Alexa does not need to see the god of the dead appear to feel the chill in the air, hear the gasp of oaths, feel the press of bodies drawing away from the command table. Is uncomfortably aware, suddenly, of how uneven the bench is, and isn't that strange? Is suddenly glad that she doesn't have hands right now, cannot run her fingers along the bench, feel out the shapes?

Nor does she need to see Jil's face to hear the determination that lives there.  What would [i]Alexa[/i] do for a leader that had freed her from Molech? No, she doesn't need to answer that, because she already knows: what she's doing right now, for Redana. How far will the Alcedi go for her? 

(Oh dear, best unpack that thought later on.)

And she doesn't need to see Mynx's face to know that she's not enough here. Oh, she's welcome, yes. But her help, her acknowledgement, isn't filling the void. 

The air clangs with the sudden silence, and she doesn't need to see to feel the pressure of eyes on her. 

"Bella has..." She frowns with the weight of thought. "Your forgiveness, Jil, but she [i]has[/i] hurt all of us. Nearly killed Mynx once. Nearly killed Vasilia twice. 

"I know that 'she could have been worse' is cold comfort in the face of that. Wow, she should receive forgiveness for [i]not[/i] murdering all of us in cold blood. But she had three adepts. Three assassins, pardon my saying so, to use. And she didn't. She's held off, held back, hasn't killed us.

"And..."

Alexa sighs.

"I do not want to see her hurt. She's hurt us, yes. But I still find it hard to divorce her now from the friend she was on Tellus.

"Surely, we can afford to show her [i]some[/i] mercy, if the chance arises?"