“I get why you do it,” said Derek, leaning back in the chair with a drink in his hand and his feet on the table. “All the running around pretending to be someone else, dressing up, conning people for information or whatever. I"m not sure where you get the guts to pose as Paravelian nobility at a Frisian dinner party but that"s not my concern. There"s only one thing I don"t understand.” Sylas and Tollie, sitting comfortably on the settee with bottles of beer and not a trace of a fake moustache in sight, looked at him with a matched pair of quizzical expressions.
“In a world with such rich magic, where you can alter your appearance with the click of your fingers, where the richest ladies in the land have lady"s maids who can magically straighten their conk if it"s a little wonky,” as he sai
