you're a fraud and you know it but it's too good to throw it all away you've got 'em going and you're careful not to show it sometimes you even fool yourself, and then—

D'Losair stood in front of the mirror, smiling.

He did this over and over again, turning his head or tipping it forward, framing his face with his hand or pulling at his jaw. Finally, he frowned. It was not the same: a once carefully cultivated quality was missing from his face. The angles and the shadows did not come together in exactly the same way, and he was certain that even the easy twang of his own voice had changed. He sighed.

It would have to do.

And it would do. Rhy'din was familiar to him and he had familiar ways, here — he knew the start-from-scratch game; he remembered all the old cons, the broken places, the ground-up tricks. Some were simpler than others, of course; some were bloodier than others; some could not be too-often repeated. Capital. Something like this needs — capital.

When he left he threw the room-keys on top of the corpse on the floor and once more searched his hands for signs of blood: there were none.

Today he'd made ten crowns.

Not bad.