“Flower petals!” said Mero.

Lord Glove shifted in his seat to face him, “Pardon?”

“That’s what the blossoms look like, flower petals. I’ve never seen trees like this before. They’re beautiful.”

Lord Glove looked puzzled, “They’re empress trees. Surely you’re familiar with them?”

“I can’t say I am. Why? Are they popular?”

“There is a grove in every city in former Ganthiel. Does your own dom not contain them?”

Mero studied the tan coloured trees. Their purple petals were quite large. Perhaps they attracted bees.

“Are they cultivated for honey or…?”

Lord Glove rocked back as though Mero had slapped him.

“They’re for funeral rights. What do you do with your dead?”

“We burn them.”

Lord Glove’s face turned white, revealing twin scars beneath his eyes. They were faded, but not enough to disguise the fact that they were intentional. A pattern of some sort.

“You… you destroy their memory,” Lord Glove said, “What is left to honour those who have died?”

Mero glanced from Lord Glove’s scars to his troubled eyes. The poor man was in agony. What had Mero said to upset him?

“What honour do the dead deserve?” Mero asked, “They’re not doing anything.”

“We honour them for all they have done. The trees carry their burdens after they are gone. In this way we show the dead their burdens were real. We show the dead they were real and shall be forever more.”

“Why? How many of our burdens are created by our own foolish thoughts? Why should we continue to honour idle flights of fantasy?”

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“Because we are made from our values.” Lord Glove said, “Our burdens are a reflection of our conscience, of our very soul. ‘What matters our burdens?’ ‘What matters our lives?’! You may as well ask ‘What matter the fate of the world?’”

“Then I ask it. What matters anything? Do we only give things value so we can choose something to die for?”

“We choose something to live for.”

“What is the difference Lord Glove? When one is willing to die for something, whether their country, or love, or an ideal, they make that their reason for living.”

“What of girls? Isn’t something accomplished whenever a girl becomes an adult?”

Mero laughed, despite himself. The man’s views were so peculiar, “If our only goal is to raise our girls so they may raise their own girls, then we delude ourselves with false accomplishments. You speak of the fate of the world, but there is no fate if everything remains the same.”

“What if we are maintaining perfection?”

Mero’s temper flared. He took a breath to calm himself before speaking, “My sister died from a fever when she was four. A dog bit her, and the wound became infected. Is that perfection?” he spat the word, “Why must our values carry on? Why not let the burdens fall and admit they never mattered?”

“We all need a reason to keep on living,” Lord Glove whispered, looking away.

“Why is living so important if we must make up reasons to do it? Can you answer me that, Lord Glove?”

“No. To think this all started when you noticed the magnificence of these trees.”

Mero smiled. Lord Glove had an answer after all, even if he wasn’t aware of it, “Shall we talk of something else?”

“We must: Lija.”

Mero fidgeted in his seat. He had been trying to avoid thinking about her their entire journey. How would she react to seeing him? It had been what, three years? Did he have any right to go to her side immediately after her brother’s death? It felt wrong, dishonest, “I’m more nervous than I can say. I love her, and she loved me, but… Are you certain this will work out?”

“I’ve seen more failures in my life than I have successes. I am not certain of anything.”

Mero’s heart lurched and his stomach began to flutter, “Then why try?”

“Because, sometimes, I succeed.”

Mero nodded, though the pounding of his heart did not subside.

“There are things we can do to increase our odds,” said Lord Glove, “Her parents are still distraught about the death of their eldest. With their youngest’s abdication, they will be resistant to a more powerful noble wishing to marry their daughter, even a noble they know well. This is a difficult request, but if you agree to cede your dom to Lija upon marriage—”

Mero laughed. He couldn’t help himself. His rule was the least of his concerns. They were talking about him marrying Lija, “She can have it! I will guide her administration, even rule if necessary, but it shall be her family’s legacy which continues.”

“Have you considered your parents’ reaction? What of their own legacy?”

“Have you forgotten already? My people let our burdens go.”