Quick note: This story will be written in two POV: Zevran and Katarina. It may not bounce back and forth often. There will be more from Katarina than Zevran. This is a post-Origins affair, so it is AU. There are canon plot points from Origins that have affected Zevran, but this story takes place afterward. No, I don't intend to write the pre-story from Zevran's perspective. Sorry! And yes, I changed the original spelling of Katarin's name to suit my fancy. Antiva City is my Rome, per say. Enjoy! Pretty please with lyrium dust on top, leave a review, even a few words.
Chapter the First
Katarina
There was truly no need for a pre-party in the grove. Katarina was beyond livid with her employer's idea. It was the peak of summer and in Antiva City that meant extreme heat. It hadn't rained in weeks, which was unusual. But Lady Patrice had declared she was bored by the dust and wanted to have a summer ball. Granted, nights were considerably cooler, but a pre-celebration was an awful idea. It was simply too hot. Even Lord Cesare, Patrice's husband, had tried to dissuade his wife. She wouldn't be budged.
And so Katarina had rallied her kitchen troops and planned the evening feast. For appetizers she chose simple trays of fruit cut into delicate shapes, oysters with a rich plum dipping sauce and lemon spiced cakes. Katarina didn't want to plan anything overly heavy with the heat and the fact that the guests would be drinking heavily. For the main courses she selected a lentil and radish dish, roasted pork, breads with a light honey dipping sauce, baked fish rolled in cabbage, and an array of roasted vegetables. She left off any heavy sauces or gravies. As for the desserts, she of course would bake these herself, they were her favourite. Orange pastries dyed Fortunato blue with blueberry juice and a whipped confection made from Antivan peaches and spices. It took Katarina ages to perfect the consistency. It would be served in the hulls of the peaches and those painstakingly carved with the Fortunato crest. It was a daunting task, but Katarina enjoyed a challenge. Her superior was old and gladly gave up the reins to her for this and most other tasks.
This was all and well until a few days before the summer ball, Lady Patrice decided, on a whim as usual, she wanted to have a summer tea in the orchard. She wanted it a few hours before the ball, to entertain the noble ladies who had traveled from afar to attend the event. Katarina had enough on her hands without adding a midday menu but obliged grudgingly. Over the course of the psat two years, her patience had waned thin. This was her home, her family's seat and title. She meant to take it back.
Her only problem was how. She had no money and no connections to speak of. Nothing but a whisper of a name from the great pages of history. She had begun to doubt her mission. She was smart, with an extensive memory. She gathered information over the years and guarded it as jealously as a dragon with a horde of gold. She knew who was loyal to whom. Where the funds came in and left again. Who was fucking who. All the bastards and their fathers. In the short span of two years, she'd learned all this and more. She had earned more trust from her patron family and their connections than ever thinkable of a cook or servant of any kind. They didn't realize it, either. She was inconspicuous and subtle. Knowledge was power, indeed, but alone of itself, it wasn't sufficient to give Katarina the tools to take down the Fortunatos and rise the Campana name again.
She grumbled over this as she glare in the sun, on the day of the tea, holding a tray of fresh apricot and pear puffs. Bite size pastries in different shapes, painstakingly sculpted of precious white flour and filled with a light, bubbly fruit cream. Sculpting and culinary illusions were Katarina's only joy. She never allowed the urchins or servers to present her signature dishes. This way, no one was poisoned without her leave and she could hear any praise or criticism with her own ears.
She stood still as a statue, sweat glistening on her caramel skin. She wasn't extremely short, but at a little over five feet tall, she certainly wasn't an imposing figure. Her bosom was heavy but her backside nearly flat, something that irritated her. Her waist was slim and without marks, her legs taut and smooth. Her hair was a tussle of dark gold curls, nearly a light brown, but with enough highlights to be considered more golden. She kept it always pulled back into a bun with a porcelain hair pin, stray curls escaping. Her eyes were a deep mahogany, glittering when she was delighted or angry. Her cheeks were high and her nose long and straight. She had a round chin and soft ears. Most often she wore black stone earrings, small and dull. As she sweltered in the sun, she shifted about quietly to take advantage of the shade.
A male slave clad only in a pale blue toga, the signature Fortunato colour, served the women chilled wine. The slave was marked separate from a servant by the painted torque around his neck. A small metal one, forged onto them when Lady Patrice purchased them, marking them as hers. Katarina herself was not a slave, but slaves were certainly not uncommon in Antiva. Most noble households had a few in addition to servants. It was a sort of dying tradition that lingered on with a bad stench. Lady Patrice, however, kept slaves in quantity, something she was known for as well as her ruthlessness.
Attending the lady of the house today was a small selection of Antiva's elite social circle. Lady Ursula, niece to Master Ignacio, a top Crow diplomat currently in Ferelden, was a short, squat woman who ate and drank too much. Isabella Valisti, aunt to the famed Claudio Valisti, was an older but still strinkingly handsome woman. Lady Claudette Agnes was Patrice's sister and Claudette's best friend Selena DuBois, who was the wife of one of Cesare's contacts. The three Beauchone sisters: Anna, Rosaline and Blanch were also in attendance; the spawn of some Crow merchant who was extremely wealthy and therefore important. Finally, Princess Bissette Faure, the reigning princess of Antiva and her daughter, Jacquetta were visiting from the royal castle. Lord Cesare was on good terms with Prince Louis, having supplied him with wine and arranged several mercantile contracts for Antiva as well. It was a veritable who's who nest of Antivan spiders.
Katarina listened to them demean their husbands, discuss the latest fashions and all other manner of boring prattle typical of royalty and nobility. She was near to falling asleep when the clucking hens' broached the subject of Lady Patrice's notorious exploits with her slaves. Lady Patrice threw parties regularly and due to her unique "tastes" she had garnered a reputation for said exploits. Many a noblewoman had paid heavy coin or bribed with favors for Patrice to invite her to a party where she could, indulge, in the delicacies of the flesh, wantonly so, and without fear of exposure. Lady Ursula was needling Patrice to detail her latest party and some of the women had grown bored and were flitting about the orchard with their wine goblets, discussing this or that. Various servants attended to them while Katarina stood under the shade where Lady Patrice and the young Beauchonne sisters reclined in chaises, fanned by slaves. They were fairly drunk by now and at Ursula's urging began to become a bit rowdy.
Afternoon was giving way to early evening. Katarina had the last bit of cooking to oversee but these meddlesome birds were insistent on clucking instead of retiring. Giddy from the wine, the youngest Beauchonne sister squealing after Patrice regaled them with her tale and began to tease and touch the closest slave fanning her. Katarina was watching closely. Olivere was his name and he was new to the Fortunato household. He was tall, slim and his skin was as dark as cocoa. His head was shaved and he too was dressed in nothing but a torque and toda. Rosaline got the idea to demand Olivere fornicate with another slave for their viewing pleasure. Oddly enough, Patrice became flustered and protested. The girls took this as her being partial to the appealing slave and began teasing her relentlessly. After several minutes Patrice managed to deflect the request with a promise of a show later that night after the ball. Finally, the flock retired to their rooms to bathe and sleep off the wine.
Katarina returned to her kitchens, quickly giving out orders and putting everyone to work who was idling. Once the majority of the evening's food was progressing to her satisfaction, Katarina went in search of Olivere, and more information. She found him quicker than she had anticipated. He was loitering about one of the kitchen maid who was busy peeling potatoes. Katarina hung back in the hallway, just before the doorframe, in the shadows enough to obscure the couple's view of her, yet visible enough to the corridor and anyone she should need to head off.
After a few moments of eavesdropping it was obvious Olivere was still swimming in his head from the compliments he'd received and was trying to impress and seduce the kitchen wench.
"Put down your knife and come handle mine, it's much bigger" he boasted, swaggering about the small storeroom. He was attempting at a proud peacock strut, but Katarina thought he looked more a drunken pigeon. She stifled a laugh as the wench giggled and continued to cut the potatoes. She could just see them from her position through the crack in the large doorframe. Olivere was handing her potatoes now and the black haired lass was tittering and peeling them. She had an ample bosom but not much else to remark on.
"I can't go now. The ball is tonight and Mistress Katarina will skin me instead of these potatoes if I don't finish my task." Her voice was nasally and whiney. Katarina would never understand why men would bed women randomly.
"But you're skin is so lovely. I want to caress it," the smooth talking lad tried, reaching a dirty finger to trace her neck. The wench shivered and giggled again.
"I just can't spare the time, Olivere! We're so busy!"she made to turn from him, back to the pile of vegetables.
With a quick check down the hallway, Katarina shifted her weight from foot to foot to continue watching. It was excruciatingly boring to watch the young man try to bed a common kitchen scullion. She was about to head back to the main kitchens when the conversation turned very, very interesting.
Olivere stepped behind the girl, grabbing her bosom with one hand and her arse with another. The girl jumped and turning, promptly disengaged and threw a half-peeled potato at him. "Stop! What are you doing! Do you treat Lady Patrice so harshly, too!?"
Katarina bit her lip in satisfaction at the information. Olivere immediately backhanded the wench, hard. When she began to cry, he grabbed her by the throat, pushing her against a wall. Still sobbing, the girl tried to kick him.
Easily deflecting her, he hissed, "You never, ever, speak of such again, bitch, or I will kill you." With another slap, he made to turn away.
Katarina stepped back, further into the shadows. The girl spat, "I'm telling Mistress Katarina! You're done! You..." She never got to finish her sentence and Katarina closed her eyes. SHe could hear the door slam, the girl being thrown against a wall and the rip of her dress. Katarina turned on her heel and strode back down to the main kitchen, quietly.
