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It was a week later that—as they practised on the sword dance courts—a small fat Ishtar demon arrived, bearing an invitation to tea for Helena and Amba from Lord Torren. This time, they were directed to attend him in his laboratory.

It had been a difficult week for Amba—never knowing when the call would come—and she had struggled to keep her anticipation in check. She had started studies in shaping, observation and tradecraft, traditions and history, toxins, mindcraft, sorcery, traditions and etiquette, bladework, tactics and strategy—plus her practice with Helena in the sword dance. But nothing had occupied her mind enough to take her thoughts far from the tests and inquiries that were being made. It didn't affect her studies negatively—in fact, in her rush to make time progress, she was taxing her teachers with how fast she was becoming adept in her studies. It was as if she was a sponge, and her absorbency had yet to be even tested.

So it was that when the demon arrived, she was anxious to leave—but Helena rightly pointed out that they should probably make themselves a bit more presentable before they left, and looking at the towel she had been using to keep the sweat from her eyes, she had to agree.

Waiting for Helena to tell the demon that the would be along, Amba bounced unconsciously from foot to foot, her excitement needing some way to be expressed. Then as the demon left, she took off for the showers, finishing in record time—though truth be told, the ability to shed her epidermis and the layer of dust and sweat that had accumulated while they practiced did help in her speed.

She watched the ongoing practices, biting her fingernails as quickly as she could grow them back, waiting for Helena to finish. As Helena returned, she waited with bated breath for Lord Torren to answer her trump call and bring them through.

The card vibrated into life immediately.

"Come through," said Torren—this time with no courtesy about tea.

Amba placed her hand on Helena's shoulder, and with a slight squeeze, waited for the transition to the now-familiar lab.

Helena nodded to her stepfather and, after taking his hand, drew herself and Amba through the trump.

"I have managed to trace your mother," Torren said to Amba. His face was grave, almost troubled. "My dear...are you quite sure as to the year of your birth? For I believe that either the shadow must be much older than the one you believe spawned you or..."

"...or?" Amba asked, slightly reticent now, her heart in her throat.

Helena took Amba's hand and squeezed it in support.

"My dear, the Hendrake maid who was your mother, according to your blood, died in the Abyss five hundred years ago," said Torren. "She had been...disgraced, and sentenced to live as a pit diver. They...do not live long."

Amba's eyes widened as she brought her free hand to her mouth. She realized how hard she was squeezing Helena's hand, and forced herself to relax, unable to speak. "That... That can't be..." she started, then taking a deep breath, instead said, "How accurate is this test?"

Helena looked with some alarm from Amba back to her stepfather.

Torren shook his head. "I ran three crosstests, my dear. There can be no doubt."

He moved away to his bench. "It opens two possibilities. One that your Shadow was much slower than you believed, and the other that your were not born at all but ... creatively spawned."

"Spawned?" Amba echoed, her voice stricken with grief.

Helena let go of her hand and put an arm around Amba's shoulders.

It was a long moment before she could even say anything else, so upset was she. But she forced herself to pull herself together- for now. "So... Is there anything we can find out about my ... Father, other donor, whatever you call the male part of someone who is spawned," she asked, a bit of bitterness seeping into her tone.

"The tests suggest that there was only one splice," said Torren, still gentle. "That is, a pairing of two people. Unfortunately...it does mean... "

He hesitated. "Your Amberite parent need not be male."

For a brief second the pressure on Helena's hand increased as the shock of what Lord Torren had said impacted Amba. Then just as suddenly, there was nothing. If she was to look, she would see that Amba was still there, but when the young woman spoke again, her voice was so calm, it was eerily strange.

"So, other than the fact that we know one...Progenitor's identity, there is no other information? Is this a common procedure, this 'spawning'?

Helena did look at Amba, her expression turning from concern to alarm. She looked back at her stepfather to see if he noticed the sudden change in her demeanor.

Perhaps he had, but he was not revealing it in hios manner which remained calm, almost gentle.

"Spawning is not uncommon in Chaos, it is true—although it is mostly use for breeding true in a House line. Nevertheless, there are those who advocate that the stock can be improved through artistic selection.

"Many see the efforts of the Lady Dara as a little...crude in this regard. They would see your own creation as a more elegant and fitting thing."

He avoided looking at Helena.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. So what if she was conceived instead of spawned and people considered it crude? It was just one more thing that set her apart from everyone else here.

Helena set her expression and looked back at Amba. "It doesn't matter who your parents were nor what manner of creating you was used. Don't focus on the what's-gone-before, things that you had no control over. Focus instead on the what's-to-be, and what you can control, and what you can become.

"You're very talented, Amba. I've no doubt that you can do and you can become anything you set your mind to."

Helena smiled at her, almost wistfully.

Amba was still quite aloof, though Helena could see hints of the Amba she knew right beneath the surface, unwilling—or unable—to come forth.

"Is there any way to cross-match the blood that you took from me to find out who the other parent is—other than drawing blood, which I'm quite sure they would be leery of doing."

Helena had said too much, and at the wrong time. It was Amba's nonreaction to the news that had prompted Helena to try to get an emotional response out of her, to get her to open up, but this was the wrong place and time to try. Helena withdrew into herself to keep her own emotions in check and forced herself to relax the lines of her face. She dropped her arm from Amba's shoulders.

"It's not my wife," said Torren. "Nor the others I hold—Random, Benedict, Bleys. None of them. Nor is it Finndo or Osric, according to the genotype records." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. That still leaves a wide range of possibilities."

He shook his head. "I am sorry I had no better news for you."

"To find the original donor, would you need blood from them? Or could blood from a descendant work?" Amba posed, her demeanor still calm at the bad news.

Torren shook his head. "Blood from a descendent would be acceptable—if the original individual were, for example, dead. But living blood is most certain." He was warching her closely. "Do you have any suspicions of who your parent might be?" he asked.

"No," Amba said. "None," she reiterated, sighing.

She chanced a look at Helena, and took her hand in her own.

Helena squeezed her hand.

"It's just... Some of them are dead," she said, the pain back in her voice, if not as fiercely. "Unavailable. So I wanted to know if there was no way to match them."

Reaching up with her hand, she wiped her eye, then looked back at Lord Torren. "Thank you, for everything. I'm afraid I've already taken too much of your time," she said. "If you find anything...?"

"Of course," said Torren. "And in the mean-time, Lady Amba, I want you to understand this ...

"My daughter--my step-daughter is your friend. But more than that--House Ishtar is now your friend, and you may call on us for aid in time of need."

Helena raised her eyebrows and smiled wryly at Amba. "That's a big thing--Lord Ishtar doesn't make that offer to just anyone."