The moon was making its timid appearance behind the thick curtains of clouds, shining palely on the city of Nightgate.

The city of sinners.

Depraved sinners like the one I was waiting for, hidden in the shadows and crouched on the roof of a building near his mansion.

My fingers affectionately stroked the hilt of the dagger embedded in my belt, outlining its delicate silver carvings with the tip of my pads.
The feeling of its coldness on my skin was comforting, soothing like the caresses of a mother to her children. Not that I knew that sensation, but I imagined it being the same.

The cold wind ruffled my cloak, making the black cloth swirl in the darkness of the night. I tightened the hood around my head in response, concealing my features except for my eyes that remained fixated on the street below.

Despite my face being mostly hidden, I knew I was bound to be recognized. None outside of the Guild and the Royal Family knew my true identity, but people called me Teleite, the bringer of Death.
The fame of the name always preceded me, combined with the tales about my eyes.
One gold as the shade of the dying sun at sunset, the other silver as the cold steel of swords, they were said to capture the souls of my victims before my hands could collect their lives.

A carriage stopped in front of the mansion, its wheels scratching on the cobblestones of the road. A man clumsily exited the vehicle, holding on to its door to prevent a fall, a clear sign of the innumerable pints of ales he drank through the evening. I hoped he had enjoyed his night, as it would be his last.

Standing from the spot I had been waiting on, I cautiously eyed my surroundings. When I found no bystanders, I jumped forward, gracefully landing on the mansion's roof with a somersault.

Nothing more than a shadow in the darkness of the night.

My target's room was on the east side of the mansion, occupying part of the top floor; with its two big windows facing the gardens, breaking-in would be an easy task. Even so, my experiences throughout the years taught me that caution and prudence were not to be left behind.
Reaching the east side of the building I lowered myself from the roof, holding on to the cornice with my arms and swinging my legs to gain momentum for the incoming move. Once I identified the right windowsill I jumped, landing as my boots made nearly no sound.
My hands moved smoothly, practicing moves done countless times before, and the window's lock fell with a low click.

The pale rays of the moon shining from outside partially illuminated the room, casting shadows on the outlines of the luxurious furniture. Velvet curtains, gold-rimmed mirrors, a canopy bed with silk sheets...of course the old man loved to live in luxury. My mouth turned up in a disgusted sneer. People like him, who surrounded themselves with luxury and wealth to compensate the poverty of their souls, deserved to pay.

And he would, very soon.

My eyes cautiously scanned the place, analyzing its every corner and searching for possible dangers. When I found none, I took a seat on a chair in a darkened corner of the bedroom, waiting.

I didn't have to wait long.
Commotion came from the lower floors of the house, proof that the old pig was approaching his room and, inevitably, his death.

I removed my hood, exposing my face for him to see, to see who would be his end. My tight braid, now free from its cage, fell on my bodice, the dark brown of my hair nearly indistinguishable from the smooth black leather of the garment.

The door swung open, revealing a man drunkenly striding inside while humming a song about a sailor falling in love with a prostitute.
When his veiled eyes noticed the darkness of the room he grumbled disapprovingly before burping loudly.

Disgusting.

"Betsy! Old witch! Why is my room dark?"

The faint sound of light steps approaching the door resonated through the stillness of the night; an old maid entered the room, head bowed in submission and carrying a lighter in her hands.

"I am sorry Master Rodrick. I supposed that you would have gone straight to bed so I considered unnecessary lighting the room up."

"Well, you thought wrong, stupid wench!"
He shouted. Droplets of his spit landed on the floor.

The old woman winced under his stern tone and her hands started to tremble. It was fathomable that this was not the first episode of verbal abuse, but only one of the many the maid had to endure. She then proceeded to lit few of the oil lamps scattered around the room, illuminating half of the place. After the accomplishment of her duty she hurried out of the chamber, not before having bowed to her master.

The light coming from the burning lamps finally allowed me, still hidden in darkness, to study the appearance of my target. He was a man in the last third of his life, probably in his late sixties, with a receding hairline and graying dark hair. He wasn't very tall, but it was still possible to see some distinctive traits of his long gone lean body, now partially hidden beneath the protruding of his beer induced belly.
Under the appearance of a normal-looking aging man belonging to the upper class of Nightgate was concealed the cunning and disgusting mind of a beater, of a raper, of an abuser.

And now it was the time to avenge his victims.

Standing up, I silently walked towards the illuminated part of the place, where the man, still unaware of my presence, was drunkenly trying to take his breeches off, stumbling on his insecure feet.

"You were a little bit rude to poor Betsy, don't you think?"

At the sound of my voice his legs collapsed, making him tumble to the floor. Startled, he turned towards me crawling on the moquette.
When his clouded eyes were finally able to focus on my figure, recognition flashed through them and his pupils widened in fear.

"Teleite..." he whispered, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat nervously.

I picked the dagger from my belt, stroking its silvery blade deliberately slow with my index.
His eyes shifted from my face to my hands, following the movements of my finger with attention.
The man's forehead was coated with sweat that soon dripped on his eyebrows, a few droplets nearly entering his eyes. He lifted his hands in order to swipe the droplets away, miserably failing cause of the excessive trembling of his fingers.
In the desperate attempt to put more distance between us he crawled backwards, until his back was pressed to the carved wooden surface of his dresser.

"Please don't kill me! Please!"
He pleaded, his tone laced with desperation.

I tilted my head to the side, observing the pathetic situation the squalid person in front of me was in. Everything about this man was disgusting, from his disrespect towards women to the unnerving pleas of sparing his life he was throwing at me.

"Why would I listen to your prayers when you never listened to theirs?"

I took a step towards him, enjoying the way his body reacted in response. He squirmed uncomfortably, wagging his legs and arms on the floor to try to get further away.
I dashed my dagger towards the ceiling, my eyes never leaving his. I waited for its declivity, swiftly enveloping my fingers on its silver hilt.

A scream broke out from the man's throat, echoing through the silence of the sleeping mansion. Soon his servants would be banging on the bedroom's door, alerted by the high pitched sound, in order to verify on their Master's condition.

It was time to end the mission.

I launched myself at him, pinning his body to the dresser with my left forearm. I looked straight into his eyes; their drunken veil was disappeared, replaced by sudden sobriety, fear, realization and panic.

"May the Gods forgive your soul."

The blade tore through his neck, slicing his skin, muscles and carotid. He let out few feeble screams, muffled by the gargling of his own blood spilling in his throat.
I watched as he chocked, as his eyes rapidly became dull and lifeless, losing the flame of soul, resembling now two empty glass spheres.
He breathed no more.

I swiped the dagger on the dark cloth of his shirt before repositioning it in my belt. The loud sound of steps pounding on the ground alerted me of the servants' approaching.

It was time to go home.

I launched myself out of the window, disappearing through the darkness of the night, leaving behind no sign of my presence, but the proof of justice being served.

****

The journey back to Skyon, the Guild's headquarters, took me five days of riding. My sore legs could still perceive the sensation of the strong and muscular body of my stallion beneath them, his deep and powerful breathing still echoing in my bones.
We galloped continuously, taking only brief pauses to rest and feed, both drowning in the eagerness of reaching home.

Situated in the South of Kallera, Skyon was my home. Born and raised there, I never knew another reality until I reached seventeen summers of age. Then, the missions began.

Being the only daughter of the Head Master of the Guild my destiny was signed the day I took my first breath. My childhood had been different from the beginning; while the other children in Kallera spent their days playing in the streets, I was learning how to recognize numerous types of poison, how to throw knives and how to blend through the shadows. I grew up differently, but I was happy. I had things other kids my age didn't: a roof over my head, a warm bed, food in my belly and a loving father. Most of all, my life gave me a purpose. I couldn't be more grateful for the gifts the Gods decided to offer me, even if it meant spending my life with my hands dirty and bloodied.

Soft waves caressed my skin as I relished the feeling of my body being submerged in warmth. The sore muscles of my limbs slowly started to relax and I closed my eyes, leaning my head on the granite edge of the pool. Plumes of steam were raising from the baths, carrying with them the sweet scents of lavender and mint.

The vibration of linen swishing gently through the air indicated that someone had entered the place; I expected to listen to the faint noise of clothes ruffling and being discarded, but instead I was greeted with the sound of their voice.

"Head Master requested your presence in his study."

I didn't answer, focusing instead on their gentle footsteps leaving the Baths.

Dressed in a deep blue cotton tunic, I tied the leather belt on my hips, its knife rest now hanging emptily on the side, and combed my damp hair in a tight braid.

The Head Master's office was situated in a far corner of the complex, leaving me no choice but to cross the majority of the compound.
I passed through the aisles with swift strides, unaffected by the austere beauty I grew up within. Flanking the arcade of the cloister, I noticed that it was empty. The only audible sounds were the birds chirping and the water pouring down from the fountain situated in the middle. When I faced the majestic wooden door of my father's personal quarters I knocked, announcing my arrival.

My father was seated at his desk, his impressive frame hunched above papers scattered along the glossy surface. Upon noticing my entrance he stood up, his pale eyes shining in relief.

"Helèna, my daughter."

A genuine smile graced his thin lips while he moved closer to me, placing a tender kiss on my forehead. His familiar cilantro scent engulfed my senses and I smiled at him in return, enjoying this moment of affection. Since I could remember my father had always had the same smell, its familiarity instilling a sense of serenity and safety in me since I had been a little girl.

"Father."

He placed his hands on my shoulders, studying my face with his forehead accentuated in a deep frown.

"You didn't come to me when you came back."

"I am sorry father. I was sore and dirty. I needed to rest and have a bath."

His expression flattened, understanding crossing his aged features. He removed his hands from my shoulders, taking a step back from me.

"No harm done, my daughter. I was only eager to see you. I suppose everything went well in Nightgate?"

I nodded, crossing my arms on my chest. The cotton fabric tightened around my skin, leaving me with the urge to scratch it. I preferred linen or leather above this atrocity, but it was a custom for me to wear it while among the Guild's walls, identifying me as one of the Head Assassins.

"Everything went according to plan."

"Very well, Helèna. You never fail your orders."

I bowed my head, pleased by his words. Having the Head Master complimenting your abilities was something to be very proud of. Even if I was his flesh and blood I had never been treated differently from the other assassins of the Guild; my father was not a man for favoritism, recognizing someone's success only when truly deserved.

"I requested your presence not only because I was eager to see you, but also because a missive came for you when you were away."

My father turned his back to me, moving towards his desk and searching through the papers, until his hand grasped an opened letter.

"A letter for me, father?"

He outstretched his hand and I took the piece of paper, outlining with my finger its ripped in half seal. A eagle flying with a snake in its beak. The Royal Seal.

"It was addressed to me, but it was about you. The King summoned you."

I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. It had been years since the Royal Family asked for my presence.

"Do you think it has to do with the strange attacks and raids happening in the East?"

I scanned the words on the paper, but I found no proof of the reason I was being summoned.

"He doesn't say, Helèna. He only requests your presence in three days time."

I returned the missive to him and bowed my head.

"So be it, father. I will be ready."

So, here it is. The first chapter of my first fantasy book. Saying that I am nervous would truly be a simplification!

What do you think about it?
What do you think about Helèna?

If you liked the chapter, please vote, comment and share.
Kate.