And there was something in those two words which let Ion Jeschonyk finally realize that, at least in her case, he no longer had to wonder.
* * *
The next morning, at daybreak, half the Council was pounding on his door. He spent the rest of the day—and the next, and the next, and the next—in a whirlpool of deceit and deception and double-dealing. Which had its own quirky pleasure, admittedly. Even at his age—perhaps because of his age—Jeschonyk could lie and deceive and double-deal better than anyone.
All the more so because he knew one secret that none of the other Councillors knew. Of that, he was quite sure. He had not even told Demansk that he knew.
Everyone else thought that Demansk's daughter, Helga, was still in seclusion at their distant estate in the far western province on the coast. Being a female, of course—especially a disgraced one—she was not really of much concern to the great men of Vanbert. But Jeschonyk was no fool. So he, alone, had paid spies to keep an eye on her. And he, alone, knew that she had long since departed for the south, leaving a girl who resembled her a great deal (at least at a distance) to serve as her double.
Where she had gone, exactly, Jeschonyk was not sure. Marange, according to what his spies had been able to learn. Nor did Jeschonyk have any real idea what she was doing down there.
But he could guess. He was one of the few Councillors of Vanbert who had actually seen the bastard. And if that blue-eyed babe with his fuzz
* * *
The next morning, at daybreak, half the Council was pounding on his door. He spent the rest of the day—and the next, and the next, and the next—in a whirlpool of deceit and deception and double-dealing. Which had its own quirky pleasure, admittedly. Even at his age—perhaps because of his age—Jeschonyk could lie and deceive and double-deal better than anyone.
All the more so because he knew one secret that none of the other Councillors knew. Of that, he was quite sure. He had not even told Demansk that he knew.
Everyone else thought that Demansk's daughter, Helga, was still in seclusion at their distant estate in the far western province on the coast. Being a female, of course—especially a disgraced one—she was not really of much concern to the great men of Vanbert. But Jeschonyk was no fool. So he, alone, had paid spies to keep an eye on her. And he, alone, knew that she had long since departed for the south, leaving a girl who resembled her a great deal (at least at a distance) to serve as her double.
Where she had gone, exactly, Jeschonyk was not sure. Marange, according to what his spies had been able to learn. Nor did Jeschonyk have any real idea what she was doing down there.
But he could guess. He was one of the few Councillors of Vanbert who had actually seen the bastard. And if that blue-eyed babe with his fuzz