Aileen studies me, then the chapel.
“You don’t care for it?”
“On the contrary,” I answer. “I only question what price was paid to make it stand.” I pause. “In time and labor and in…determination.”
We pass beneath its shadow, and the air changes—cooler, a soft wind blowing over warm skin. I look up at the stonework again, at the way the structure feels almost…tense.
“Did anyone ever tell you the story of how it was built?” Rowan asks, falling into step beside us.
I glance sideways. “What story?”
He grins, eyes twinkling. “The one about the chapel. The impossible chapel of Acheron.”
Aileen’s face lights up instantly. “Oh! Tell us!”
Rowan nods, lowering his voice slightly, drawing us in.
“They say it was built in an impossible time. Charles summoned the finest craftsmen from every corner of the world. Men who spoke languages no one here had ever heard before. They came with their tools, their secrets…and the King set them to raise a chapel worthy of God—and of himself.”
We walk slowly now, the chapel’s shadow stretching at our heels.
“They hauled stone from the far south,” Rowan continues, waving a hand at the looming walls. “Pillars shipped across land and sea—marble, granite, things so heavy people swore the wagons would sink into the road. Charles wanted it to last forever. His devotion carved into the earth. Proof of his crown, his favor, his…righteousness.”
I glance back at the chapel. I can almost see the chaos—the men shouting, the wagons struggling under their heavy loads, the idea that will alone might force stone to obey.
“But progress was slow,” Rowan says. “And just as the first walls rose…the earth rebelled.” He spreads his hands theatrically. “It shook so violently it split the ground and the stonework of the chapel in two. People said it was God’s judgment. Or a test of the King’s resolve.”
We stop just beyond the reach of the shadow. The chapel looms behind us, silent and immovable.
“And the King was desperate,” Rowan’s voice drops, low and conspiratorial. “Afraid to lose God’s favor. Afraid to look weak. So…” He pauses, a sly smile tugging at his mouth. “…he made a bargain.”
“With whom?” Aileen asks eagerly, leaning forward.
“The devil, of course,” Rowan says cheerfully, shrugging as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “He appears in every tale here. Some say he’s a villain, some say a trickster. Some say…a hero. Depends on who you ask.”
Both Aileen and I are captivated, leaning in closer.
“They say the earth opened willingly that time,” Rowan continues. “The stones rose straight from the ground, wholeand unbroken. Set into place before dawn.” He grins at me. “Of course, no one really knows what the devil received in return. Some say a soul. Some say a promise. The devil is patient—and clever.”
I laugh, though it’s more shrill than I expected. “People will say anything.”
“Of course,” Rowan agrees easily. “But the stories stick. The devil’s part? That’s why everyone remembers.”
I shake my head, amused despite the unease curling in my chest. “Charles never mentioned that story to me. Entirely made up, of course.”
Rowan shrugs, still smiling. “Naturally. But even made-up stories have a way of telling truths.”
I nod.
A building split by the earth, a bargain struck in desperation.
I shake the thought away and reach for Aileen’s arm. “Come on. If we stay here any longer, I’ll start believing.” She laughs, and the sound pulls me forward, back into the light, back into the noise and color of Greenwake. But even as the music swells again, I feel it.
Not fear. Just something quiet, and waiting.
* * *
As day turns to night, the merchants slowly close their market stalls, shutters pulled down one by one, until the open square belongs entirely to celebration. Music spills into the streets, beer flows freely, and acrobats and jugglers draw delighted laughter from the children darting between the benches. Lanterns are lit overhead, casting the streets in a golden glow.
