Prologue
The air was hot and thick in the grove. It was the kind of hot, stifling air with no breeze, that stuck to your lungs. Breathing was hard, much less moving about. The Campana estate boasted many gardens, orchards and groves. Antiva was famous for her gragrant, luscious peaches. This grove housed nearly a hundred great peach trees, swollen and heavy with the precious fruit. On the outskirts of the estate was a small winery which turned a portion of the fruits into wines. Katarina Campana shifted from foot to foot, waiting with a tray laden with her newest dessert confections to be served to the lady of the estate and her noble friends. It was too hot to suffer these formalities. And she was tired of suffering the whims of her noble employer, when this estate should be hers instead. Another servant signaled to her. Throwing on a bright smile, Katarina carried the tray out into the sunlight.
The Campana family was once famous and great. Queen Asha Campana had married the King of Antiva and proceeded to bare him a number of children whom she promptly married into the most noble and important families across Thedas. Her grandchildren had been married as such as well, Asha's influence stretched far and wide. For all her ambition, she was not said to be a cold or heartless monarch.
Despite the family's greatness in history, their current standings in society were quite different, indeed a stark contrast to times past. Most of the Campana line had since died out and their family seats dissolved or bought by current noble families. At this estate in Antiva City, everything was left intact as a gesture and testament to the greatness the family had once held. It was currently owned by the Fortunate family. The Fortunatos were merchant princes and the family's patriarch, Pero, was a high-ranking Antivan Crow. He rarely visited the estate, having purchased it for one of his daughters. Patrice and her husband Cesare lived here now. Cesare was a wine merchant who made good use of the winery on site. His wife, Patrice was vain and mean. She was known to be abusive to her slaves and lavish with her money. She was well feared out of respect for her father and husband. She had borne her husband one son at the beginning of their marriage when she was only 14 and then banished him from her bed, refusing to get with child and go through the horrors of the birthing chamber again. She selected mistresses for her husband now, even keeping some at the Campana estate. As for her own yearnings, she chose to watch her slaves mate while either a male or female slave serviced her with their mouth. It is within this chaotic abyss of depravity that Katarina Campana found herself, searching for her family's history and a place in the world. Katarina was one of the last living descendants of Queen Asha, born to a great-great something or other grandson of the Grandmother of Thedas. Katarina had been born in Treviso and grown up in relative comfort until her family had all died in a shipwreck off the coast of Rilato Bay. Afterwards, it was discovered her father was actually in great debt. One of his creditors put a price on Katarina's head, hoping to recoup some of his loss through any heirlooms she might possess. So she had fled, barely escaping the Crows sent after her. She'd run from town to town, working odd jobs and barely escaping the life of a slave as well. Her luck began to run short when she arrived in Antiva City. She had trouble finding work in the city but eventually landed a job as a kitchen urchin at the Campana estate. Until she was brought to the house, she had no idea that her new employers were usurpers of a home and title she rightly deserved. She gave her first name always anyways, always lying and saying she had no memory of a last name, that her mother had been a whore and she'd never had a father. It felt like a betrayal to the loving parents she had, but one day she promised them silently, she would redeem her family's name and honour. No one questioned an unknown bastard who was no threat to the current dynasty. It took only a year for her to work her way up in the kitchen ranks. She was disciplined, discreet and talented. She had a nose for flavor and enough creativity to keep Patrice and her retinue sated. She lay low, keeping her secrets, collecting information and never making an impression other than the delicacies she cooked. By her second summer she was only one in rank below the head cook, who was becoming old and would eventually retire.
Her betrayal had reversed everything good in him. Every learned kindness, every bit of compassion and goodness slipped away the day Warden Elissa Cousland left his side to marry Alistair Therein and rule Ferelden. Elissa had spent years fighting along Zevran's side, through unimaginable perils and as never wavering in her loyalty to him. Not one night went by when she and Zevran slept apart, making passionate love most nights. They were bound by war and Zevran had thought, love. But once the Arch Demon had been slain, Elissa put Alistair on the throne…and herself too. It was no secret that the hapless Warden boy had always harbored a penchant for Elissa. She was, after all, beautiful and clever and noble. But Elissa had, from the moment she met him, been cold towards him. She had never encouraged his advances or paid him any attention. Until that day. Until her speech in front of everyone at Denerim. She'd had Anora executed just like she had Anora's father. Zevran had always suspected his lover as ambitious, but never enough to commit such a betrayal. She hadn't even said goodbye. She had simply moved into the Castle with Alistair and his bed too. Castle guards had collected her things from the campsite outside Denerim. They'd been married the day afterwards. Zevran hadn't been invited but that had never stopped the Crow from crashing a party before. He'd slipped in to the reception, cornering Elissa as she had made to relieve herself, likely after too much wine. They had railed at each other, screaming and yelling. To Zevran, it was as if his love had died the moment she spoke at Alistair's coronation. She offered no sympathy then, in her wedding finery. No excuse, nothing. She spoke of nothing but duty and preservation of the realm. All Zevran had really heard was power. She wanted power and would stop at nothing to achieve that. Before he left her, he had contemplated all manner of things. He wanted to hurt her one last time, make her feel even a shadow of the turmoil she'd sent him spiraling into. He could kill her, rape her there in her wedding dress. In the end, he settled for dumping the nearest wine goblet on her fine dress and ripping the blue earring out of her ear with one quick, fluid motion. She had no right to keep the trinket, after all. Blood had spattered and she had shrieked in pain, at last. Perhaps not emotional pain, like he had felt, but it was pain at least. Zevran had left Denerim that very day, traveling without resting until he found a port and booked passage back to Antiva.
He successfully killed every Crow assassin sent after him, until he was at last summoned and brought back into the familiar fold of the life of a Crow. He had transitioned back into the life as easily as if he'd never left. He preferred it that way. Pretending none of it had ever happened was the easiest way to forget her. He bedded every whore he fancied, man and woman, always using a skin made from the bladder of a sheep to ensure he got no bitch with babe or contracted any disease. It was expensive to purchase the skins, but the life of a Crow paid well, especially for one as notorious as Zevran Arainai. He moved up the ranks, never slept without a blade and closed off his emotions completely. It had been four years since he left Fereldan and he had recently purchased a nice chateau on the outskirts on Antiva City. It was quiet there and Zevran could relax infrequently when the insanity of the life of a Crow wore him down. It was settled on a few acres and Zevran had a stable built and purchased several racing horses, nearly all stallions. To the south, a few miles from him was the vast Campana estate, housing one of his colleagues, Pero and his bitch wife. Zevran had been settled in his new home only a few weeks before an invitation to a ball at his neighbors arrived. Zevran hated the stuffy affairs, especially in the summertime, but it would be a useful chance to gather information he could use against others at a later time and also to sample some fine Campana wine and a whore or two.
Zevran kept little attendants at his home. Just the necessities and even these he regularly discharged. He wanted no one close to him, no one familiar enough to ever have the chance to stick him in the back. He kept no manservant or butlers, only a small handful of servants to clean and cook and attend the horses. When he hired someone, he made himself clear that it was a temporary situation, no matter how well they could cook or clean. This plan served him well. He was not a target any longer, but he never turned his back. He never would again.
He dressed himself for the ball he'd grudgingly accepted an invitation to. Zevran loved fine clothing. He pulled satin breeches from his closet, a vivid blue and dark blue, leather overlays. He pulled a black silk tunic and blue cotton undershirt out as well. After bathing, he pulled the clothing on and studied himself in the mirror of his bedchamber. Silently, he walked over to a small jewelry cask on one of the bed tables and picked a pair of sapphire cuff links. He added these and polished silver, calf length riding boots. Still not satisfied, he retrieved a wide, black dragon hide belt inlaid with gems of all shades of blue, stamped into the hide in an extravagant pattern. Securing it loosely about his waist to rest on his hips, he looked at himself in the mirror again. Leaving the shirt unbuttoned to expose his smooth skin, he was finally satisfied. His white blonde hair was pleated on the sides and brushed until it gleamed. He'd just had it trimmed a week ago and it fell neatly just below his shoulders. Grabbing his daggers, he stashed one in his boot, a small knife in his pocket and the largest on his side encased in a sheath. Quickly descending the steps, he picked up the invitation from the formal desk inside the hall of the chateau. Smirking, he slid it into the pocket inside his doublet and grabbed a peach from the basket of fruit sent over with the invitation. Taking the letter opener from the desk, he sliced off a few pieces, savoring the sweet flesh of the fruit. Outside, he took the reins of his stallion from the stable hand and dismissed him for the evening. Grinning, he took one last piece of peach and reached up to his neck, allowing some of the juice to dribble onto his neck, earlobes and chest and dry. Women were just as mad about scent as were men and Zevran loved the smell of the famed Antivan peach. Tossing the pit to one of the begging hounds in the yard, he checked the straps and saddle for any breaks or cuts. Satisfied, he lithely jumped into the saddle of the impatient stallion and thundered down the drive of his home, enjoying the feel of the powerful beast below him. The evening sun was setting and there was finally a slight breeze over Antiva City. As Zevran turned the corner into the courtyard, his stallion's hooves clattering on the cobblestones, he turned more than one head. Jumping down from the saddle, he handed the reins to a waiting slave and strode up the stairs to enter the Campana home and their summer fete.