Page 162 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

“So, this is what it’s like to be you?”

Livira elbowed him. “I’m not this small.”

“Who is she?” Evar stared at the beautiful girl on the bed at the centre of the small room. She lay on an embroidered cover in the light of a dozen candles, and her hair was a black river, wine-dark, braided into a rope thicker than her arms. It coiled beside her bed in a heap as big as a man.

“A girl I read about in a folk tale, but I’ve made her into my friend Neera as well.”

The girl coughed.

“I thought about taking away her cough—it can be a bit annoying—but it’s part of Neera now and you can’t just go about erasing bits of people to please yourself, or even them. It’s not honest.”

“What’s up with her hair?” Evar paused. “And why did she look like you just now as I started to glance away?”

“She’s being held prisoner by a witch, but she’s grown her hair to use as a rope to escape.”

“Uh-huh.”

Livira glanced at Evar, who was giving her a look that told her he wasn’t going to let the other thing go.

“And she looked like me just then because really the story’s about me now. Happy?”

“I’ll be happy when I see her climb down, get to the foot of the tower, and find she’s anchored to her bed by her hair.”

“She cuts it off then, idiot, and she’s free. That’s the purpose of the story. To say that you can escape from somewhere but you’re always going to leave part of yourself there.”

“All right... Then who’s he?” Evar turned and pointed to the brow of the nearest hill where a figure in shining armour had just crested the rise on a black stallion.

“He’s the knight who climbs up her hair every night and... you know... gets to know her.”

“Why doesn’t he kill the witch?” Evar stared at the approaching horseman. “Looks like he’s got a really big sword.”

“He does that too.” Livira waved the question away.

“So, he’s the knight in shining armour who comes to save the princess?” Evar sat down and dangled his legs over the windowsill’s edge.

The knight brought his horse to a halt in the courtyard below them, looked up at the window, and raised his visor.

“That’s me!” Evar exclaimed. “I’m the knight who saves you.”

“That’s not it at all,” Livira explained crossly. “You think I’d fill my book with nonsense like that?”

“Weren’t you twelve when you started it?”

“Ten, but that’s not the point. I was a very advanced ten-year-old.”

“What is it about then?” Evar glanced at the knight then gave her some doubtful side-eye.

“Yute told me it’s not the gift of money that’s the greatest—it’s the gift of purpose. In this story I gave you purpose. It got you out of the castle you were imprisoned in and away from your awful family. By allowing you to save me I gave you the purpose that unlocked the whole world for you. Also, we had a lot of fun every night.” She felt herself flush and pressed on hurriedly before he asked questions. “It ends sadly though.”

Evar raised both brows in alarm. “What happens?”

“The princess climbs down from her window, using her hair, but the witch cuts it when she’s halfway down. The princess falls to her death and the prince arrives too late and finds her broken on the ground.”

“But you said the prince killed the witch!” Evar protested.

“He does, then.”

“Well, I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all!”

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