Alcuin nodded, but he clearly did not feel that way about it. Guilt still gnawed at him.

"After that," he continued, deciding to just take the story to the end, "Bouvarre hanged himself in his jail cell. Or was murdered. Hard to say. I made my marque - the design on my back, that is what it signifies - and then I left Naamah's service. I had not entered it for the right reasons to begin with. But I did it all for him - for love." He ran his fingers through his hair, slightly agitated. "I cannot say who was behind the attack on us from when I arrived here. It was meant for Anafiel, not me, or perhaps me as well because I knew too much. It was political intrigue. Secrets and power." He could only hope that Phedre had not returned home too soon. He clung to that, that she might still be well.

He shook his head. "And my nightmares... Memories and worse, all twisted together. I had them for a time, after Bouvarre... and then they stopped, when I was sharing a bed with Anafiel. Now, they are worse. I do not know how to get past it. It makes me feel weak."