He wished he knew the words to it. And as if she heard him, she began to sing. Once more.

Everything’s Alright.

A different liquid than sweat or alcohol glimmered in her eyes. The man sat there. He listened.

The tavern was quiet as Cara sang. The [Bartender] looked up, and the last patrons lingered as they put down their coins.

There were no glowing lights. No magical water. But it was still spellbinding. The words. Feremont listened to the words.

They wounded him. Cut him to the quick, deeper than even the enchanted sword, burned him worse than fire or fever because he looked at her and took something from that song. What was a song? Just lyrics and harmony and melody. But the singer completed the song and she—

She knew this song. In silence, everyone listened, and when Cara was done, no one applauded. But Feren lifted a mug. He searched for an age for something to say, but he couldn’t express it, so all he did was nod slowly.

“A beautiful song.”

She jumped as if she had forgotten he existed; she was clearly hung-over. But she smiled at him.

“Thanks. It was my favorite song. It helped me out when—well, it helped me out.”

Feren’s eyes shifted as he focused on her. He nodded, because that was true beyond words for her. Cara met his eyes and he broke the silence after a while with the only question he could ask.

“Are you a [Singer]?”

“Yes.”

He laughed in delight. Feren looked at her and shook his head in wordless amazement.

“That is far better a song than most I’ve ever heard. You didn’t write it yourself—but I haven’t heard it and you sing it so well. I wish you the best in your class. Someday, then, perhaps that song can change this sorry world for the better. Topple monarchies with a song. End this sorry inequality. For it must be done one way or the other…”

His voice trailed off. His eyes darkened, and he swept his hand through his hair. Cara blinked. She saw brown dust on his hand and a hint of white in…she focused on his face. His head was bowed. And she shook her own head bitterly.

“It’s just music. If it could save a life, or stop bad things from happening, we’d put more faith in the arts.

They’re a pleasant distraction. An inspiration. They can make you happy or sad or motivate you. No more.”

He looked at her, shaking his head unconsciously. Feren pointed a finger at Cara.

“So cynical. More than me. But that song was beautiful, Miss. And songs—have more power than that. I believe they do, like a spell. Levels. Classes. They give meaning to our struggles, our talents and desires.

Trust that will give you what you need.”