I hadn't seen my mother in seven years, but for her it was probably only a few weeks. At least, that was the time in Amber -- who knew how fast it flew in whichever shadow she had been staying. When we had last seen each other, I had been a child. Now I was an adult. And I was determined to learn the truths she had been unwilling to tell me when I was only 16.

If only I could figure out how to bring up the subject.

I stared into my mirror, as if hoping the girl reflected there might give me some guidance. She stared back with even eyes, expression reflecting a calm I didn't feel. Amber eyes blinked once, and I watched my movements reflected as I reached up to push copper colored strands from my face. She didn't know the answers any better than I did.

I turned to find Cybele watching me. She sat on the very edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly. Her oddly colored hair, streaked with black and green, fell forward to frame her face. "You look well, Adrienne." Her voice was soft and low.

"Thank you," I smiled to hide my nervousness.

"This is more like what I expected when I first saw you when I returned," she ventured. That had been the first time I ever saw her, that I remembered. I had been a babe when she was sent off to die. When Benedict had taken me and given me to my adopted father to raise. That was a thousand years ago. Naturally she'd expected me to be far older than 16 when she returned.

I smiled slightly again, not sure what to say. She had only reminded me what I truly wanted to talk about. And I still didn't know how to change the subject slightly to say it.

"Benedict warned you," I began.

"Yes, he did," she agreed. "He told me you learned quite a lot." She waited expectantly.

"I had a good time. I did learn a lot." I began toying with a pair of earrings atop my dresser. Each one was made of five triangles brought together. They were heavy, with the tip of the triangle hanging down, and the five bases pointing up, looking rather like an arrowhead. They were also deadly, if my aim was right. Yes, I had learned quite a lot from my mentor.

"You seem more mature." When I glanced back, she was looking at me with a strange mixture of curiosity, and what might have been pride. "Did you just decide it was time?"

"I wanted to be accepted," I admitted. "It was time to grow up." I remembered those horrible fighting lessons with my cousin Jerrym. He hated having me as a student; hated that Benedict had forced him to take me as a student. I could still feel the resolve to someday show him what I could do. And maybe to someday surpass his skill. "Although some will never believe I have."

I walked over to the window and stared out it a moment, gripping the sill tightly. With one fingernail I peeled back a bit of wood, worrying it between my fingers. This was my opening. It was time to ask.

When I turned to look at her again, she looked almost calm sitting there on the bed. But if I looked carefully, I could see the thin line of white around her lips, the faint wrinkles on her forehead, and the way her fingers gripped the sheets. She already knew what I was going to say and dreaded it. I hesitated, and almost thought better of it. But if I gave up now, she'd win, and I'd only have to try again someday. It was better to end the curiosity now.

"I *have* grown up, mother," I stressed. "I am not a child anymore. And there are things I should know." She glanced away as I pushed on. I started to pace, my energy channeling itself. I couldn't afford to feel the emotion bubbling through me. I couldn't afford to lose control of the situation. So instead I let my body use that energy, going nowhere as I paced around the room.

"I had a long time to think about it while I was away. And I knew all the possibilities before I left." I remembered bitterly how my uncle Selwin had chosen to taunt me with the knowledge he thought he had of my fatherhood. How everyone seemed to believe that it was true, despite my mother's statement that no one knew the truth. It had taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that my Uncle Benedict might, in fact, be my true father.

I stopped pacing and looked at my mother. "I have heard all of the rumors. And I would rather know than not know."

"Who your father is." Her voice was choked, her expression taut within a pale face.

I nodded, my resolve almost weakening.

She looked down at her hands, locked together in her lap. "I don't know if you're ready for this." I was about to protest when she added softly, "I don't know if *I'm* ready for this."

I suddenly relented. "You don't have to tell me right now. But I *am* old enough to hear the truth. I can understand it, whatever it is. And I will never stop being curious."

She was silent for a long time. "This isn't easy." There was fresh pain in her voice, and it sliced through my heart.

"I'm sorry." I turned to her, stricken. "You don't have to tell me then. Not yet."

"You won't tell Benedict?"

I paused a moment, then shook my head. "Not if you don't want me to."

She relaxed slightly. "Do you have anything else to ask of me? Because," there was a catch in her voice, "if I tell you this, then I am going to have to leave."

I swallowed. "Not that I can think of." I knew there were so many things I should be asking. I still didn't know Cybele at all. She was Oberon's eldest. She was the woman who bore me. Benedict loved her. Beyond that, I knew very little.

"You will probably want to know why, and how, once you know who."

I couldn't deny that. "I will be curious. But I won't ask if you don't want me to."

She didn't tell me not to. "It happened so long ago," she whispered. Her eyes filled with fresh pain, and I could hear the tears she held back choking her. I turned away, so she wouldn't have to look at me. I thought it would make it easier. "But it seems so fresh still, as if it only happened yesterday."

I think that was when it began to dawn on me. She said more then, but I don't recall her words, because a tiny seed of thought had just blossomed into full realization. I had considered the idea before, but had thrown it out as impossible.

"Adrienne, look at me."

My mother's voice was commanding, and I turned to look her directly in the eye. I stood there, on the opposite side of the bed, matching her direct gaze. And her words echoed my thoughts.

"Adrienne, Oberon is your father."

"I'm sorry." The words slipped out almost immediately, and I thought she misunderstood. "For making you tell me." My voice jumped over the words, tilting as if I couldn't speak quite properly. I felt as if something were caught in my throat. "Is that why he sent you away?"

"He doesn't know," she told me. I remembered how she had known I would want to know the how and why, and she was right. But it also seemed as if saying those first words had made it easier to continue. "He believes you are Benedict's. And you could have been. I slept with Benedict. I loved him." I could see that now from the way she spoke, and when she was with Benedict it was obvious as well. "I still do love him, in some ways." And he loved her. That was part of what it had taken me seven years to fully understand. That I could understand and accept that love.

"Then..." my voice trailed off, still wondering. I came to the edge of the bed and sat down, leaning towards her, waiting.

"Oberon wondered how far things had gone between Benedict and I." Cybele spoke matter-of-factly. "There are some in our family, who are closer to Chaos or who just have the innate ability, who can change their shape. Oberon came to me as Benedict."

"How did you know...?" I paused then, remembering my time with my first lover.

Cybele echoed my remembered thoughts. "When you love someone, and when you have been with them, you just *know*."

I could understand completely why she hadn't told me this before I left. I was too young then, to easily embarassed and confused. I would never have understood. "If you slept with Benedict, then is it possible that I am his?"

She just looked at me, her eyes sad. "No. When you know your body as well as I do mine, you know these things. But Benedict believes he is your father."

My jaw ached, and I bit my top lip. I could feel a tear making a damp track down my cheek, and thought I saw a matching one on Cybele's face. She reached out and pulled me close to her, enveloping me in her hug. "Will you let Benedict continue to believe that? Will you accept Benedict as your father?"

I had adored Benedict since I was a child, when he first came and taught me swordplay. It was that adoration that had helped me accept the possibility that he might be my father in truth. "I would love to," I whispered against her shoulder.

She straightened up then. "I have to go." I just nodded, and watched as she left.

I wiped the dampness from my cheeks and sat there a moment, waiting for the redness of tears to fade from my pale skin. I wouldn't have been able to explain my sorrow if I had met someone in the halls. Then I went down to the library to select a book, planning to read for the afternoon and sort my thoughts out.

I was walking back to my rooms when I realized I dilemma. I had made arrangements to go into Tir that evening, accompanied by my cousin Brennan, and watched over by our uncle Rowan. I didn't dare enter Tir in my current state -- it would have reflected knowledge which I had no business telling anyone.

I set the book on my nightstand and settled instead into a comfortable seat on my bed. Legs crossed, body relaxed, I slipped into a meditative state.

I replayed the conversation in my mind. Once first to remember it, then once again before I forgot it. And then I began to replay it over and over again. With one difference.

Cybele had asked that I accept Benedict as my father. So I did just that, replaying our conversation so that she told me the truth about my father, about Benedict. And I did that until I had accepted that Benedict was my father in truth, and the memory of Oberon was a dim second.

Most of the time we have to accept the truth as it comes to us. This time, I made my truth of choice, and accepted that instead.