"Tevinter isn't wrong about everything," Yseult replies, pressing the cool glass to her throat in a way that might be considered gloating. A rivulet of condensation forms to pool in the hollow of her collarbone. "I was pleased to find they hadn't been lost among the other chunks of stone now littering my quarters. I'll keep you in mind if I encounter a set next I'm there."

She straightens up, the now lukewarm water soaking into spread collar, and sets the glass aside in favor of the next report in the stack. She retrieves a stub of pencil and gestures with it at his books. "What are you working on?"