Page 30 of The Scars Within (Twisted Thorn #1)

“Shayde has had our marekem blocked ever since I first channeled fire,” Rhodes said, his voice low.

“We never really talked about it, but that’s when we started to drift apart.

So, fortunately, I do have privacy. I’ve gotten pretty good at controlling my end of the bond.

I leave the window open if Shayde ever needs to reach me, but otherwise, I keep it closed for my own sake. ”

There was a weight to his words, a quiet sadness in the space that had grown between them. I wanted to ask what he meant by ‘his own sake,’ but I feel like I know the answer.

Sharing a marekem with a twin is a special bond. And if one blocks that bond... I imagine that would feel like a knife in the heart for the other. Abandonment.

He keeps himself guarded to prevent getting hurt.

“I didn’t realize the marekem could be controlled like that,” I admitted softly.

“There’s a lot about magic people don’t know,” Rhodes muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, shifting the conversation, he asked, “And what about you? What was life like before Mageia?”

The question lingered in my mind. Usually, I give a rehearsed response when people ask, shielding myself from the inevitable judgment.

But with Rhodes, I don’t feel the need to pretend.

I don’t have to act like whom the world expects me to be because he knows the act all too well.

And when he is with me... I see the slightest bit of who Rhodes wants to be.

“I pretty much raised myself,” I said, quiet but steady.

“My father left when I was young, my mother passed not long after, and my only living relative was Aunt Cora. But then, she was employed here at Mageia, so I was on my own for most of it. My village was small enough that I found work early, and once I was old enough to apply, well… here I am.” I shrugged the weight of my past off my shoulders.

Rhodes’s hand around my waist tightened as Dahlia’s clicking hooves filled the silence.

“He left you?” his voice dropped.

I nodded, my throat tightening as I spoke the words. “Captain Thorne is my father.”

For the first time, Rhodes didn’t have a quick response. His body tensed. The air between us felt heavier, his silence louder than any words he could’ve spoken.

The weight of my confession hung between us, pressing down on the quiet night. I wasn’t sure if it was out of shock or sympathy, but I could sense him struggling with what to say.

Rhodes will finally lay a card face up on the table with his response to my vulnerability.

And then I’ll know if the risk of losing myself revealed a missing piece .

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Captain Thorne... he’s a well-known name. A lot of respect among the ranks.” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I didn’t realize he had a daughter.”

My heart thrummed. “Well, he didn’t seem to realize that either,” I said bitterly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My skin heated. My stomach twisted as I tried to keep my breathing steady, knowing that he would feel a change in my rhythms with my back pressed against him.

“I’m–”

I cut him off. “I don’t need an apology or pity. I made it here just fine.” I hadn’t meant to sound so resentful, but the wound still burns and is buried deeper than I like to admit. My throat tightened as memories of my childhood flickered through my mind.

My mother trying to hide her tears when she thought I was asleep. My relief every time there was a knock on our door and my disappointment when it wasn’t him. My envy when I saw little girls being tossed in the air by their daddy.

The little girls never had to worry about their fathers intentionally letting them fall.

Rhodes’s sternness stole me from my thoughts. “I wasn’t going to apologize or pity you. I was going to say I’m impressed by your strength. And ashamed that someone like Captain Thorne holds a leadership position in our military.”

I didn’t think receiving the response I’d always wanted would strike as deep as it did.

All I’ve ever been given is sympathy, a soft word, or a sad look.

But nobody ever shared my anger. No one has ever looked at me and automatically accepted my pain as their own.

Instead of seeing Thorne for the villain he is, all they cared to see was a sad victim.

I didn’t feel the need to reply with words. Instead, I leaned back against him. Hoping that my action was a response written in itself .

He answered my quiet response by resting his chin on my head.

I couldn’t help but grin at the silly action.

His chin resting on my head made me feel so small compared to him, but I liked it.

My shoulders were flat against his firm chest. His thighs were curved around mine.

I closed my eyes and grinned. Feeling his response of just letting me know that his presence was there and that I wasn’t alone.

That someone finally heard what I had to say.

We remained like that for a while as a silent comfort to each other. Until twinkling lights ahead came into view, revealing a small village bathed in the warm glow of night.

Dahlia led us into a cozy village nestled on cobblestone streets.

A stone fountain stood in the center, surrounded by a small courtyard where I imagine the townsfolk likely gather during the day.

The buildings were tightly packed around the square, their stone facades bearing the marks of time, with ivy creeping up the walls and small, shuttered windows that glowed warmly in the night.

A gentle light was cast across the cobblestones from lanterns hanging around the village. Despite its smaller size, the aura of this place makes me believe that everybody knows each other’s name here.

We rode past a few buildings and then turned down a softly lit alley, the warm glow guiding our way until we reached a medium-sized building with villagers seated out front. The chatter and laughter of the townspeople hanging around filled the air.

Rhodes guided Dahlia to a hitching post on the side and smoothly dismounted. After tying her reins securely, he returned to me, placing one hand on the pommel and the other on my left hip. “Throw your leg over toward me,” he instructed.

I did as he asked and, without thinking, slid down the side of the saddle into his arms as if it were second nature.

He caught me as I fell, with both of his hands now on my ribs.

I didn’t realize it, but somehow, my hands had wrapped around his biceps.

Feet on the ground, I looked up into his eyes .

Straight into a beacon’s signaling light.

I melted into his gray-blue gaze. He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. I let go of his arms, and he stepped away. We made our way into the tavern as Rhodes shook hands with a few of the civilians seated outside.

I was entranced by the warm and welcoming charm of the rustic tavern.

Lanterns, like those we saw outside, were also hanging from dark wooden beams that crisscrossed across the ceiling.

Their flickering light added to the cozy feel of the space.

The tavern was constructed of rough stone walls, and most of the wall space was covered with old tapestries or intricately carved signs, making the overall place feel like an homage to these villagers.

A long wooden bar separates the space. Behind the bar sits shelves aligned with an assortment of bottles and a door that likely leads to an office.

Or a kitchen, if the smell of roasting meat and freshly baked bread mingling in the air is any indication.

In the open part of the tavern, tables and chairs are scattered throughout, where villagers are engaged in lively conversation and laughter.

Some are playing card games as they playfully squabble with their friends.

A large stone fireplace with a raging fire sits on the right, while a musician strums a gentle tune on a lute on a small stage on the left.

This is… so cozy.

The tavern was bustling with people, a scene I might typically shy away from, but I found myself wanting to be a part of its atmosphere.

While the rooftop is a sanctuary of peace and tranquility, this lively space offers a different kind of comfort—a place where people come together with their loved ones.

To create memories and share in each other’s joy.

I followed Rhodes through the maze of tables mindlessly.

He pulled out an old wooden barstool for me, then leaned casually against the bar, his elbows resting on the worn surface.

I couldn’t help but notice how at ease he seemed like this was his second home.

The way the civilians outside lit up when they saw him and how naturally he moved through the space tells me this is a part of Rhodes that not many have the privilege to see.

Then I saw his face light up with a full smile, making my heart squeeze.

I followed his gaze and spotted an older man approaching us, drying a glass with a kitchen rag.

He was tall—possibly as tall as Rhodes—with a broad, sturdy build.

The light from the tavern flickered off his bald head, and his five o’clock shadow had grown into something closer to a seven o’clock.

When he returned Rhodes’s smile, it was clear he was missing a few teeth, but the warmth in his grin more than made up for it.

The man glanced at me briefly before turning back to Rhodes. “And who’s this pretty thing?” he asked with a teasing grin.

Rhodes looked down at me over his shoulder and then at the man. “Her name is Scarlet. And don’t scare her away, Walt,” he said, his tone firm as he raised his brows and dipped his chin in a warning.