Free Paper Cities, an Anthology of Urban Fantasy by Ekaterina Sedia

happens when someone reshapes the dream in a way she does not like?”
    Jassa shook his head, trying not to lose himself in her amber eyes. The Aversa continued. “It disturbs the Goddess’s sleep. Do it often enough and brutally enough and she wakes. The world ends. Do you think the Aversa wanted to do what the Demon Gahan, with all his tricks, has so far failed to accomplish? Your folk have their place in Somna’s dream or they wouldn’t be here; I think ours will soon go away entirely.”
    “But…you are Beloved of Somna! First of all the races of the Dream!”
    The Aversa looked around at the bare stone walls. “As I said — the cost is high. Only we pay it, Jassa. You do not. You choose your way, and that has its own consequences which have nothing to do with me. Now, then — do you still want me to help you?”
    Jassa took a deep breath. “Yes.”
    “You’re a fool, but I already knew that. This concerns Lady Aserafel of Thornall, yes?”
    Jassa blinked. “How do you know that?”
    “I can always tell when the Storytellers have been at work, and whom they’ve touched. Your dreams told me the rest. Call it a whim, but I will help you. What do you want?”
    “If you’ve seen my dreams, you should already know.”
    The Aversa smiled again. “Clever boy. Dreams at once reveal and obscure. It’s true I know what you want. Do you?”
    Jassa shrugged. “I want Lady Scythe to love me. I want to have her lips on my brow. I want her to look into my eyes with such devotion that, in that instant, she is mine and only mine.”
    The Aversa nodded. “So I expected. Hand me that stone at your feet.”
    Jassa bent down and picked up a piece of dull limestone, little more than a pebble. He handed it to the Aversa, and in a moment she handed it back to him, only now it wasn’t a stone. What she gave him was a small bronze medallion on a leather thong.
    “Wear this,” she said. “When you return to Thornall, show it to the Watcher at the gate. You will get your wish. Or…”
    Jassa was already tying the cord around his neck. “Or?”
    “Or you can toss it in the nearest river, or simply drop it here and now, go home, take up your father’s profession or some other, and build a life for yourself without Lady Scythe. That would be my advice, if you’d asked for it.”
    “I can’t do that. I love her.”
    The Aversa nodded, and she looked even older than she had before. Older, and infinitely more weary. “I know,” she said.
    •
    On the long walk back to Thornall, Jassa took a little time to think. He wondered if it were really possible to do as the Aversa had advised; he would always be a poor substitute for his father at the forge. Oh, he was well-trained, and Jassa was sure he could earn a decent living at the forge, but not like his father. The man worked art with his steel; where Jassa would make a serviceable sword, Noban would create a master blade, perfect in balance and form. The same for anything Jassa had attempted; what his father had went beyond experience and practice, and Jassa knew that neither one would turn him into the smith his father was.
    I could settle for less.
    Only it was a lie. That was one thing Jassa could never do. Just as with Lady Scythe; there was no one to compare to her, and no point in trying. All or nothing; if there was a middle way he could never quite see it.
    Jassa looked at the medallion. It was a simple disk of bronze with a carved sigil that looked like a closed eye. He dimly recognized it as one of the ancient symbols for Somna the Dreamer; beyond that it meant nothing to him. He wondered what it would mean to the Watcher.
    He didn’t have to wait long to find out. Jassa approached the gate and the Watcher on duty there. Jassa didn’t show him the medallion; Jassa didn’t have to. The Watcher glanced at it as Jassa approached, and in an instant the man’s sword was at Jassa’s throat.
    “In the Name of the Emperor, I apprehend thee.”
    In a dirty, damp cell