A Viper's Venom

The Shadow Assassin

Everyone in Solaria knows it: The Shadow Assassin. There isn't a single person in the kingdom that doesn't know the name, and everyone fears it. Given to me because of the mark I leave behind; bodies smoking with pure shadow. I never intended for it, shadow is simply my preferred method of killing, but eventually, the shadow smoke became my mark.

It's late in the night, and I sneer with victory. I had my target cornered in a dark, secluded alley, one where I know no one would accidentally stumble across me and my target: Lord Senneka Eranshaw, the head of House Eranshaw; a Veridian. He tries to fight me off by growing vines out of the cracks in the pavement, but pure void energy dancing between my fingers quickly turns them to ash. I stalk towards him, savoring the look of terror in his bottle green eyes.

"P-p-please," he begs, his voice quivering uncontrollably.

A devilish chuckle escapes my lips, echoing down the alley, and now I'm only meters away. Lifting my hand, I cut off his attempt to scream for help by squeezing his throat with a tight collar of solid darkness. His eyes are wide as he tries to speak, but all that comes out is a faint, strangled sound. I take a step back, flipping a blade of solid shadow in the air, and he tries to run. With a roll of my eyes, I swiftly catch the shadow blade and throw it, striking him in the heart. He stops running, staring down at the black blade in his chest before dropping to his knees. The golden blood all Purials have pools on the ground around him. His body crumples to the floor, dead as a door nail.

"Bullseye," I mutter to myself, stepping over the dead lord's body to pry his symbol of authority—a gold ring emblazoned with emeralds in the leaf-like shape of his House seal—off his smoking, motionless finger. My proof of kill. Stuffing it in my pocket, I run back out of the alley and towards my client's rendezvous. When I arrive, he's already standing there, masked and waiting. I hand him the bloodied ring, and he exchanges it for a pouch of gleaming crown coins. Wordlessly, I take the bag and walk away, heading towards my current, if temporary, residence.

I make sure he isn't following me before removing my mask as I walk down the dimly lit streets. I pull the skin-tight black mask covering my neck and lower half of my face over my head, shaking to allow my long, platinum blonde hair to tumble down my back. My boots clip against the stone streets and my black coat sways in the wind as I round the corner and step into the busy tavern.

Before I head up to my room, I decide to make a small detour to the pub. It has the best gossip, after all. The stench of sweat and beer filled my sinuses and my nose wrinkles at the foulness, but after staying in tavern after tavern for as long as I have, moving around the kingdom as my job permits, I am used to the scene. Men play poker in corner booths and drink till they can't stand upright, the waitresses deal with the flirting of the guys, sketchy figures watch on from dark corners, alcohol spills scatter around the floor. But above all else, the whispered gossip my ears were trained to pick up.

"Have you heard?" one guy mutters to his friend as he downs a pint of beer. "The Shadow Assassin struck again two nights ago. I'm scared she's going to jump out of the darkness and kill me."

The other guy slams his glass down on the table top, using his other hand to slap him upside the head. "You dumbass, the Shadow Assassin only goes after Purials, not peasants like us. I heard she froze the fingers off that despicable Baron Murisan before she sliced his throat."

"Ditto. We're all the better for his death, but I'm still terrified of her," the first man says.

"She's kinda a badass."

"She's kinda evil too," the first guy remarks.

I quietly take a seat next to the gossiping pair, pretending not to hear their conversation as I order myself a glass of beer. Before I get the chance to pull out the leather bag that held my assignment's paycheck, a couple silver coins slide across the counter, and I turn to find the man I had taken a seat next to had just paid for my drink. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes wafts off him, my nose twitching at the foul scent. He gives me a crooked, toothy grin. Whether that's his normal smile or one he uses in a repulsive and drunken attempt to flirt with me, I cannot tell.

I find my eyes scanning him, looking for weak points and potential threats like I had been trained all my life to do. The pervert is in his forties, eyes bloodshot, and his cheeks and the tip of his nose rosy from the alcohol. He has the advantage of size; tall but pudgy, and coupled with his high intake of booze, will make him slow. I discreetly slide one of my throwing knives out from my sleeve under the table, the cool metal of the blade pressed against my wrist to conceal it. Obviously he takes my analysis in a very different way.

"Hey Gorgeous, bit late for a girl like you to be alone in a pub, isn't it?"

I scoff, rolling my eyes and turning back to my drink.

To no one's surprise, he doesn't take the hint. "You think you can handle that? It's pretty strong, maybe I could give you a hand?" He tries to slide in next to me, but I shove him away.

Snatching up my drink from the counter, I drain the glass in one go. I glare at the man as I do this, and I flip the now empty glass in the air before catching it and slamming the base down on the counter. "I can handle my alcohol better than you, Tubby," I sneer, the legs of my stool scraping against the wooden floor as I stand. "So," I say, looming over the drunken man, "thank you for the drink, but I bid you a due, Tipsy Perv."

I can hear his friend pissing himself laughing as I walk away, "you got told! Bet you'll think twice about tryin'ta hit on a hot number like that!"

The blade in my hand flies through the air and embeds itself in the wood of the counter, merely centimeters from the man's hand. That shuts them both up instantly. "Bet you'll think twice before objectifying a woman again," I mock. Turning to the barman, I smile kindly, "have a good rest of your evening, Mr Cazoros. Sorry about the knife."

"I assume I'll add the damage to your tab, Nix?" Mr Cazoros inquires coolly.

"Of course," I say, then turn and leave with a dozen men in my wake, staring at me with utter surprise.

I climb the stairs to my room on the top floor, and decide to take a shower. I never get any blood on me while doing my job, which makes clean up super easy. Hiding my identity, however, is not. The steam clouds the mirror when I step out of the shower, and I wipe it away to see my reflection.

I am often told that I have striking features. Dead straight platinum blonde hair comes down to the middle of my back and clings to my skin. Large sapphire blue eyes sparkle brightly against my smooth, porcelain skin and full, rosy lips. Ironic, since I'm an Umbral, a master of darkness and shadow. And as if having an ability wasn't enough, I am also a Dyad.

Dyads, as people of Solaria have taken to calling them, are exceedingly rare; a person born to an Impurial family, but gifted with a special ability like those of the Purials. Our blood is bronze—a mixture of the red blood of Impurials and the gold of Purials. Sometimes, we're even more powerful than the Purials of the High Houses. Being a Dyad is dangerous though, so I prefer to keep my abilities a close-kept secret when not I'm doing my job.

Anyway, I would have a better chance at hiding my identity if my head was bashed in by a stampede of horses, but I have my pride to uphold.

Changing into my black silk nightdress, I walk towards my bed, ready to crash and sleep for a month. But before I get the chance, I notice an envelope sitting on top of my sheets with the familiar black seal of a phoenix. A request. But how? My accommodations are a strict secret, so how do they know I where I'm staying? And more importantly, how did they get it into my room?

With my curiosity getting the better of me, I open the envelope to find a name I would never expect. Vellan Brillare of House Brillare and Naidos. I've never received a request to kill the crown Prince of Solaria before. My eyes drift down to the reward, and my jaw drops as my eyes widen. Five million crown coins. Whoever this person is, they're loaded like hell. My mind takes into consideration the fact that this person has the intelligence and the capability, to somehow find me and slip this request into my room, and I quickly determine that this isn't someone I should cross.

My fingers begin to smoke with harsh shadow energy as I watch the paper crumple and turn to ash. With all evidence of the request gone, I stare out my window to the high walls of the magnificent Lightfell Palace. Looks like I'll be visiting Lightfell tomorrow night.