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“Blackwall, stop it!” Trev snapped.
He looked up in confusion. “Herald - Trev?”
She frowned and looked around. “Someone is playing silly buggers. If it isn’t you . . . “ Something hit her throat, but by the time she slapped at it, whatever it was had flown away. “That’s the seventh time I’ve been stung or hit.” She glared at her wine glass. “Happens every time I take a sip of wine.”
“How much of that have you had, anyway?”
Trev shrugged and cast a rejuvenation spell under her breath. It didn’t help with the drunk, but it helped her hide it. “Dunno.” That was a lie. She knew exactly how much. And it was too much. Something hit her in the forehead this time. “Andraste’s spatchcocked testicles!”
The Warden winced. “Hawke’s rubbing off on you. There -” he pointed at her glass “- and there.” He pointed at her mouth.
“Shut up.” She stood unsteadily moved to drain her wine, then got thumped in the hand. But she was ready this time, and the movement behind one corner of the barn caught her attention. “There you fucking are!” She conjured a boulder and hurled it through the wall, revealing a rather terrified wide-eyed young man peeking around the edge of the hole she’d just created. Holding a pea shooter. She sighed and sat down. “Cole, what the shit?”
“Drunken tears, lovers lost and longing while -”
She snapped her fingers. “Cole, you want me to stop drinking, that much I can figure out. Why not just ask?”
He shook his head. “I’m only here to help. The book breaks your bonds, hurts your heart, Cassandra cares but -”
“Don’t,” she said tiredly. “Cole, please, just . . . don’t.”
“But you -”
“That’s enough, Cole,” Blackwall interrupted gently. “Sometimes we just want to pretend for a little while that it’s okay.”
Cole frowned at him. “But you’re not. You’re not and she’s not and there’s just so much sorrow and sadness.” He stumbled toward Trev. “What am I if I can’t fix it?”
Trev caught him as he tripped and pulled his forehead to her lips. “You’re human.”