“It was beautiful music. I’ve never heard that—did you call it a piano? And the music was so quick! And it all came from that artifact? May I see it?”

“Oh. Sure. It’s, um, low on magic. But I can play one or two more songs before it runs out.”

Cara showed the iPhone to Violetta. The girl exclaimed over the strange, smooth screen and plastic construction, but she seemed to accept that it was ‘magic’.

“Maybe a [Mage] can recharge it?”

“Yes…maybe. But it’s, uh, hard to fix.”

The [Actress] realized her iPhone was only asleep and fumbled to turn it off. The battery—she winced.

What would she do when it ran out? Try to charge it with lightning or something? She glanced back towards the cello leaning against the stool and shook her head. Violetta bit her lip.

“Maybe you could sing for me later? And the others? Privately. Noon, maybe, before nightfall.”

A young man—the one who’d been tossing the cut wheat—was looking their way. He politely glanced back towards his work when Cara glanced at him. And the kids were still peeking at her. But the [Singer]

felt…she smiled wryly.

“Maybe for you all. But it’s fine. I didn’t need to sing anyways. You can’t change much with a song. I put on the wrong show for this stage. It’s a stupid song, anyways.”

Was there anywhere for her? Violetta gave Cara a long, searching look.

“Please don’t say that. I thought it was beautiful.”

And she meant it. Cara glanced up. And she realized—it was the first time Violetta had ever heard that song. Which Cara had heard blaring from every speaker while it was popular.

…But that didn’t change why it had been beloved. The [Singer] opened her mouth and then, to her surprise, blushed.

“You’re right. That’s disrespectful to the person who made it. Sorry. I’ll…sing later, if you want.”

Violetta smiled. Cara rested there another moment.

Idiot. Then she got up.

——

One effect of her failed performance was that whilst the villagers of Landsmecht might not have known her before save for Idelt’s brief introduction, they did now. And they were keen to tell her that they respected her attempt, but please don’t do it again.

“That sort of thing would go better in a noble court, or a proper dinner, miss. You should perform in an inn.”

The old scythe-wielding woman advised Cara. The young woman nodded, red-faced.

“Sorry.”

“Apologize for nothing if the intent was good. What you might do is fetch me some water? I’ve naught left.”

“Of course…”