At the announcement, Dagavia's hands stilled for a moment from fussing at the blessed knuckle-bones she wore on a pouch at her belt, her long-fingered hands moving to the fastening that would hold her to her seat through landing. It was already secure; actually, she'd never detached it from when they'd set out, but that didn't stop her from checking it, then re-checking it it once more. She'd chosen a seat at the back, in a corner, away from any possible center of attention. Between her birth and her particular role in Imperial service, she knew keeping herself to herself was best, but she watched. Carefully and meticulously, she watched.