Lincoln's POV:
The training fields of Elyndor were no longer a sanctuary.
The morning sky was raging with red as the sun burst through the fog. The throbbing sound of metal filled the air—iron on iron, flame on wind.
I stood at the outer edge of the main yard, Ignivar resting on my shoulder, its golden feathers dulled to a faint ember.
I pretended everything is fine for three days. Three days holding the burden of my secret—that the Curse Blood ran within me, hotter with every battle I engaged in.
"Your grip's are to tight again," Sky came up behind me, bow slung over his back. "You'll break the blade before the enemy does."
I smiled. "I'll take that as progress."
But Sky's face didn't change. His eyes stared at my face, silently examining me. "You've been… different. Since the bar
