At least ten bug bites. Zanna’s arms and neck itched, but she ignored the irritation with willpower. The river boats from Maga were large rectangular boats, with a narrow point in the front to divide the water. Four posts and a thick wooden canopy covered the stiff-backed chairs where Zanna, Tylan, Lady Marna, and Lord Reeth were seated.
It was an overcast day, though the world was not as dull and grey as it had been in the days a few months ago. In the regular shade, bugs sought out the flesh of living things.
“What is your favourite food?” Tylan asked.
Zanna smiled. She had a sword leaning against her chair, Justice, and her spear leaned against the canopy’s corner nearby. “I like a good steak,” she said. “Boar, gazelle, bull. But if you want my favourite flavour… spicy. You?”
“Steak?” Tylan said, smiling. “Bold. I enjoy spice—we have a wider variety and a greater intensity in Tal’lashar. My favourite dish is a pasta prepared with blood pepper.”
“I’d like to try that,” Zanna said. They continued down the river, watching steam rise from the shade and bugs zipping to and from. Incense burned at the fore and aft of their river boat, but it did not do a perfect job. Zanna had brought fifty men, on four additional crafts.
“Your parents… well I’ve heard about them. Let’s not talk about the end of that. What’s your favourite memory of them?” Tylan asked.
Zanna grinned. She knew the answer already, but felt silly speaking it. Fortunately, her other two lords were far enough away that her quiet words were only given to Tylan. “On my father’s fiftieth birthday, he threw a ball. I went with Rejer Morota, the son of the lord who spoke during my audience a few weeks ago. He was, I will admit, one of the most handsome boys my age—”
“Should I be worried?” Tylan questioned, with mock concern.
“No,” Zanna said. “I was a sixteen-year-old princess. Beside, Rejer wasn’t even the best part. It was just… the most magnificent occasion I’d ever seen, a feast, a dance, entertainment. Everyone was there, and dressed so vibrantly.” In her mind, the lively feast hall filled all of her senses once more.
“I’d like to attend a ball in Maga,” Tylan said. “I suspect it will be much different than a masquerade in Tal’lashar.”
“I suspect so also,” Zanna said, laughing. She sipped a glass of wine from the small table between them. The river boat moved so gently along the stream, guided by the skill of paid servants.
Tylan joined her in a moment of tranquility. The golden fields on either side of the river were only obstructed by the occasional black root tree, stark but beautiful trees in the midst of the heavenly hills. “We’re going to deal with bandits,” Tylan said, after a few moments and looked back at Zanna with a frown. “I’ve fought a few duels in Tal’lashar. Our sport, you see. But I’ve never fought in a real skirmish or battle. Have you?”
Zanna nodded. “Twice. I fought at my father’s side once. Not in the battle where he perished, but one before that. And again, I once helped my guards deal with a gang in our very streets during my mother’s reign.”
“An accomplished warrior,” Tylan said, sheepishly. “I’m afraid I won’t be the stronger of our coupling, should I win my betrothal.” He winked and she looked down into her cup rather than answer his presently unvoiced question.
“Does that bother you?” she asked. She could not contest his words.
Tylan shrugged. “Not a bit,” he said. “I’ll wear the masks in the secret feasts. You fight the wars.”
Zanna chuckled. She’d only started getting to know him, but Tylan was as bold as he was charming. She watched the fields roll by as their small fleet approached the stolen town of Kykai. He’d see her fight at some point, but she hoped they could convince the bandits to compromise.