To Those Who Never Knew (A Monksblood Bible Novel Book 1)

by Isabella Anton

Bowen finally calmed enough to get patched up. Out of the group he was the least injured and going over to where Master Lewis stood, guided him to an empty chair outside the tent, away from all the blood and damage. A makeshift firepit had been set up, keeping those who could afford to be out in the air warm. The night sky was just turning to day and the cool morning’s fog slowly settled down to the ground.

  “Did you know... Finch once asked me to join the Brotherhood? It was before the group even had a name, but he had been frantic, adamant that my family and I were to join in a crusade to rid the world of magic. I did not understand at the time what he was thinking, that perhaps Zanna had pushed him to his breaking point, that he no longer wanted to practice magic. I tried to reason with him,” he scoffed, “but he only pushed harder. Said that if we did not join, he would show us just how bad living with magic could be. I guess he was right.”

  Master Lewis didn’t have the energy to argue. If it had been two years prior, he might have been able to convince him that this misuse of magic wasn’t possible, but not at that second.

  They continued to sit there, contemplating how the world had turned so suddenly. Elian came out and sat next to Bowen, his eyes red-rimmed.

  “How is Tristan?” he asked.

  “Mentally, he is well. Physically, who knows what is happening. Haf has given him some poppy-dragon for the pain. It will help him sleep.” Elian looked at Master Lewis, his old bones cracking in protest as he stood up and made his way back into the tent. She took Bowen’s hand in her own small one. “Don’t worry. Milady is stronger than you or I. She will be able to defeat them. Trust in her.”

  She went to poke the fire, the embers having burned down, leaving little warmth. Not that it mattered. The sun had risen and a new day begun.

  Bowen sat in his chambers, wide awake. He had no memory of walking back there, but none of that mattered.

  Jade’s gone.

  He thought about all the things he didn’t say, didn’t do to her. The way her eyebrow twitched up when she was surprised, or the color of her lips… Lips he would never get to feel the brush of on his own. He thought of her body, the curve of her hips. When he had first seen her that morning on the path at Llansteffan Castle she had been supple, now, after training these past months, she was lean. Every day he had trained her had been a day in hell. He wanted nothing more than to throw her onto the mats, to brush his fingers against her hips, her legs, her…

  There was a soft knock on the door and Elian came in, placing a tray of porridge and sliced lemons with honey on his bedside table.

  “Haf says this will get your strength up.” Elian set the bowl in his hands.

  He stared at it, nauseous at the thought of eating.

  She was avoiding the elephant in the room, but Bowen looked much worse than the previous day. “You need to eat. How are you going to get her back if you have no energy?”

  “She is probably already dead.” He had said it with such acceptance that Elian’s heart burst with pain.

  They both jumped as the door burst open. The hard wood thumped against the stone walls, dislodging pieces of its decorative work. Tristan stood there, a crutch holding up the side of him that had yet to heal. He hobbled into the room, his face brooding as he stared down at his former captain. Elian wasn’t sure what he was going to do, so it shocked her to her core when he punched Bowen right in the face.

  “Tristan! What are you doing? You are still healing!” She tried to pull him off, but lacked the strength.

  “I am literally trying to punch some sense into this idiot!” He brought his fist against Bowen’s face again, not holding back any of his strength and winced as he did it. He wanted him to feel his anger, his worry, his annoyance at how he was acting. He hit him again and, fist raised, paused to ask him a question. He looked him dead in the eyes to gauge the truth. “Do you really believe she is dead?”

  It took Bowen ages to replay, his face turned in embarrassment. “No.”

  “Good.” Tristan lowered his fist. “Get up. There will be a council meeting tomorrow morning and we need to devise a plan. We need you—Master Lewis, the High Elders that survived… we all need you.”

  “He needs to eat first,” Elian stubbornly interjected, staring at Tristan. “And you should be in bed!” She crossed her arms, resolute in her medical authority.

  “You heard her,” Tristan said with a mischievous smile, falling into the bed next to him. “Eat.”

  Bowen moved quickly enough to avoid being squished beneath the captain and taking his porridge and lemons, did as he was told.

  It was hours before Bowen was able to keep down his meal. The creamy porridge had gone stone cold by the time he was finished but Elian was persistent, insisting that he alternate the lemons in between bites and when finished, cleared him for duty. Master Lewis had catered to Tristan’s needs and met with them in Bowen’s room, both of them already dressed and ready for the meet.

  “I will inform the others of our decision once we have made one,” Master Lewis announced before Bowen even had a chance to put his feet on the ground.

  “Right, first thing’s first: We need to find out where Fi— the Brotherhood has taken Jade. They will have had to pass at least one checkpoint somewhere. I can ask around, see if anyone has heard anything,” Tristan offered, no longer the trusty friend, but the more-so trusty captain.

  “Good. Good. We also need a means of getting to wherever they camp.” Master Lewis went to the small table that furnished the room and pulled out a quill, ink, and paper and started making a checklist. Even after a day of healing, his limp still pained him.

  “I doubt they will go far,” Bowen added. “Finch relies on his local knowledge. He would not stray farther than Carmarthenshire.” Dread covered his face as the awareness passed over him. “Does the Brotherhood know where Jade ventured from?” Panic rose in his chest.

  “I would not think so,” Master Lewis pondered, “who is there to tell them?”

  “Mason,” Tristan spat, the High Elder’s name leaving a bad taste in his mouth. They hadn’t been able to find him in the chaos of the events, but everyone had an inkling that it was by his hand that the Brotherhood had decided to attack, not that they could do anything. He was a High Elder, dictated to a higher power that anyone less wasn’t able to touch.

  “They are headed to Llanbeder Point Steffan,” Bowen resolutely stated.

  “Bowen, that is a great presumption. What would they be doing in Point Steffan?”

  “I don’t know, but something tells me, Mason might.” Bowen shot out of the room, Tristan struggling to jump out of bed and follow, while Master Lewis took his time to catch up to the two.

  They all rushed to High Elder Mason’s room, ready to confront, even beat the truth out of him, higher powers be damned. Bowen didn’t even knock, just shoved Mason’s door wide open and found him in the middle of reading, his form relaxed into his armchair by the window.

  Mason hadn’t looked up from his book and continued to read on. “Well, if you do not even have the manners to knock, then I am not obligated to act as a proper host.”

  “Gå döda dig själv, Mason,” Tristan snapped, the sting of his ancestors’ language escaping his mouth as easily as when he had learned it from his mother.

  “Tristan, stop,” Master Lewis commanded, though he had no warm feelings towards the man himself.

  “Yes, Tristan, stop. That is no way for a captain to act.” Mason had said it with such self-approving pleasure that Bowen wanted to throttle the man right then and there.

  “Mason, do not play games,” Bowen threatened. “Where has the Brotherhood taken Jade?”

  “And why do you think I know such a fact?” Mason asked, condescension lathering his tone.

  “Because throughout the fight there was one person who was not shocked at the Brotherhood’s attack, who did not engage in the fight. You
.”

  “Ah, you are correct, sir.” Mason finally put down his book and gave them his full attention. “Who do you think gave the Brotherhood the schematics of our building?”

  Master Lewis was livid. “High Elder, how dare–”

  The smile wiped from Mason’s face. “Magic is becoming too big, too powerful, as we can well see in Lady Jade. Such an untalented creature with little to no training already an Exalted Witch? Frankly, I am afraid what the future holds.” He sat there, his fingers interlaced. “I would rather live in a future where magic is controlled, if not gone, than a world where any one person is able to covet that much power.”

  “Like the Brotherhood?” Tristan asked.

  “Not quite. The Brotherhood is made of a group and does not cater to the individual… Well, actually, it does cater to one individual in a way, a man that I fear and follow wholeheartedly, even more so than The Order of the Forest.”

  That peeked Bowen’s interest while Master Lewis’s face twisted in disgust at the notion. “What do you mean? There is someone controlling the whole of the Brotherhood’s movements?”

  “To say the least,” Mason answered Master Lewis. There was a look in his eye. He knew all and would tell all, just to see their reactions. “I suppose you would call him Edward of Woodstock, though many more know him as the Duke of Cornwall, Prince of Wales.”

  “Blasphemy! A Royal as the founder?” Tristan wouldn’t stand for it. He was a captain of the Royal Guard; he wasn’t about to believe that those who employed him were also the ones making his life a living hell.

  “It is true. You have heard of The Order of the Garter?”

  “Of course,” Master Lewis said, “everyone has. The scandal of the Countess of Salisbury’s wardrobe mishap swept the nation.” Rumor was that the Countess had been dancing when her garter slipped from her leg. There was such an uproar about it that even the French knew.

  “It was from there that His Highness created the Order,” Mason said. “He branched it out into his crusade to rid the world of magic, the Brotherhood falling under its protection.”

  The three of them stood there, re-evaluating what they knew about their lives that had been relied upon and dictated by the very man they had once looked up to as children. He was revered throughout the Empire as one of the most ruthless fighters, his strength incomparable even to the other royals, yet it was all for personal use and not for the good of the kingdom as they had thought.

  “‘Honi soit qui mal y pense. Shame on him who thinks evil of it.’” Mason chuckled. “A bit of a redundant motto if you ask me, but there it is. It could not get out that a member of the Royal Family spearheaded this campaign, so actions were taken…”

  “My brother…” He has willingly gone along with all this, Bowen seethed. “Why reveal everything?”

  “Because out of the few I have told, your reactions are the ones I have wanted to see most,” he smiled, satisfied with the result. “Well, if that is all, then?”

  “No, you still have not informed us of Jade’s whereabouts,” Bowen spat.

  “Why not ask the prince when he gets here tomorrow?”

  All movement stopped, the room stale as each of their breaths became haggard.

  “He is coming here?” Master Lewis went from angry red, to a shade of petrified white.

  “That is what my informants tell me. He wants to boost his image. Show the people that he is trying to do all he can. Little do they know.” He stood and moved towards the door, holding it open for them. “Now if you do not mind, I would like to get back to my reading.” Before anyone could take a step, Mason waved his hand and an invisible force pushed the three of them out of his quarters, slamming and locking the door behind them.

  Bowen pounded on it. “If something has happened to her, I will personally come back here and kill you.”

  “Threatening a High Elder in front of witnesses?” Mason yelled from the other side, “Not a very smart move.”

  “I think you mean accomplices!” Tristan juggled his sword in his right hand, ready for Bowen to crash down the door and beat the answers out of Mason.

  “Son-of-a-whore!” Both men turned in shock. It was the first time Bowen or Tristan had ever heard the master use such colorful language, and about a High Elder no less. “We will meet up tomorrow before the council convenes,” he said in agitation. “Please... refrain from trying to accost His Highness when he arrives, and stay away from Mason!”

  XXXIII.

  Bowen

  Bowen and Tristan stood at the back of the castle’s throne room while Master Lewis sat up front. Those attending the meeting were the remaining High Elders, both those surviving and those who had sided with the Brotherhood all along, as well as the general public. The High Elders sat in a line facing the assembly of people, the chairs of those who would never be coming back left empty, a canary yellow sash draped over them as a mark of respect. From Bowen’s point of view the odds were not on their side. Worryingly, most of the High Elders who sat in their chairs today supported the Brotherhood.

  “All rise for His Highness, Edward of Woodstock, Duke of Cornwall and the Prince of Wales,” announced the herald. Everyone in the room stood as the prince walked in.

  He looked more like a dictator than a ruler. His regal clothes donned a blackish tinge to them, his signet feathers embroidered on the hem of his sleeves in ostentatious gems. The contrast of his blue eyes against the thin silver band of a crown that sat atop his dark brown hair was startling. It was as if his stare could freeze any person in the place as he strode down the long alley of the hall to sit on the throne, deliberately positioned in the middle of the High Elders. Once seated, he raised his hand, indicating everyone else to follow.

  Of course, it was Mason who spoke first.

  “Your Grace, I am sure I speak for all here when I say that we are delighted that you have decided to grace us with your presence.” He started clapping which caught on and soon the whole room was filled with the harmonious sounds of its echo.

  “It is only right for me to be present at such a time of great bleakness.” The prince’s unsavory smile sent chills up Bowen’s spine. He couldn’t take it, either he ripped out the man’s spinal cord or leave the room. He chose the latter, not wanting to cause a scene.

  “Where are you going?” Tristan hissed, blocking his exit with a raised arm. In the few days that had passed, the medical team had worked nonstop, Elian ordering them around as if they were her personal assistants, making sure the captain was healed and the wound had closed.

  Bowen had no need to speak. One look at his expression and Tristan knew that if he didn’t leave, he would kill the Prince of Wales. He let him pass and followed him out into the castle’s gardens where ribbons adorned the place, providing a festive atmosphere to those crowded around the shrubbery wanting a glimpse of His Royal Highness.

  “Bowen–”

  “I know.”

  “You need to play nice.”

  “I know!” He was beyond vexed. He needed to act, to do something that could help.

  “You will not find her without his help.”

  Bowen pretended not to hear. He wanted nothing more than to find Jade, but nothing less than to get his help. “Have you not received any information? What about your informants?” Bowen spat impatiently. The few people around them moved away from the palpable tension, leaving them free to argue.

  “They have not seen or heard anything. No one knows where she is.”

  “She is in Point Steffan,” he stated resolutely.

  “You cannot be sure.”

  “I can.” He knew it to be true with every fiber of his soul.

  “Then what will you do? Storm the fort?”

  “If I have to, then yes.”

  “I knew you were bold, Bowen, but not stupid. Do you think you will be able to do this alone?”


  His stance was steady but he knew when he was beat. “No.”

  “Well, at least you know your limits.” The captain crossed his arms over his chest, resigned in his decision. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Tristan–”

  “Do you remember what Catherine said when you became captain of the Guard?” The question caught him off balance. “She said that having loyal friends was better than having subordinates, no matter how young or old. You were my only friend until Jade came along, not excluding Elian and Anwen, and I will not stand by while my friends are in danger.”

  “I never considered you a friend at the time,” Bowen confessed, remembering the skinny kid who shadowed him everywhere.

  “I know, but I always considered you one.”

  “What are you boys doing out here?” Elian interrupted and came to stand next to Tristan, their severe height differences causing him to look sharply down.

  “Making plans. We are heading to Lampeter.”

  “Oh. About time you two made a decision,” she smiled. “Well, why are you still here?”

  “Don’t rush us, woman, we just made the decision.”

  She shoved him a bit, him barely teetering to one side. “Well, you might want to since Master Prince-y has just left.”

  “He what?” they both said in unison. They hadn’t heard the stir of people that should have accompanied his leaving.

  “Aye, he’s gone.”

  “Where?” Bowen had started running towards the castle’s stables, pushing pilgrims and priests alike out of the way.

  “I don’t know, he didn’t get the chance to fill me in on his schedule,” she yelled, following them to the horses.

  “Christ, Elian, this is not the time for your sarcastic wit.” Tristan pulled a pair of saddles onto two of their fastest steeds, and secured the leather straps. Elian pouted.

  “Here.” She handed Tristan a rolled up piece of parchment. “Directions and specifications of the fort in Point Steffan.”

  “But how did–” Tristan asked dumb-founded.