Plus, Idelt was the second-highest leveled [Blacksmith]. If he leveled up faster, Lantal might ask him to move to town. And if they had enough iron to make steel rather than having to buy it from two provinces over…

But that was all later. Lord Lantal wanted to shake Idelt’s hand, and get back to town as quickly as possible to prevent Risel having to manage the children and entertain Lady Seraphel all by herself. He was just about to tell Idelt that the young man who’d ridden here would be sent back—with some fruits or something for his bravery—when he heard a sound from the fields.

The songmistress, Violetta, was starting her music. Lantal wanted to listen; each village had its own music. But instead of the cello music he expected, he heard something else.

A young woman stood in the center of a cleared field. Her clothing was bright. Rich, even; she looked like a [Trader], or even a [Merchant], although her clothing wasn’t that formal. And she didn’t have the ghostly features of someone born of Afiele. Lantal saw the other villagers watching her as they set to work. A group of children were sitting down, watching her eagerly.

And someone was playing an instrument. Not a cello. Lantal frowned. Was that some kind of drum?

And…what was that?

He had never heard a piano before, either.

——

Cara O’Sullivan stood in the field and sang. The song was faster than Violetta’s music. But it wasn’t mainstream pop, bombastically energetic. There was a place for it, just like there was a place for poetry.

But not here. She had forgotten that. Perhaps willfully. But this—this was a song for Landsmecht. Not carelessly upbeat or grand. Just…a song for a morning. For people who’d lived through a night with song and courage.

The iPhone was running out of power. And that terrified her. But something mattered more than the power there. And that was her audience. They listened. And listened to the words. A favorite song that spoke about…living. For the people of Landsmecht, it was good enough.

Cara gently played a drum along with the beat. She didn’t know how to use a guitar, or play a piano, or horn. And she regretted that now. But she could sing.

There was more emotion in this song than the others. The [Singer] from Ireland felt—exposed. More than her other performances. Because this was genuine. When Cara finished this time, she heard silence.

Then—applause. It came from Violetta, from the children, and the workers. The [Actress] smiled—and bowed. She nearly fell on her face. She hadn’t slept last night. She’d kept singing until her voice went out, to keep spirits up. She croaked as she coughed.

“That song was called, Sinners, by Lauren Aquilina. I didn’t write it, but…thank you—thank you—”