The storm masks my movements perfectly, the constant drumming of rain interspersed with the sharp crack of thunder spitting the night. I move with the shifting shadows cast by the violently thrashing branches. The familiar movements are mainly a precaution than a method of moving without detection in this situation. I highly doubt anyone would be awake at this hour, let alone have a strong impulse to look outside the window and peer through the storm to see a black-clad figure that blends in with the night.
Yet I don't lower my guard for a moment.
Not because of the dark windows that haven't changed in about three hours. Not because of the ungodly hour of the morning. And not because I know I could kill the occupants easily without lifting a hand.
That's not why I'm here.
A massacre at the Fireglow family estate isn't something useful to my Master. No, a quiet assassin slipping in and killing the elderly lord's first son is what's needed here to keep their posh noses out of our business, or whatever they did to piss my master off. Maybe scattering a few clues around to frame one of their rivals, the Rivermeet family for the kill wouldn't go astray here either. Of course, Master phrased it as a request when he pulled me aside those two weeks ago, as if he was asking me if I wanted tea. But all of the assassins, even a fledgling like me without a kill to her name, know he's not offering. It's an order. I didn't have the option to refuse and even if I did I wouldn't take it. This is my chance. My first and only chance to prove I have the spine to kill. And to prove that I will be the best.
I'm at the mansion, a foreboding three-storey building with beautiful gilded features that sparkle even in the dim light. The family who owns it is rich. Powerful. A force to be reckoned with should they turn their attention to the widespread, yet invisible, kingdom of assassins. With their money and power, they would have a good chance of discovering us, of killing us in return.
Maybe that's why I'm here. My target, the firstborn son, is widely known to have suspicions that we exist, but as far as I know, he doesn't have definitive proof. His father, the Lord of the Fireglow family, is elderly and could kick the bucket any year now and all the money and power would pass to his firstborn son. Which might not turn out well for us assassins.
I don't bother considering the thought of going through the front door. It would draw attention from the guards stationed there and attention is a death sentence. Or, a voice whispers in my mind, sneaking and winding its way into my thoughts, you could just kill them all. Those guards would have to be pretty powerful, not to mention the family they protect.
I shake those dangerous thoughts away as I begin to climb, using those frilly little decorations to easily haul myself up the wall.
Third storey, second window on the left, next to the gold and red statue of the dragon, I think to myself. One guard posted outside the room. An easy mission, so long as I keep the lord's son from screaming.
I reach the third storey in a matter of seconds and find the specific window moments after. I grin to myself. They're practically inviting me in and laying down the doormat. This is going to be ridiculously easy. So long as you grow enough spine to slit his throat. The harsh voice of doubt fills my head, making my limbs clumsy and unsure as I clamber in, thankfully landing soundlessly on the plush rigs that cover the wooden floorboards.
It's too dark to see the room, and I wouldn't have cared enough about it anyway. Not when I can see the massive bed and the figure lying atop it. Not with the efforts of my labour and constant surveillance about to finally bear fruit.
I creep closer and draw my dagger from its sheath on my belt. Lightning flickers from outside, momentarily catching the light along its slightly curved blade. S beautiful. And so deadly.
I stride to the bed. Position my blade next to the man's neck.
His eyelids flutter open, groggy with sleep. They widen as he registers my blade against his neck. His eyes are such a beautiful colour. Golden, or perhaps amber, with flecks of orange. Just like the fire he commands at his fingertips. Such a shame they'll be cold and dead.
Yet something about his eyes captivates me, stays my hand. For a fleeting moment, his eyes shift to my left. To the knife by his bedside. I don't give him time to move. I simply draw my dagger across his throat, just like I'd been taught. Blood spurts, dark in the dim light, splattering in my face and all over the bed. The vicious gash in his neck looks like an impossibly wide smile. He chokes, hands going to his neck, as if in a feeble attempt to hold the blood in.
Crimson covers his hands and I watch until the light leaves his eyes and his body goes still. I pull out the button attached to a scrap of royal blue fabric and tuck it into one of his limp hands. Then I step back and admire my handiwork.
In light of my horrible deeds, I know it should be wrong to smile. But this is how life works. Someone succeeds and someone fails. It is the end of his life, but it's the start of mine, I tell myself. It's only going to get better from here on out. I'll earn my Master's respect bit by bit.
For saving me from a fate worse than death, for taking me in and training me, I'll do anything for his respect. Even if it damns my soul to hell.