely-looking young man.
“The house seems so quiet these days,” Sonia said as she served Vor a fur-whale steak. Tasting a bite, he was pleased to discover that the steak was not fishy or salty, and had a pleasingly firm texture. “Danvis is the only one left at home. Our two daughters, Tula and Valya, are being trained in the Sisterhood. And our son Griffin … he died last year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Vor meant it with a depth they could never guess. Vergyl showed him images of the two daughters, and Vor remembered how much Griffin had talked about Valya in particular.
Vergyl said, “Griffin is buried just outside of town, in a plot with a magnificent view of the water. At least he has that.…” His voice trailed away, and he pushed aside his unfinished meal.
“It sounds like he was loved very much,” Vor said.
“That he was,” Sonia said.
Vergyl continued, “Griffin was destined to be a great business leader. He even wanted to be our planetary representative to the Landsraad. But all those hopes are lost and gone now.” He gave a dismal, hopeless smile toward his younger son, who sat quiet and awkward at the table; the boy had barely said a word throughout the meal. “So now it’s up to Danvis to carry on the legacy.” Vergyl looked at Vor, cleared his throat. “You arrived at a good time, and we appreciate your willingness to work. We can sure use the help, whatever your reasons.”
“Maybe I can help turn your fortunes around.” He sounded bright and confident.
“I doubt a research project could accomplish that. You can work miracles?” The elder Harkonnen attempted to make his comment a joke, but the humor was forced.
“I can try.” Vor remembered young Griffin, so noble and brave and full of vitality. These broken people were part of the legacy Vor had created, going back decades. House Harkonnen deserved better than this, and he vowed to do everything he could to help them.
Chapter 26 (There can be only one result on a critical mission)
There can be only one result on a critical mission: absolute success. Anything less must be deemed a complete failure. There is no middle ground.
– VALYA HARKONNEN, remarks before Rossak retrieval mission
For bringing the vital computers back to the Sisterhood, Valya deserved great fanfare, but there would be no public applause. Most of the Sisters would never know what she and her recovery team had done, but she had proved her worth to Mother Superior Raquella, and that counted more than any accolades.
These forbidden computers were the Sisterhood’s most closely held secret, known only to Raquella’s elite inner circle, and now they were back where they belonged. After such a cost in blood, Valya knew the old Mother Superior would put the breeding database to extensive use. And the secret must be guarded more ruthlessly than ever.
When her team returned to Wallach IX, Valya sent coded word to Raquella that she had succeeded. Preparing to receive the disguised components, the Mother Superior sent all acolytes into isolated studies, diverted any remaining prying eyes from the landing field, and cleared the way so that Valya’s weary, grimy team could move the computers. Only Raquella’s most trusted allies could know what was happening.
The old woman offered her a proud smile, and Valya accepted a congratulatory hug. She felt a sudden and disheartening weakness in the Mother Superior’s wicker-thin body. How much longer could she last?
Valya had been functioning on very little sleep herself for days, and she had been unable to relax on the return journey from Rossak. Too many ideas ignited her imagination. Now, thanks to her, the computers could be restored, and someday Valya might even be in a position to bring the full resources of the Sisterhood against Vorian Atreides. The thought of erasing his entire bloodline made her breathless.…
Wallach IX had once been a Synchronized World, home to an enslaved human population. When the Sisterhood reestablished their school here, they discovered a network of deep bunkers left behind before the fall of the thinking machines. Now, those underground shelters were a perfect place to install – and hide – the retrieved computers and breeding records.
The Mother Superior brought in Fielle and other trusted Sisters to help install the components in underground chambers. Valya wondered how much planning the new Sister Mentat had done with Raquella while the commando team was on its mission. Valya needed to know this young woman better, to ensure that they were on the same side.
Fielle gave a cool assessment. “We Sister Mentats can use our own knowledge, but these computers will be a tremendous tool to help us plan the future breeding map.”
Sister Olivia emerged from the shuttle and hurried to her dark-haired friend. Both young women were heavy, yet seemed comfortable with their weight. The other returning team members engaged in excited chatter. Valya watched them all, knowing that these women, having completed a successful mission under her leadership, would form the core of her allies here, as well as the growing group of Sisters she trained in her new fighting methods. Valya thought of how the ancient Karee Marques had been a loyal adviser to Raquella for many years; she hoped Fielle could fulfill a similar role for Mother Superior Valya. She nodded to herself at the thought.
“After the components are unloaded and secured, why don’t you two join me for a meal?” Valya suggested to Fielle and Olivia. They looked at her in surprise, and she added, “I’d like you to meet my sister, Tula.”
Mother Superior Raquella seemed relieved to hear the invitation. “You should all get to know each other as friends. The Sisterhood suffered terrible damage when Dorotea thought of herself rather than the good of us all. Our new school on Wallach IX must be strong and unified.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Valya said.
* * *
IN A MATTER of days, the forbidden machines were reassembled, checked, and activated. Valya found herself with similar duties to those she had carried out in the isolated caves on Rossak – but this time, her eager sister was by her side. Valya had requested special permission from the Mother Superior, and she trusted no one more than Tula … in certain matters.
Valya had spent the past year making sure her sister knew exactly how Vorian Atreides had wronged House Harkonnen, and Tula was equally determined to punish the aloof, long-lived war hero. The young woman’s determination pleased Valya very much.
Valya was strong enough to balance the two driving goals in her life: She could not rest until she had destroyed her brother’s murderer, the man who had brought ruin upon her entire family. That was her personal obsession. But in the larger picture, Valya could change the course of human history, and evolution, if she were to guide the Sisterhood. She had never been one to settle for small ambitions.
Now, she and Tula worked in the main bunker, combing through the breeding records. Sitting at a dual-control terminal with linked screens, they scrolled through billions of DNA samples to examine their own lineage and chromosomal linkages to other bloodlines. Raquella’s trusted Sisters worked at other screens nearby. Several Sister Mentats pored over the genetic analyses and compared them with their own projections made from the more cumbersome printed documentation.
Tula brushed a hand through her curly blond hair and leaned closer to the screen. “Are we really so closely related to the Corrinos?”
“They erased our names and pretend that history doesn’t exist, but our bloodline is separated from historical greatness by only a few generations. The Emperor can write his own version, but we know that Harkonnens and Butlers fought side by side against the thinking machines in the Jihad. But we lost everything after the Battle of Corrin, thanks to that accursed Vorian Atreides. To hide the shame, the Butlers changed their name to Corrino and deleted Harkonnens from their family tree.”
“Vorian Atreides,” Tula said. Whenever Valya heard the name, it burned like poison in her ears.
The two young women followed family connections, drawing an intricate lattice of bloodlines from the database. As they searched, they brushed their trails electronically behind them, which blocked any other Sister from seeing what they had been doing. Tracing back through centuries of detailed records, they ran deep searches on the Atreides bloodline, tracking unique markers dispersed across the League of Nobles and the Unallied Planets, all the way back to the infamous cymek General Agamemnon.
But Valya was not interested in ancient history. Rather, she wanted recent blood descendants that Vorian Atreides might actually still care about.
Since murdering Griffin on Arrakis, the man had vanished – which was not surprising for a coward and a criminal. Vorian seemed dead to history, but Valya hoped he wasn’t truly dead – not yet, because she wanted to see him hurt, and hurt deeply. He had to feel the pain he had caused House Harkonnen for generations. She wanted to twist the knife and make him watch the slow death of his family, his legacy. Only then would she kill him.
The records indicated that during his travels with the Army of the Jihad, Vorian had lovers on various planets. One of his discarded partners had been a young woman named Karida Julan from Hagal, who was said to have given birth to a child by him. But the record was sketchy, the data damaged … maybe even intentionally deleted?
While staring at the screen in front of her, Valya heard a clamoring of internal voices from her Other Memories, as if those ghostly presences remembered such ancient times. The cacophony made her head ache, but she blocked the noises away – she could make up her own mind!
According to new information Vorian Atreides had revealed when he resurfaced and presented himself at the Imperial Court, he’d married a woman named Mariella on the planet Kepler and had two sons and three daughters by her, and an unspecified number of grandchildren. That revelation had sent Griffin off in pursuit, hunting down the Atreides enemy on Kepler and then on Arrakis, where Griffin had died.
Valya already knew about the Kepler branch of the Atreides line, but Tula uncovered records that were more complete, and more relevant. In the latter days of the Jihad, Vorian Atreides and his longtime companion Leronica Tergiet had two sons on the planet Caladan, Estes and Kagin – and by now they had many grandchildren. The Atreides bloodline had been spreading like a disease.
Valya’s gaze settled on the names of two of Kagin’s descendants – Willem and Orry Atreides, brothers living on Caladan now, both of marriageable age … and similar to her beloved Griffin.
Sharp, clear images of the two young men appeared on the screens: patrician features, unmistakable Atreides noses and eyes. Valya looked at her beautiful younger sister, and they exchanged smiles. Both seemed to be considering the same interesting possibilities.
If the Atreides could only feel the same pain as her family had suffered!
“Maybe you should go to Caladan,” Valya suggested.
Chapter 27 (It is not enough to survive great adversity)
It is not enough to survive great adversity. You must also share what you learned in the process so that you prevent a recurrence. Otherwise, you widen the scope of the adversity and create a singularity into which even more lives may tumble. This stems from a basic truth: Humans are a collective organism, and that organism performs best when its members recognize their common interests.
– Sisterhood Training Manual
Just before noon, Prince Roderick stood in the central courtyard of the Imperial Palace and waited for his brother to emerge. Two weeks had passed since the disastrous rampage festival, and Emperor Salvador still insisted on additional security checks and guard sweeps. He often canceled an appearance on short notice, either through paranoia or simply indecisiveness. Salvador had always been fearful of illnesses, and now he saw assassins everywhere. The mob uprising had terrified him, shaken him to his marrow.
Salvador, though, had not lost a little daughter.…
Standing in the open air and sunshine, Roderick struggled to concentrate on his older brother’s safety. Many Landsraad factions and commercial interests carried blood feuds, wanting to kill the Emperor, for whatever reason. Still reeling from the death of Nantha, Roderick was barely able to function now, and he didn’t want to lose his brother, too. His universe seemed to be made of the thinnest glass.
Even after viewing images of the surging riots, Roderick could not fathom why they had occurred. Manford Torondo had triggered the mob violence, and knew exactly what he was doing, but what had the Butlerians wanted to accomplish with all that mindless destruction? And why poor Nantha? The little girl had been so perfect, so young, so delighted with the world.
It was impossible to reconstruct the sequence of events. While Haditha took their son and two older daughters to a baliset concert, the nanny had indulged little Nantha, as she had done so many times before. The nanny had requested additional security for the parade, a typical – and now, obviously, only symbolic – honor guard of four soldiers. The nanny and Nantha often went where they chose, always returning home laughing after their adventures. Roderick knew that his youngest daughter would have pleaded until she got her way.
It took all his effort to stop the low moan in his throat. Haditha was in despair, blaming the nanny, who had also been murdered in the manic violence, but Roderick did not revile the dead woman. Innocent little girls should be able to view parades in safety.
The riots were over now, ruthlessly quashed – too late – by a flood of Imperial military troops dispatched from orbiting warships. Following the advice of Headmaster Albans, Roderick had stamped out the mobs by luring them to outlying towns and rounding them up so they could cause no further harm. Manford Torondo had left them all behind, letting the fervor fade away, and the frenetic followers gradually dispersed to their various little warrens.
By the time the crowds left the Zimia city center, Nantha and the nanny were dead, but in all the fires and wild smashing, no one had identified the victims until the next day.
Since that time, Roderick had kept himself busy managing the huge cleanup and reconstruction effort. Like a sloppy, careless guest, Manford Torondo had simply left Salusa, expressing no remorse for the extensive damage, death, and injuries he’d caused.
None of the Butlerians would be charged with crimes. Even if someone were to identify the person who had actually trampled his beautiful daughter, the murder was not committed by one person. The mob was like a storm, and no individual member could be held responsible.
Except perhaps Manford Torondo … but Salvador would never get a chance to fight that battle. If the Butlerian leader were arrested, the crowds would burn Zimia to the ground and kill any Corrinos they found. Manford would never be punished for the death and destruction he had caused.
Roderick looked up, brought out of his reverie as a familiar-looking man walked into the courtyard through an arched doorway. He wore plush Imperial robes and a jeweled cap. “Brother, thank you for meeting me!” The man embraced him, but Roderick pulled away, frowning. This was not Salvador; it was a stranger.
He heard a chuckle from the shadows of the arched doorway. “Did I fool you?” Salvador stepped out into the sunshine, flanked by guards.
Roderick looked at the man in the Imperial robes and cap, ignored him. “He doesn’t look anything like you.”
“He’s the right height and build! Don’t you see that?”
“We can do better. I will devote more resources to the quiet search. I apologize for not being more proactive in finding you a double. I’ve been…” His voice caught in his throat. “I’ve been preoccupied.”
Salvador came into the courtyard and shooed his unconvincing double away so he could talk with his brother. “What else do you have to report?”
Roderick cleared his throat, pushed aside the heavy fog of grief. “Due to the danger of continued Butlerian demonstrations, the Empress Tabrina has taken permanent refuge in your country home. I sent a guard contingent with her, of course.”
Salvador’s sour expression made it clear that he would not have mourned if some unexpected group of Butlerians happened to kill her. “She is avoiding me now that I’ve discovered the schemes of her family.”
“I expressed my appreciation to the Truthsayer Dorotea for first uncovering the plots.” At every opportunity, Roderick had been reminding Salvador about the value of the group of women who now served the Imperial throne.
“Yes, yes, I admit you were right about that. I am glad we didn’t get rid of all the Sisters from Rossak. Dorotea has made herself invaluable. Out of gratitude for how she identified the House Péle plot, I’ve decided to let her train more Sisters – with proper checks and balances, of course.”
Roderick nodded. “And about House Péle, our Mentat accountants have conducted extensive audits, and we have proof that Tabrina’s father underreported mining production to avoid Imperial taxes. We have levied crushing punitive fines, and Blanton Davido is already dead at the hands of the Grand Inquisitor. That should be sufficient punishment.”
“By all means, no! An underling can’t take the place of the man who truly deserves to be punished. I want Omak Péle brought here to face Quemada.”
Roderick was skeptical. “Empress Tabrina will object strenuously.”
“My wife is welcome to take her father’s place if she wishes. Lord Péle went into hiding as soon as the scandal broke, but I’m sure we have the resources to find him.”
Roderick closed his eyes, gave a small nod. “We do.”
The two walked together along a portico lined with statues of heroes of the Jihad. In an uncharacteristically warm moment, Salvador embraced his brother, held him close. “I’m sorry about Nantha. We’ll punish whoever was responsible.”
Roderick caught his breath, almost choked on it. He and Haditha would never, ever get over the death of their child. It was a loss that needed to be avenged by breaking the Butlerian movement. His voice came out in a low growl. “We already know who is responsible.”
* * *
TWO DAYS AFTER the order went out for her father’s arrest on Péle, Empress Tabrina barged into Roderick’s office without an appointment. A strikingly beautiful woman with dark, almond eyes, she moved with the slender grace of a cat. She wore a long dress of glittering gold and ruby-colored fabric.
“My father is not subject to Imperial interrogation,” she said without ceremony. “Blanton Davido died at the hands of the Grand Inquisitor, and House Péle has already paid the shortfall in taxes plus the outrageous fines. The matter has been corrected – make Salvador see reason and stop all this nonsense! We should forget about the whole troublesome episode. After the Butlerian riots, the Imperium needs calm. We should get back to normal.”
Seeing Tabrina’s fiery personality, and aware of the loathing she had for Salvador, Roderick could only think about how much he loved Haditha and their children. And Nantha.
He did not get up from his desk. “I will never get back to normal, Tabrina. My daughter was murdered in the Butlerian madness, and I have no intention of forgetting her or what the fanatics did.”
The Empress looked flustered and embarrassed. “Yes, I am very sorry. I remember the dear girl.…” She fidgeted with her hands, lifted her chin. “So you can understand that I must try to save my own father.”
“I understand … but unlike your father, my poor daughter was innocent.”
* * *
SISTER DOROTEA ACCOMPANIED Roderick as he went to find the Emperor, who was taking a midafternoon break in his private dining hall. The Truthsayer kept a respectful step or two behind Roderick as they entered.
Salvador looked up from a bowl of blue-tomato soup, wiped his lips with a white napkin. “Give me good news about Omak Péle. Is he here, being interrogated by Quemada already?”
Roderick shook his head. “We do not have him. I received word just this morning that he went renegade, abandoned all his holdings, and fled to one of the distant Unallied Planets. He is out of our reach. I do not believe Empress Tabrina even knows where he is.”
The lanky Dorotea added, “After listening to court conversation, Sire, I suspect that Lord Péle received help from certain Landsraad families. There could be cascading repercussions.”
“Good, let’s root out all the traitors. I am the Emperor—”
“And they are the Landsraad, Salvador,” Roderick said. “If you begin crushing one house after another, how long will it be before they band together and overthrow House Corrino?”
Salvador squirmed, looked at his soup with distaste. “So I am just to ignore this fraud? House Péle stole from the Imperium – from me!”
Roderick continued, “There is a better resolution. House Péle is effectively gone. Their transgression has been exposed, so now we seize all of their assets.”
The Emperor perked up, took another spoonful of soup, then said, “Rich mining interests, substantial holdings. And Omak Péle was so proud of his luxurious foldspace barge – I want that brought here, refitted, marked with the Corrino crest.” He grumbled. “It’s a start, at least. But I still want Lord Péle found – people shouldn’t be allowed to run away from justice in my Imperium.”
Dorotea added, “For what it’s worth, Sire, Empress Tabrina is innocent of any involvement in the scheme – I have observed her closely, listened to the stresses and intonations of her voice when she discusses the Péle scandal, and I am convinced she was unaware all along.”
The Emperor frowned, seemingly disappointed by the news.
With a sigh, Roderick said, “I just lost my daughter, Salvador, and enough is enough. It is not fitting that Tabrina should lose her father, too. House Péle was a valuable political asset when you secured your throne, and now you have everything.”
