Zelda frowned faintly; she was trying to wrap her head around the fact that Alfred had killed someone, that he'd been carrying this around with him for the entire time she'd known him. Would she kill someone if she had to — or, if she didn't have to, if it happened quickly and she was trying to protect her friends, or her family. The answer came to her almost immediately: yes, of course she would. That she was unlikely to be in such a position was more a symptom of her circumstances than it was of anything else — she was probably not going to run into any situations that required killing in Britain.

"Did you ever regret it?" she asked; it felt like an odd question to ask, but it was the only one she could think to ask. "Not the tattoos, but —" Zelda shrugged, a gesture meant to encompass the fact of another man's death; she didn't know what word to use it, because it didn't sound like a murder, more like an accident.

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