Valya frowned. Her friendship with Dorotea had been feigned so she could keep an eye on the group of dangerous, heretical Sisters. “I never agreed with Dorotea’s pandering to the Butlerians.”

In those days, Valya had hoped to become Raquella’s heir apparent at the head of the order, but she’d been reluctant to undergo the Agony. Now, however, Valya was a Reverend Mother herself, and here on Wallach IX she hoped to reclaim her position in the hierarchy. Having abandoned the true Sisterhood to form her weak splinter group at the feet of Emperor Salvador, Dorotea was no longer her competitor.

Ellulia led the two newcomers to a cluster of prefabricated buildings with metal roofs. “Mother Superior will be pleased to learn you are safe, and we can use every Reverend Mother — our numbers have slowly increased, but we still lose many to the Agony.” She pointed toward one of the buildings, where a gnarled, crippled woman was being helped inside. “Sister Ignacia was among our brightest, and now she’s just one of seventy-eight failed Reverend Mothers we must care for.”

Valya shook her head, remembering Ignacia. “They were too weak to succeed.” Now that she had passed through the Agony herself, she felt no sympathy for those who failed. “The Mother Superior often says that we all make necessary sacrifices for the advancement of the Sisterhood.”

Ellulia frowned, but gave a cautious nod. “And because of their brave sacrifices, we will always honor our damaged Sisters and care for them. We continue to investigate the requirements of the ordeal, to see if we can make the transition easier for our fellow Sisters.”

Valya did not want her own sister to end up dead or comatose — Tula had too much to accomplish. “An admirable goal, but only the best and strongest are fit to become Reverend Mothers. And … what of Anna Corrino? Where is she now?”

Ellulia clucked her tongue. “On Lampadas.”

Alarmed, Valya asked, “With the Butlerians?”

“No, at the Mentat School. Gilbertus Albans is using his techniques to restore her damaged mind.”

Valya felt a twinge of guilt, because she was responsible for the flighty girl taking the poison that had nearly killed her. Instead of admitting that, though, she said, “I doubt Mentat techniques will cure her, but if she fails to recover there, at least the blame won’t fall on the Sisterhood.” She shook her head. “It is an unkind comment, but Anna was never qualified to become a Sister, much less a Reverend Mother. She only came to Rossak because the Emperor needed someone to watch over her — and the Emperor destroyed our school because of it.”

As Ellulia led the Harkonnen sisters toward the buildings, Valya assessed the new school complex. She saw snow-capped peaks in the distance, a weak, blue-white sun overhead. The biting wind blew Valya’s whale-fur robe. Looking at the cheap prefab buildings, she was dismayed at how far the once glorious organization had fallen.

It was all Dorotea’s fault, Valya knew, for turning the Emperor against them. Dorotea had wheedled her way into Salvador’s good graces, convincing him that the Sisterhood used forbidden computers to manage breeding records — which was true, although Dorotea had never proved it.

Noticing Valya’s disappointed expression, Ellulia paused in front of the austere buildings. “Josef and Cioba Venport donated these temporary structures for our new headquarters. This planet is our safe haven — we’re lucky to have it.”

Valya glanced at Tula, who now seemed uncertain about coming here. “They are sufficient for instruction — that is what counts. And my sister knows how to endure hardships.”

Tula squared her shoulders. “I didn’t expect this to be easy.”

Ellulia paused at a one-story building with an open window, despite the cold. Peering inside, Valya saw four Sisters sitting on benches. She was surprised to hear them discussing passages from the Azhar Book, the Sisterhood’s philosophical manual written as their response to the Orange Catholic Bible. She turned to Ellulia. “I thought Emperor Salvador ordered all copies of the Azhar Book destroyed.”

The other woman smiled. “One of those Sisters memorized the text, and now the other three are transcribing it from her dictation. Nothing is lost so long as memory remains. We will republish the book after the Sisters resolve a few minor wording disagreements. Mother Superior Raquella is the arbiter.”

Ellulia led them through a door into an adjacent hall, just as a cold gust of wind pressed against the building. Valya heard the thin walls groan and felt the floor move beneath her feet. This new school on Wallach IX was a far cry from the lush and ancient cliff city on Rossak.

Two silent Mentat trainees led Mother Superior Raquella across elevated walkways that connected the imposing complex of buildings. Her presence at the Mentat School was unofficial and unrecorded, facilitated by Cioba Venport, who supported Raquella’s Sisterhood in exile.

On the main deck of the school, Headmaster Albans hurried toward her. Despite the oppressive humidity, he wore dark trousers, a beige shirt, coat, and tie. “Excuse my tardiness, Mother Superior. A student was killed in training the other day, and her parents were understandably upset — a very influential Landsraad family.” Gilbertus wiped perspiration from his flushed face. “Our curriculum is designed to enhance mental abilities, but we make our trainees face physical dangers as well. Even with the extra defensive measures we’ve instituted for Anna Corrino, we cannot make absolute guarantees as to the safety of the students.”

Raquella gave a somber nod, thinking of the Sisters who had died in the throes of Agony while trying to become Reverend Mothers. “I understand full well. Acquiring knowledge is often dangerous — especially these days.”

On her previous visits to Lampadas, the old Mother Superior had always been struck by the rigorous challenges the Headmaster imposed on his students. She’d had Sister Mentats in her Rossak School, including ancient Karee Marques, who were trained on Lampadas, and Karee had been a good friend and an important Mentat for the Sisterhood. Emperor Salvador had murdered her, along with the rest of the Sister Mentats.

Crisis. Survival. Advancement. That had been a mantra on Rossak, appropriate then and now, because Gilbertus Albans was training new Sister Mentats for Raquella’s reborn school on Wallach IX.

As the Headmaster led her inside the main lecture building, she turned from the elevated walkway to look out at the sprawling shallow lake. “My own students are adjusting to Wallach IX, which is much less hospitable than Rossak. It’s a damaged world, still recovering from atomic bombardment at the end of the Jihad. But we will endure, and the Sisters will be strong.”

“Challenges improve those who survive,” Gilbertus said. “There are many paths to perfection and personal achievement. And countless dead ends.”

“We are both trying to improve humanity, Headmaster — helping our race achieve its potential without unnecessary reliance on machines.”

Raquella thought of her hoarded breeding records, the genetic possibilities that had been recorded for generations; it was enough information to chart a path for all humanity — if properly used. With the right guidance, the Sisterhood could accomplish in a few millennia what would normally require millions of years by natural processes.