Free A Hero's Curse by P. S. Broaddus

are half closed. I move my hand ever so slightly to let my fingers get a better look at the material under me.
    “Ah, you’re finally awake.” Tig’s eyes may be half-closed, but that means they are definitely half-open. I let down my defenses, push my hair out of my face with my right hand, and reach over to feel my arm. It is entirely encased in something hard and packed with the softer material.
    “Can you move it?” asks Tig.
    “I think so,” I say, as I feel him pad up to my head.
    “I doubt you’ll be able to bend your elbow though,” he says.
    “Who are they?” My voice is hesitant, but Tig seems at ease and that helps.
    “I think they want to introduce themselves,” he chuckles.
    I don’t have time to ask before I hear the chirps and chirrups coming from some way off. I sit up, and after an initial wave of dizziness, realize I am okay. My arm hangs stiffly and heavily next to me. It doesn’t hurt, and the fever is gone. The only thing uncomfortable is my stomach. I’m starving.
    Something enters the room. I try to recall the last thing Tig said before I passed out. Salamanders? I can tell it is small, and I remember part of what Tig said when they first found us: “They aren’t hunters.” I can smell it now. They don’t eat meat. They move poorly, shuffling along at an awkward gait. I listen to the scuffling sound of their feet—even a little clumsy. I feel some of my tension slip away. They can still be dangerous, poisonous perhaps, but they are no relation to rock basilisks. I am about to ask Tig about whether they appear armed, but I almost fall off my pallet when I hear the Lingua Comma in the salamander’s shrill lilting whistle.
    “Does the Wounded Lady of the Land Under the Sun and her Companion also from the Land Under the Sun speak the Lingua Comma?”
    My mouth hangs open. I feel for Tig and put my hand on his head. “Did that salamander j-just speak?” I stammer.
    I can tell Tig is gawking as well, but he recovers more quickly than I do. “It did. I suspect it wants an answer,” he whispers, “Oh Wounded Lady of the Land Under the Sun,” he adds in a mockingly deferential tone.
    “I—how do you speak Lingua Comma?” I blurt. “And yes, I speak it too,” I add, interrupting myself.
    “Obviously,” says Tig.
    “Excellent!” I hear the chirping whistles in front of me. I turn my head toward Tig again, hoping for explanation, description, anything.
    He reads my expression. “I have no idea. They haven’t said a word to me.”
    “Wounded Lady of the Land Under the Sun.” I jerk my head back to face the salamanders. “The Glorious race of Urodela welcomes you and your Companion to the Kingdom of Crypta, Ruled by Queen Crypthania the Eight Tens and Seven.”
    After a second I remember to close my mouth. “Th-th-thank you, and thank you for helping me with my arm.” I am still stammering, but I can hardly help it. I lift my arm and start another “Thank you,” but interrupt myself again. “How do you speak Lingua Comma?”
    “Magic, Wounded Lady of the Land Under the Sun.”
    I didn’t think I had any air left to exhale. I feel dizzy again.
    “Would you be so kind as to give us your introduction, Wounded Lady of the Land Under the Sun?”
    I put both hands on my knees to keep the room from tilting. “I—I’m Essie—”
    “Allow me, I think,” says Tig, cutting me off. My reflex wants to argue, but I am both grateful for his command of the situation and surprised. Tig is breaking his unspoken vow of silence to the rest of the world.
    “Allow me to introduce Lady Essie Brightsday, of the Celebrated race of Men, daughter of Keira, daughter of Killian, First Champion to King Mactogonii, Kingdom of Mar, Land Under the Sun.”
    My eyebrows shoot up. That sounded pretty good.
    “And I am Tigrabum, Essie Brightsday’s Companion, Guide, and Protector.” I turn my head toward Tig and frown. Companion maybe . . . “I claim the lineage of None, of the Magnificent