Page 8 of Traveler (Soulbound #1)

Vernon

The Council Hall’s marble floor echoed with every step I took, the sound sharp and deliberate, like the ticking of a clock counting down to my victory. Shadows clung to me like loyal hounds. I didn’t turn when Harlow scurried in—her frantic breaths and the rustle of parchment betrayed her fear. Pathetic.

“Out with it,” I said, staring at the obsidian throne ahead.

“The Woodlands sensors—” Her voice trembled. “A surge during the equinox storm. A Traveler’s signature. Stronger than anything in decades. The girl—Aly James—enrolled at Stonebrooke yesterday.”

I stilled. Traveler . The word slithered into my veins, hot and intoxicating. Slowly, I turned. Harlow clutched a crystal orb like a lifeline, her knuckles white.

“Proof?”

She thrust the orb toward me. Inside, jagged holographic runes spiraled wildly, their patterns unmistakable. Traveler magic—untamed, volatile. Just like Sarah James’ must have been before she traveled to the mortal world. But her daughter? Was here.

“The Guardian is telling people she’s from ender.” Harlow whispered, “but her records are forged. Her parents… Sarah and Tom James… died years ago in the mortal world. A car accident.”

I smirked. Convenient . Barrett, the sanctimonious fool, had swallowed the lie whole. “And the Council?”

“The gods compelled him to report a Traveler’s presence, but he’s hiding her true nature. The Council knows nothing.”

Good . Barrett’s weakness for rules would strangle him eventually. The less people know she’s a traveler the better. Can’t have the council expecting the storm coming their way.

I snatched the orb from her, tracing Aly’s name etched into the glass. “If the Council hears of this before I’m ready,” I said softly, “I’ll peel the skin from your hands. You do need those to scribble your little reports, don’t you?”

Harlow’s face drained of color. She nodded, scurrying out like a roach fleeing light.

Alone, I stared into the orb. Sarah’s daughter . Young. Untrained. A weapon waiting to be sharpened.

***

The greenhouse stank of damp soil and sentimentality. Moonblooms—Elara’s moonblooms—clung to the walls, their faint glow mocking me. My son knelt among them, dirt staining his hands, as if tending weeds could resurrect the dead. Weakness.

“Carion.”

He stiffened but didn’t turn. “Father.”

I struck the ground with my cane. A terracotta pot shattered. “Look at me.”

He faced me, his cheek smeared with soil. I sneered. “You’ve been assigned a new sparring partner. Aly James.”

His face hardens briefly. Interesting. This could be good.

“Get close to her,” I ordered.

He crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Her magic.”

“Her… magic?”

I stepped closer, crowding him against the wall. “She’s a Traveler. Like her mother. Like yours .” His jaw twitched. Good. Let the guilt fester. “But this one…” I smiled. “Young. Impressionable. You’ll befriend her. Earn her trust. And when she trusts you, you’ll bring her to me.”

“No.”

I backhanded him. Blood bloomed on his lip. “You think this is a request? Your mother refused me too. Look where that got her.”

His fists clenched, but he stayed silent. Coward .

I leaned in, close enough to smell the fear on him. “Travelers bend realms. Shatter armies. Aly’s magic is raw. A weapon .”

“She’s not a tool—”

“No.” I gripped his collar, yanking him forward. “She’s a key. And you’ll turn her for me, or I’ll take her by force. Your choice.”

Silence. His throat bobbed.

I released him, straightening my coat. “Start tomorrow. And Carion?” I paused at the door, glancing at the moonblooms. “Warn her, and I’ll make you watch as I skin her alive.”

The flowers trembled as I left. Let them .