Chapter One:

Lynia took a flying leap, landing heavily on the tiled roof of the next door neighbours' house. Her boots slipped on the slick, dew-covered surface, almost pitching her head first into the ornamental pond down below. Darting quickly across the roof, and attempting to ignore the whistle of arrows and the buzzing of magic behind her, the girl leapt from rooftop to rooftop, vanishing into the night.

She had completely botched the assignment, and was going to be knee deep in figurative filth when she got back home. The Guardian would be so angry, Lynia knew, and she couldn't bear the thought of him being angry, especially when it was directed at her. It took them a solid week of scrubbing to get the blood off the walls last time, and no small amount of magic.

It was a simple job; get in, kill the target, get out. No special orders, no complications. But she had screwed up big time.

Rule one of an Assassin: don't let the target see you. Well, she had broken that alright. Shattered it to pieces and ground the shards into powder.

Rule two of an Assassin: never leave your weapon behind; it can always be traced back to you. Well, that was another piece of broken glass on the ground now.

And the night had hardly begun well in the first place.

Lynia took a step forward, wincing when she accidentally stepped on a stick. She just hoped no one had noticed the sharp cracking sound that had rent the air. People generally attributed those noises to small furry woodland creatures, didn't they?

The one problem with that assumption was that this was the middle of the city, and small furry animals were a thing of myth and legend, not an everyday backyard occurrence.

Crouching among the roses, she sniffed the air delicately, savouring the smell. Lynia had always loved flowers; it was a wonder she hadn't become a botanist or a florist. Sometimes she wished she had, then she wouldn't be risking her precious hide every week or so on some stupid contract or another.

Lynia slipped into the shadow under a windowsill, using it to hide her from prying eyes, though she doubted anyway could actually see in this gloom.

The moon was waning, and just a thin strip in the sky, even the stars outshining it. A chilly wind blew, whisking her scent away from the house of her target. Nobody was out on a night like this, and it was nearing one in the morning anyway.

All in all, it was the perfect night for a killing.

Lynia lifted the latch on the window, grinning when it opened without a sound. Seizing the wooden frame in her gloved hands, she wrenched it open, wincing at the horrible squeal it made. The thing probably hadn't been oiled in years.

Looking back on that, she realised that it had been stupid to simply pull the window open like that. It was probably what had alerted the household in the first place. Curse those light sleepers.

Lynia carefully hooked one foot over the windowsill before grabbing hold of the smooth wood and hoisting herself into the grand house. She envied whoever lived here for their riches, but not the death that was about to take place.

The assignment stated she was to kill the elderly father, who went by the name of Matthew Dryngon. Simple enough, and nowhere near the complexity that some of her guildmates received, but Lynia was still nervous. Who wouldn't be? It was the tenth job in a row she had received that had been 'simple', but she had somehow failed them all.

At least there was no chance of extra pay for this one. Lynia had only ever attempted to enact one of those assignments once, and had failed miserably. Well, even more than usual. She hadn't even gotten near the mark before having to leg it out of there. Sometimes Lynia wondered why she was even in this profession at all.

She could have been a mage – she was definitely powerful enough – but no, she had to go and follow her stupid ambition to be a hired killer. Well, if she had learnt one thing from the experience, it was that the criminal underworld was not as glamorous as people made it out to be. Things could be downright messy sometimes, and people certainly weren't prepared to bail you out of difficult situations. No, people had a tendency to be selfish pricks most of the time.

Oh well, no pain no gain, and Lynia had gained a lot in the short time she had been with the guild. She had a respectable – from the inside, of course – profession, even if she wasn't good at it. She had a roof over her head, and had gotten rid of her controlling parents. She had even learnt to fight, and cast more destructive spells. Honestly, those university mages were all goody-goody on the outside, but Lynia had a feeling that what they wanted most was power. It was in their eyes, you see, that malevolent gleam. They didn't just want power, they lusted after it like a starving man would a banquet.

Lynia peered into the dark room, squinting to make out the details. She could see...a candlestick. Yes, that would do nicely. Summoning her power, she felt it ripple through her dark brown hair and into her fingertips before letting it loose. Ah, that release of power was always nice; comforting and warm like a nice hot fire in winter. Still, sometimes she resented not being able to tie her hair up on the job. It was an inconvenience, having it hanging all over the place, but she needed it for the job. If Lynia tied it up, that would bind the magic, and she would have nothing but the bow on her back and the knives in her hands.

She wasn't very good with either.

The candle blazed into life, and Lynia winced at the audible crackle of power. Well, there went her night vision, not that it did her much good in the first place. At least with some light she could walk more or less silently, rather than bumbling around the place and knocking things over. People would respond to the noises more than they would investigate the flicker of a candle.

At least this way she had a chance for a change.

Footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, she crept past the ornate furniture and beautiful tapestries. They were typical of Illianis, the realm of Light; all shallow splendour and broken promises, with a bit of blind fanaticism thrown into the mix. At least the citizens of Tynarehea had some taste, and some common sense in their heads.

Lynia couldn't wait to be back in the Crossroads once more.

Now she just had to find the right room. That couldn't be too hard, could it? Just take a quick peek past every door along the way and hope no one notices. Not the brightest idea she'd ever had, but it would do. Hopefully it wouldn't get her killed.

Pale features screwed up in concentration and apprehension, Lynia pushed the nearest door open. A tiny sliver of light peeked through the gap, adding to the illumination her candle provided. There was a girl dozing sedately in an armchair next to the fire, which was little more than dying embers now. Lynia sighed in frustration before moving onto the next door.

Not there either. All she found was a woman with her back to her, sitting and stitching something by candlelight. Oh well, third time's the charm, eh?

Lynia opened another door, making a face when it creaked a little louder than she deemed safe. The occupant did not react, however, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief. Yes, this was the one alright. The man on the bed fit the specifications perfectly. And he was sound asleep.

Perhaps Lynia wouldn't completely bungle this contract for once after all.

She set the candle on a small table by the door, letting the light dance on the fabric as she drew her knives. Okay, maybe two would be overkill, but you couldn't be too sure. Lynia crept closer to the bed, wincing every time a soft creak sounded from the floor, making the old man stir. It wouldn't do to wake him up, now would it. Especially when she was close enough to hear his quiet, peaceful breathing.

Lynia lowered the knife to his throat, letting it rest gently on the skin before snatching up a spare blanket. It would do to have anyone see her covered in blood, she mused, and a slash to the throat was generally quite messy. No, better to get that lovely soft sheet dirty than her own clothes; her own skin. And it would scare the family more than a simple poison. Blood generally had that effect, you see, and some people could be quite susceptible to the shock of finding it splattered all over the room.

Unfortunately, it was that moment that the door decided to open. In the doorway stood middle-aged man with greying hair, though he was hardly any less intimidating for all that the years had done to him. No, if anything age had strengthened him; hardened him. There was this glint in his eyes, you see, and you knew he wouldn't give a second chance. Oh no, rub him the wrong way and this man would go in for the kill.

Unfortunately, Lynia got the feeling that she had instantaneously gotten on his bad side. She supposed holding a knife over his dad's throat could bias someone's opinions pretty well, not to mention send them into blind rage.

Which was exactly what happened.

"What the hell are you doing?" Spittle flew from the man's mouth as he uttered those six words, and he froze temporarily before lunging forwards, hands stretched out in an attempt to grab the would-be assassin. A table went flying, the silver bowl on pebbles that rested on it spilling everywhere.

Crash.

Lynia winced, hoping that somehow she would find a way out of this decidedly sticky situation.

Bang.

Clatter.

Thunk.

Lynia didn't like the feeling that last sound gave her, and she turned, letting the silken sheet drift to the ground where it settled with a soft whoosh of air. Then she whipped her twin knives – each as long as her forearm – our of their sheaths, brandishing them at her possibly-but-not-quite attackers.

Lynia hardly made the most threatening figure, she knew that, but she couldn't help trying. She was slim and short, with pale skin and dark hair that reached the small of her back. There was something innocent about her, as if she was a child in need of a hug. Fortunately, that same innocence generally worked in her favour when trying to get close to her targets.

It was just the execution that was the problem. Like now, actually.

"You don't want to come any closer," Lynia hissed, backing away slightly even as the grip on her daggers tightened, turning her knuckles white. The man growled, leaping forwards once more, tossing a handful of white pebbles at her. One struck her square on the forehead and sent her reeling back. By the Keeper himself, that man had a good throw!

It was then Lynia realised that the situation was completely, utterly lost, and she should really get out of there. Now.

Throwing up a minor shield behind her, she scrambled over to the window, wrenching it open. Cold wind rushed at her face, dusting her cheeks a soft pink and leaving her robbed of air. Really, did it have to be that cold? Granted, it was the middle of winter, but this was ridiculous!

Completely regretting her decision, Lynia jumped carefully balanced herself on the small ledge outside before hoisting herself up onto the roof, boots slipping on the slick surface.

Doing her best to dodge arrows and stray magical flares, Lynia sprinted across the rooftops and into the night.

Boy had she ever botched that assignment.