Fighting what he knew now was the truth, Aton suffered a greater shock. For though the culture he understand forbade this thing utterly, he had, in an inversion that paralleled her emotional one—that he had not known about, then—grown up to believe her to be the most desirable of women. Because she had been, according to his incomplete knowledge, no relation to himself.

Now he knew that she, by beliefs of his own that were fundamental, was forbidden. And he found her—

Found her still the most compelling desirable woman he could imagine. She had offered herself to him—and he wanted her, physically, more than ever before. That was what upset him most.

“Until this moment,” she said, “you were not ready, Aton. I had to wait a very long time to win you.” She relaxed on the couch, splendid in repose, pulling him with her. The living flame of her hair spread in and out, over face and shoulders and perfect breast, highlighting her body. Black-green eyes, so near to his, opened in deep vistas.

“So long a time,” she said. “So lovely. Kiss me, Aton, and come to me. Now, Aton—now!”

Fourteen

The day was turbulent. They rose together and left the garden shed, walking in the wind.

“Why did you let me discover your identity, at the spotel?”

Aton asked her now. “The thing you wanted—it might easily have been, if I had not known.”

“Aton,” she said, shaking her head in gentle reproach. “Have you, have you not been to Minion? Have you not seen what love, your love, will do to the minionette?”

He had allowed himself to forget.

“Your love would have killed me, as that of your father would have killed me, had it been as you imagined when you courted me,” she explained. “Only your knowledge of the truth could make you condemn. Only through that—to you, negative—emotion could you approach me physically. You had to know.”

Aton could not reply immediately. She had waited a long time—but their meeting had been too soon. “Death and love were always linked, for us,” he said, not looking at her. “The death of illusion, the love of pain. I had to think that you were evil, and you had to let me believe that. But my resistance was stronger than desire. I left you, after all.”

“Did you, Aton?”

The path became steep though the wind had dropped. He helped her climb, though she did not need it. Their discussion died as she seemed to metamorphose again, to fit his lonely parade of memories. Now she wore a pack and her blonde hair fluttered in an idle gust. On her wrist the silver circlet glittered.