Shaddam’s brow wrinkled. “You insult me at your peril, Hasimir.”
“It is good for a man to hear the truth, if only occasionally. I offer frankness, but only when no one else is in earshot.”
“But I could hear you, Count Fenring,” the Empress said with a musical chuckle. “Don’t worry, I will tell no one. We are all united in doing what is best for the Imperium.”
Fenring and Shaddam were both surprised by Aricatha’s bold statement. She was indeed a stunning woman with blue-black hair that drank in the light, smooth skin the color of caramels, and large eyes like jet and obsidian. She provided charming company when Shaddam wanted it and was wise enough to avoid him when he wished to be left alone. Fenring watched her carefully and had cautioned Shaddam that she might be manipulating him in many ways. He once remarked, “She plays you not like a musical instrument, Sire, but like an entire orchestra.”
Shaddam put little stock in the concerns, believing himself above any manipulation. Considering the pleasurable sensations Aricatha evoked when she played her fingers across his skin, he had no complaint.
Now at the gala, the Empress slipped her arm through his, and Shaddam escorted her across the expansive reception area, which filled the entire top floor of the Imperial Monolith. She led him to the center of the room, as if she meant to put him on display.
The metal doors of the accelerated lift opened to spill out a flock of noble guests in colorful finery with prominent Landsraad crests. Only those invited to this special reception were allowed to ride the elevator that shot them in seconds to the top of the Monolith.
Since Fenring did not much care for public appearances, Shaddam was not surprised to watch the Count melt away into the hubbub as the nobles around him chattered on.
The guests stared at the impressive exhibits and display cases, while servants wandered about with trays of drinks and exotic delicacies. Upon spotting the Emperor, the nobles lit up, having practiced their awe and respect for hours before meeting him in person. They came forward in a rush, but Aricatha intercepted the guests in order to introduce them one by one, somehow remembering their names and Houses. Shaddam flashed his wife a thankful glance, impressed by her social skill. The nobles beamed, pleased to be recognized by the beautiful new Empress, if not by the Padishah Emperor himself.
A crisply uniformed Sardaukar officer stepped up, exuding strength and competence. Shaddam gave the man his attention, grateful for the distraction. “Something to report, Colonel Bashar Kolona?”
The officer spoke in a calm, efficient whisper. “Every guest has been vetted to the fullest of our ability, Sire. Enjoy the reception in comfort. You are safe.”
With so much security around him, so many Imperial troops in the city, it had never occurred to Shaddam that he wasn’t safe. He dismissed the officer, then turned to the next person who had come to pay his respects.
Shaddam recognized him even without an introduction from the Empress. “Archduke Armand Ecaz.” He extended a hand, then awkwardly let it drop at the sight of the Archduke’s empty sleeve pinned across his chest, a reminder that the man’s arm had been cut off in the bloody assassination attempt at his daughter’s ill-fated wedding with Duke Leto Atreides. “You have had a peaceful and productive year? Is that how long it’s been since…?” The Emperor could not take his eyes from the empty sleeve.
“One year, one month, and an odd number of days, Sire,” said the Archduke, who looked as if he had aged much more than a year since Shaddam last saw him in person.
The Emperor cleared his throat and tried to sound reassuring. “It was indeed a terrible crime, but all the troubles with Grumman are now over. Not even the most distant relative of House Moritani has been invited here.”
“There is no more House Moritani, Sire. That has been taken care of,” the Archduke said. “I thank you and the Imperium for granting me their planet as an Ecazi holding, though that world has little to offer except maintenance.”
Shaddam clucked his tongue. “Any planet added to House Ecaz increases your standing in the Landsraad, does it not?”
“It does, Sire,” the Archduke admitted, but he did not sound entirely pleased. “You have my gratitude.”
Shaddam saw other nobles standing a few steps away, impatiently waiting to bask in his Imperial presence. He needed to move on. “We shall see about finding some other underutilized planet to add to your control. My Imperium has a million worlds, and many of them have gone unnoticed.” He spread his hands. “Like Otorio, for instance. The people here had no ruling noble house for centuries. If there are similar planets, a nobleman like yourself could put them to good use for the benefit of the Imperium.”
Ecaz bowed, but did not smile. “As the code says, the first responsibility of a noble is to the Landsraad and to the Imperium.” He drifted away, and Shaddam felt disappointed by the interaction. Most nobles would have been overjoyed at the offer of another planetary holding. Perhaps he should find someone more appreciative.
Noble after noble approached, and Shaddam endured as the afternoon waned into the rich colors of sunset. The accelerated elevator delivered another batch of guests, then another.
Returning, Count Fenring insinuated himself into the clustered nobles as if he had been greased. Catching Shaddam’s eye, he made one of the special hand signs they had developed as boyhood friends. This one told the Emperor he had something important to convey.
“Excuse me,” Shaddam said to a waiting noble. “I’ll be right back. A matter of governance has come to my attention.” He slipped over to the Count, and they found a place where they could talk in a bubble of privacy.
“After studying the list of arrivals, I am perplexed by a pattern of missing guests,” Fenring said in a low tone. “CHOAM President Frankos Aru publicly accepted your invitation, but as far as we can tell, he remains at the Silver Needle on Kaitain.” His pale brow wrinkled. “His mother, Ur-Director Malina Aru, did not respond at all. For an event of such significance, we expected her to make one of her rare public appearances—to benefit CHOAM, if nothing else.”
The Combine Honnete Ober Advancer Mercantiles, or the CHOAM Company, was a gigantic monopoly encompassing all forms of commerce across the Imperium. Their widespread business dealings were secretive and subtle, and most people in the Imperium never noticed the extent of their influence.
Shaddam brushed aside Fenring’s observation. “This sort of historical spectacle is not in CHOAM’s usual repertoire. Everyone here wants to be seen and noticed, and you know that CHOAM prefers to remain in the shadows.”
Fenring grudgingly nodded. He tapped his chin with a long finger. “After rediscovering Otorio, I dug deeper and uncovered further strings tied to strings tied to a whole intricate web. It is my suspicion, hmmm-ahh, that this particular world was intentionally kept off the books to hide it from you and many Emperors before you. Perhaps by someone connected to CHOAM.”
Shaddam felt his face flush. “Everything is connected to CHOAM. Otorio is mine now, and if someone wishes to state an objection, they are welcome to do so. I will speak to the Urdir myself if she is brave enough to show her face.”
The Emperor saw that some impatient nobles were attempting to eavesdrop.
Shaddam nudged the Count and watched the Empress valiantly try to distract the guests. “For now, let me enjoy my moment, Hasimir. We will deal with complications and political unpleasantries later.” He turned to the crowd, opened his arms expansively, and muttered, “I must meet these sycophants and give them what they need.”