Yes, she had revealed a certain amount of information to me, but she was concealing even more.

Yes, somehow she knew things that she ought not to know. I had the feeling that she had a source in one of the Watches . . . I made a mental note to investigate the idea. Of course, she said that she hated Zabulon, and she really had changed her color—but where was the real truth in all of this?

All of us, even in relationships with our friends, leave some things unsaid and hide others. Not necessarily with any bad intention. Sometimes it’s simpler and quicker not to say something than to try to explain and persuade.

What was it that had disconcerted me?

Arina had sworn that she hadn’t influenced me. I believed her, and it wasn’t just a matter of the oath—with her persuasive abil-ities she had no need to resort to direct magical influence on a person’s mind.

But her oath had referred to the past. She hadn’t said that she wouldn’t do me any harm. That she wouldn’t ever try to deceive me or fight against me. A mere detail, of course . . . but if she hadn’t been keeping that possibility in mind, she would definitely have tried to intensify her oath, make it more convincing.

What else?

I took a sip of the pungent cognac and tried to summon up Arina’s face in my memory. Strange, in my mind’s eye, even though she was still young, her eyes were old and faded . . . wise . . . and sad.

Those eyes were already gazing into the future.

She knew that our alliance was a brief one.

Or, at least, she took the possibility seriously.

Arina looked at me as if I were someone she liked, but who would inevitably become an enemy—and soon, very soon.

Well, then . . . two could play at that game.

For the time being our interests coincided.

We’d have to see how things went.