He knew she was beyond fear, but she accepted this, as she had accepted the kisses, the caresses. Strangely, there seemed no compulsion to go further, no ache of frustration. He was also swept with ripples of laughter which seemed somehow to heighten the ecstatic quality of this moment, of sun and warmth and flowers and singing insects in the grass all around him, a laughter, a mirth which shook Callista too, along with desire.

His wife and he were perfectly content to lie here in the grass beside her, with his clothes on, and she hers, and do nothing more than kiss her, as if they were children in their teens… It was absurdly hilarious and delightful.

The politest of the Darkovan words for sex was accandir which meant simply to lie down together and was so noncommittal that it could be used in the presence of young children. Well, he thought, again swept by the little ripples of mirth, that was what they were doing. He never knew how long they lay there side by side in the grass, kissing or gently caressing one another, while he played with the strands of her hair or watched the soft prisms of color behind his eyes crawl across her glowing face.

It must have been hours later — the sun had begun to angle down from noon — when a cloud darkened the sun and a wind sprang up, blowing Callista’s hair across her face. Andrew blinked and sat up, looking down at her. She lay resting on one elbow, her under-tunic opened at the throat, bits of grass and flowers caught in her hair. It was suddenly cold, and Callista looked at the sky regretfully. “I am afraid we must go, or we will be caught in the rain. Look at the clouds.” With reluctant fingers she fastened her tunic-laces, picked leaves from her hair, and braided it loosely. “Just enough for decency,” she sad, laughing. “I do not want to look as if I had been lying down in the fields, even with my own husband!”

He laughed, gathering up the bag of flowers at her side, laying it on the pommel of her saddle. What happened to them? he wondered. The sun, the pollen, what was it? He was ready to lift her on her horse when she delayed, suddenly catching at him, putting her arms around his neck.

She said, “Andrew, oh, please—” and glanced at the edge of the field, the shelter of the trees. He knew her thoughts; there was no need to put them into words.

“I want to… I want to be all yours.”

His hands tightened about her waist, but he did not move.

He said, very gently, “Darling, no. No risks.”

It seemed that it would be all right, but he was not sure. If the channels overloaded again… He could not bear to see her suffer that way. Not again.

She drew a long, deep breath of disappointment, but he knew she accepted his decision. When she raised her eyes to him again they were filled with tears, but she was smiling. I will cast no shadow on this wonderful day by asking for more, like a greedy child.

He put her riding cloak around her shoulders, for a sharp wind was blowing from the heights and it was cold. As he lifted her into the saddle he could see the field of flowers, now chill blue, without the golden shimmer that had been on them. The sky was darkening into a drizzle of rain. He lifted Callista into her saddle, and beyond her, as he mounted, could, see that on the other slope across the valley the horses were beginning to bunch up, moving restlessly, looking for shelter also.

The ride back was silent, Andrew feeling let down, distressed. He felt that he had been a fool. He should have taken advantage of Callista’s yielding, the sudden disappearance of fear or hesitation. What stupid compunction had made him hesitate?

After all, if it was Callista’s response to him which overloaded the channels, there had already been as much of that as if he had actually taken her. As she had wished! What a fool he had been, he thought, what a damnable fool!

Callista was silent, also, glancing now and then at him with an inexpressible look of guilt and dread. He picked up her fear, fear that came to wipe out the gladness.

I am glad I have known, again, what it was to desire him, to return his love… but I am afraid. And he could feel the paralyzing texture of her fear, the memory of pain when she had allowed herself, before, to respond to him. I couldn’t endure that again. Not even with kirian. And it would be dreadful for Damon too. Merciful Avarra, what have I done?

It was raining hard by the time they reached Armida, and Andrew lifted Callista from the saddle, sensing with dismay the way her body stiffened against his touch. Again? He kissed her wet face under the soaked hood. She did not draw away from the kiss, but she did not return it, either. Puzzled, but trying to be sympathetic — she was afraid, poor girl, and who could blame her after that awful ordeal? — Andrew carried her up the steps and set her on her feet.

“Go and dry yourself, my precious, don’t wait for me. I must make sure the horses are properly seen to.”

Callista went slowly and regretfully up the stairs. Her gaiety had vanished, leaving her feeling tired and sick with apprehension. One of the strongest taboos in Arilinn was that which made the raw kireseth plant, untreated, a thing wholly forbidden. Although she was no longer bound by those laws, she felt guilty and ashamed. Even when she knew she was being affected by the flowers, she had remained to enjoy the effect, not moving out of range or withdrawing. And through the guilt was fear. She did not feel as she had felt with channel overload before — she had seldom felt better — but knowing what she did about herself, she was deathly frightened.

She went in search of Damon, and he guessed at once what had happened. “Were you exposed to kireseth, Callista? Tell me.”

Stumbling, ashamed, frightened, she managed to convey to Damon a little of what had happened. Damon, listening to the faltering words, thought in an anguished empathy that she sounded as shamed as a repentant harlot, not a married woman who had spent the day innocently with her own husband. But he was troubled. After the events of the early winter, Andrew would never have approached her like this, without an explicit invitation. Kireseth, as a matter of fact, had quite a reputation for breaking down inhibitions. But whatever the cause, she might again have overloaded her channels with two conflicting sets of responses. “Well, let us see what harm has been done.”

But after monitoring her briefly, he felt confused. “Are you sure, Callista? Your channels are a Keeper’s, undisturbed. What sort of joke is this?”

“Joke? Damon, what do you mean? It happened just as I said.”

“But that is impossible,” Damon said. “You could not react like that. If you had, your channels would be overloaded and you would be very ill. What do you feel now?”

“Nothing,” she said wearily, defeated, “I feel nothing, nothing, nothing!” For a moment he thought she would burst into tears. She spoke again, her voice tight with unshed tears. “It is gone, like a dream, and I have broken the laws of the Tower. I am outcaste for nothing.”

Damon did not know what to think. A dream, compensating for the deprivations of her life? The kireseth was, after all, an hallucinogenic drug. He stretched his hands to her. Her automatic withdrawal from the touch verified his guess: she and Andrew had merely shared an illusion.

Later he questioned Andrew, which he could do more thoroughly and specifically, discussing the physical responses involved. Andrew was distressed and defensive, though he willingly admitted he would have been responsible if Callista had been harmed. Zandru’s hells, Damon thought, what a tangle! Andrew already had so much guilt about wanting Callista when she could not respond to him, and now he must be deprived even of the illusion. Laying his hand on his friend’s shoulder, he said, “It’s all right, Andrew. You didn’t hurt her. She’s all right, I tell you, her channels are still wholly clear.” Andrew said stubbornly, “I don’t believe it was a dream, or an illusion, or anything like that. Damn it, I didn’t invent the leaves in my hair!”