Wintersmith

fire.

    The entire top of the ice palace melted in a flash of white light that cast shadows on walls a hundred miles away. A pillar of steam roared up, stitched with lightning, and spread out above the world like an umbrella, covering the sun. Then it began to fall back as a soft, warm rain that punched little wormholes in the snow.
    Tiffany, her head usually so full of thoughts, hadn’t got a thought to spare. She lay on a slab of ice in the soft rain and listened to the palace collapse around her.
    There are times when everything that you can do has been done and there’s nothing for it now but to curl up and wait for the thunder to die down.
    There was something else in the air, too, a golden glint that vanished when she tried to look at it and then turned up again in the corner of her eye.
    The palace was melting like a waterfall. The slab she lay on half slid and half floated down a staircase that was turning into a river. Above her, huge pillars fell but went from ice to a gush of warm water in midair, so that what crashed down was spray.
    Good-bye to the glittering crown, Tiffany thought with a touch of regret. Good-bye to the dress made of dancing light, and good-bye to the ice roses and the snowflakes. Such a shame. Such a shame.
    And then there was grass under her, and so much water pouring past her that it was a case of get up or drown. She managed to get to her knees, at least, and waited until it was possible to stand up without being knocked over.
    “You have something of mine, child,” said a voice behind her. She turned, and golden light rushed into a shape. It was her own shape, but her eyes were… odd, like a snake’s. Right here and now, with the roaring of the heat of the sun still filling her ears, this didn’t seem very amazing.
    Slowly, Tiffany took the Cornucopia out of her pocket and handed it over.
    “You are the Summer Lady, aren’t you?” she asked.
    “And you are the sheep-girl who would be me?” There was a hiss to the words.
    “I didn’t want to be!” said Tiffany hurriedly. “Why do you look like me?”
    The Summer Lady sat down on the turf. It is very strange to watch yourself, and Tiffany noticed she had a small mole on the back of her neck.
    “It’s called resonance,” she said. “Do you know what that is?”
    “It means ‘vibrating with,’” said Tiffany.
    “How does a sheep-girl know that?”
    “I have a dictionary,” said Tiffany. “And I’m a witch, thank you.”
    “Well, while you were picking up things from me, I’ve been picking up things from you, clever sheep-witch,” said the Summer Lady. She was beginning to remind Tiffany a lot of Annagramma. That was actually a relief. She didn’t sound wise, or nice…she was just another person, who happened to be very powerful but not frighteningly smart and was, frankly, a bit annoying.
    “What’s your real shape?” Tiffany asked.
    “The shape of heat on a road, the shape of the smell of apples.” Nice reply, Tiffany thought, but not helpful, as such.
    Tiffany sat down next to the goddess. “Am I in trouble?” she asked.
    “Because of what you did to the Wintersmith? No. He has to die every year, as do I. We die, and sleep and wake. Besides…you were entertaining.”
    “Oh? I was entertaining , was I?” said Tiffany, her eyes narrowing.
    “What is it you want?” asked the Summer Lady. Yes, thought Tiffany, just like Annagramma. Wouldn’t spot a hint a mile high.
    “Want?” said Tiffany. “Nothing. Just the summer, thank you.”
    The Summer Lady looked puzzled. “But humans always want something from gods.”
    “But witches don’t accept payment. Green grass and blue skies will do.”
    “What? You’ll get those anyway!” The Summer Lady sounded both confused and angry, and Tiffany was quite happy about this, in a small and spiteful way.
    “Good,” she said.
    “You saved the world from the Wintersmith!”
    “Actually, I saved it from a silly girl, Miss Summer. I put right what I put wrong.”
    “One simple mistake? You’d be a silly girl not to accept a reward.”
    “I’d be a sensible young woman to refuse one,” said Tiffany, and it felt good to say that. “Winter is over. I know. I’ve seen it through. Where it took me, there I chose to go. I chose when I danced with the Wintersmith.”
    The Summer Lady stood up. “Remarkable,” she said. “And strange. And now we part. But first, some more things must be taken. Stand up, young woman.”
    Tiffany did so, and when