The dragon stared at Thea, blinking, head tilted as if it couldn’t quite believe she was standing there in his lair.

Her surprised gasp caused her diseased lungs to seize. A reminder that she should be dying in bed like a sensible person, not trekking through the mountains like the hero of an old ballad.

As wracking coughs sapped her body of its strength, the weight of her burden drove her to her knees. She hawked and spit bloody phlegm – a sign that the black lung had reached its final stage. She didn’t have long now.

“Have you come to die, tiny human?” The dragon’s words seemed more curious than hostile.

“I’ll be dying soon, regardless. Here it is just as good as anywhere.” She dropped her heavy pack and sat, using it as a backrest. “I went to a lot of trouble hauling these books up the mountain, dragon. If you’re going to burn me out, I’ll take it as a kindness if you don’t destroy them as well.”

The wyrm’s eyes narrowed. “Is this tribute, then?”

“Can’t bring tribute to a creature I didn’t know was here.” Thea wiped blood from her lips. “I just needed to get them somewhere safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“You don’t know?” She huffed a disbelieving laugh. “When was the last time you left this cave?“

“Too long, if your kind have forgotten me.” The dragon grumbled as it rested its chin on the cave floor. It stared at her with glittering, unblinking eyes. “Books don’t benefit anyone if they lie forgotten.”

“Their fame was our downfall.” She stared beyond the dragon into the past. “The Korsridders said that the only things worth knowing were given to them by their god. If it wasn’t in their holy text, it was a blasphemy. They said that the library’s existence was enough to justify their war.”

She made a face. As if saying their words tasted worse on her tongue than her own sickness.

“When their camp followers brought the Black Lung, they used books to kindle the plague bonfires. It took them nearly two years to burn the library out.”

“This is all that remains?” It asked, sounding horrified.

“The Kors–” She broke into a round of coughing that left her hunched over her knees, spitting blood onto the floor. “They killed the Senior Librarians along with the doctors and philosophers. But they said we handmaidens were too young to be of any importance beyond carrying the books to the bonfires. We smuggled what we could away.” She leaned her head back and took shallow breaths to avoid another coughing fit.

“We thought it best to scatter.”

“Like smoke in the wind,” the wrym murmured. “They couldn’t catch all of you.”

She nodded in agreement. “This was all I could carry. Some of the others were stronger. I think they may have fled south by sea with their share.”

“Why choose to bring them into the mountains?” The dragon asked.

“I had thought that a dry cave would preserve them. Who knows? Someone might find them long after the Korsridders are a memory.” She found that she lacked the energy to shrug. “That’s a comforting thought.”

The dragon sighed. “Rest, tiny human. I’ll care for your treasure.”

She let her head drop to her chest. At least she had this comfort, before she died.

# # #

The dragon flicked his tongue out, tasting the sick-laden air around the human.

Despite her shallow breathing, she still had some vitality within her. Perhaps she was not yet beyond saving.

Convenient.

He scooped up the satchel in his foreclaws. Then he slithered back to his scroll racks. One of his long-forgotten texts held a treatment for Black Lung. He just needed to find it.

Perhaps once she was better, she would know where to find more of her books.

And after that – he clicked his teeth in anticipation. He’d like to introduce himself to the

people who burned books and to show them what he thought of them.