Assassin

Ivy looked up as she heard a knock. She had been sharpening her knives. They were both about one and a half feet long, with a wicked sharp blade.

Ivy was eighteen years old. She had lived in Thorne's fortress her entire life, and she was his champion. Her long, silver hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, but it still extended down to her shoulders.

"Enter," she called. The door opened, and her maid, Anaya, stuck her head in. "What is it, Anaya?" She asked, clipping her blades back to her waist, one on either side.

"Thorne would like to speak with you, my lady. He's waiting in his office." Anaya's voice was timid, shaky and scared. That was to be expected. She had been imprisoned in the dungeons up until now.

"Thank you, Anaya," Ivy said, waving her hand dismissively. "You are dismissed." Anaya nodded, then left, shutting the door behind her.

Ivy stood, brushing herself off. She grabbed her black cloak, more for show and intimidation rather than warmth, and put it on. She left the hood off. Ivy liked this cloak, It billowed around her when she walked, and fell around her shoulders when she stood still, covering her black outfit.

Ivy opened the door and left, hand on one of her knives. Sometimes the servants could be really annoying.

The fortress was made completely out of stone. There were almost no decorations. The only decorations to be found were in Thorne's chambers, his office, and Ivy's chambers.

There weren't very many windows, either. Those posed the risk of more frequent assasination attempts.

They never succeeded. Thorne or Ivy always killed them first. Thorne's office wasn't far from her chambers, he preferred them close, due to, well, assassins. Ivy couldn't complain, as she was an assassin too. She arrived outside the office door.

"Thorne?" She called, knocking.

"Ah, Ivy," she heard the reply. "Come in, come in." Ivy obeyed, opening the door. Thorne was sitting behind his desk, looking through some papers. He was forty-two years old, and his face was battle-worn, covered in scars. His hair was a deep black color, but was beginning to grey on the edges.

"You wanted to see me?" She asked, sitting down in the chair he had set out for her. She leaned against one arm rest and slung her legs over the other, not a particularly femine position. She didn't care.

"Yes," Thorne replied, putting down the papers. "The citizens have formed a rebellion."

"Again?" She asked. "You'd think after eighteen years they'd accept that you're in charge and they're peasants."

"Well, they haven't," Thorne said. "Their leader," he said, handing her a drawing. "Is this man. My spies were able to get a good drawing of him." The man looked to be in his early twenties. He had a good build and a handsome face. Ivy commited the drawing to memory.

"Got it," she said, handing the drawing back to him.

"Your job," he continued. "Is to infiltrate their base and gather as much information as you can. The spies can't get close to him, he's too well protected. But I trust you can?"

"Of course," Ivy replied. It would be easier, as no one knew her real name. Not even her maid.

"I want you to get close to him," Thorne said. "And then, when the moment is right, kill him. Then, in the chaos, I'll have my elites take care of the rest."

"Understood."

"You will leave immediately."

"Yes, Father." Ivy stood.

"Oh, and one more thing." Ivy stopped in front of the door. "Be careful."

"I always am." With that, Ivy opened the door and shut it behind her with a click. She smiled. Finally, a new job to keep her occupied. She hadn't gotten to kill something for weeks. With a small laugh, Ivy returned to her chambers to pack.

She wouldn't need much, so she grabbed a regular old pack. She put in a waterskin and a loaf of bread. With a little bit of thought, she added a small sack of coins. Ivy switched her black clothes out for some brown trousers and a thin white shirt, which she tucked into the trousers. She put on some worn brown boots, and added her cloak to her pack.

Ivy took out her hair, which now fell down to her back, and cut it down to shoulder length. Then she grabbed a bottle of black gel and rubbed it into her hair, dying it black. Smiling, she tossed the gel into her pack and slipped it over her shoulders. Glancing at the mirror, she happily noticed she looked nothing like she did half an hour ago.

She slipped out her window and climbed down the wall, alighting on the ground. Then she began to walk towards her destination.