Smiling isn't natural during a war council. It's especially unnatural to smile at your ward. It calls on muscles that, long-disused, have wasted away. It ignores instincts, baked in since carving and hammered in afterwards, that say that concealing your emotions is the only way to avoid being hurt.

But Alexa chooses to do so anyway. It's small, and tentative, and nervous enough that the slightest sign of disapproval will banish it like a scent on the wind, but it's there. She sees, and she hears, and she appreciates.

The smile hesitates, and then wafts away at Iskarot's words.

It's not that she hasn't thought about boarding an entire ship of Hermeticians. Indeed, she's done her level best to avoid its presence as much as possible, and the thought of spending time in an entire ship just like it has hung over her head, a constant looming disaster-in-waiting. And a master who loves nothing more than to decided, on a whim, to take the most interesting piece of a collection? It's not flattery to worry about that, surely?

"I volunteer to accompany her," she says quietly. Redana does not need her, evidently. But she bears the good graces of the Hermetician. Surely his impulses can be tempered by her presence?