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

but I still jump when little hands push some kind of soft, light material into my lap. With that, I hear the chirps turn and the patter of several feet scampering off in the direction they came from. A small scuffling and a chirp from near my feet tells me one is left. I feel a tug on my hem. I lean forward on my pallet and let my hands look for me. I move slowly—I don’t want to scare it, or be bitten.
    The last thought makes me pause. “Tig, do these things have teeth?”
    “That is terribly impolite to talk about our hosts as things right in front of them,” says Tig, and I know he is serious because that is how people talk about him; like he’s a “thing” or an “it.” I feel heat rise in my cheeks. I take his response as an answer and address the Urodela at my feet. “Hello?”
    It chirrups in reply, but does not say “Hello” like the others.
    Tig slides over to sit beside me. “This salamander looks younger—at least, it’s not as big. The group brought what might be clothes. It’s trying to give you what looks like a shirt.”
    I push my hands forward and feel the material—soft and even a little stretchy. Nothing like my own. I run my hands over the material, trying to feel out the design. It crackles with static, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
    “Wow.”
    I gently pat the salamander’s head and rub the back of its neck. It lets out a soft gurgling chirrup. Its skin is rubbery, dry, and cool.
    “What about the clothes? What do they look like, Tig?”
    “Well, it is some kind of blue. Looks like a warrior’s tunic that has been cut down,” says Tig.
    “A warrior’s tunic?”
    “And there are some leather trappings. Pants and a shirt. It’s definitely a warrior’s. There are armor plates sewn into the leather,” Tig says, his voice curious.
    “Really?”
    I’m excited despite myself. Leather armor. That’s neat. I wonder if it might have been the king’s, and I hesitate.
    “What?”
    “Well, if it was the king’s,” I say slowly, “is it okay if I wear them now?”
    “ Was the king’s,” says Tig. “Key element of ownership. Past ownership. Also, think of it this way, if we ever bump into the king you can give him his armor back.”
    I run my fingers over the tunic and the leather armor. The static crackles and hums again. “Do you see that?” I ask.
    “See what?”
    I run my hands over the smooth leather and feel the tiny pops of energy. “Nothing, I guess.”
    “If you’re still not sure, these Urodela just cut everything down for you. I don’t think the king will ever fit in this stuff again, unless he’s a super tiny midget.”
    “Hey, watch it. I’m still bigger than you are.” I shrug. “Okay. Just for now anyway.” Getting the stretchy shirt pulled over my head is a chore with my arm in a cast. I finally get it done and am pleased with the feel. It is softer than my old tunic, but feels durable. It drops past my waist, and has full-length arms. Even with the trim the Urodela gave it the sleeves still have to be rolled up. I feel the salamander push more clothes into my hand. Leather. I feel britches with metal plates sewn into them. They are heavy.
    I hold it up for Tig to see. “Britches?” I ask.
    “Looks like the king’s to me” replies Tig. “Plate sewn into the leather. Looks like tough hide, too. It isn’t any hide I recognize. If it isn’t the king’s it must have belonged to a Hero or a District Guardian. The plate is black steel—engraved. They’ve been modified of course. The whole job has been cut down and redone with red thread. Definitely a bit standoutish.”
    The britches are lined with soft leather, as opposed to the outer toughness, so they actually feel pretty good. Next comes a leather jacket of the same material, with a particularly large plate sewn into the back. I suppose on a warrior it would only cover a portion of the back, but it makes me feel like a turtle. And it’s heavy. “I can’t go to