The Twelve Kingdoms: Dreaming of Paradise

in her care would only make him look bad. Which is why—"
    "Yes, I see."
    "But he did take it. I imagine in order to return it to the Taiho."
    "I don't think that was the case. Shuka-sama says that when she met with the Taiho the other day, the Kasho Kada was not in her possession."
    She had instead been clinging to some ugly old twig that scratched her face. It'd really been a pitiful sight, she said.
    "I see. But then using the Kasho Kada must be what accounts for his change of attitude. In the nick of time, wouldn't you say?"
    Seiki blinked. "Meaning what, exactly? You mean that of course the Kasho Kada confirmed His Highness's vision of the ideal world?"
    "That wouldn't be possible," Junkou unexpectedly blurted out. "Or rather, because that wasn't the case, isn't that why he adopted his present attitude?"
    "Huh?"
    "Up to that point, he hadn't made any mistakes. He'd made the right calls all along. Frankly, it made me a bit uneasy. Will the person who never stumbles recognize it when he does, and with something as important as the governance of the kingdom?"
    "Ah, yes," Seiki nodded.
    Shishou had never before experienced a personal setback that was the product of his own failings. And yet being confronted with evidence of that reality, he seemed to only harden his righteous sense of conviction.
    Seiki sighed, without meaning it, a heavy sigh. If Shishou couldn't recognize these setbacks for what they were, he'd be incapable of setting things right. Continuing on in this vein would deliver Shishou to his doom. To Eishuku and Shuka, he was a friend and colleague. To Seiki, he was the honored leader. They had both been raised by the same woman. And now he and Sairin were heading down a road of no return.
    "How did things every get to this point? What manner of mistake could His Highness have committed?"
    Junkou asked, "Seiki, have you never doubted the rightness of his course?"
    Seiki pondered the question. "No, I guess not. How about yourself?"
    Junkou didn't answer for a long minute. At length he gestured to his side, offering Seiki a seat. Seiki sat down in a corner of the gazebo.
    Junkou said, "I've had questions about whether what he's been aiming at all this time is truly the ideal kingdom. To tell the truth, it's been at the back of my mind for some time now." He smiled, but the expression on his face seemed closer to tears. "You probably think me a coward for saying this now. I think myself a coward. But still—"
    "I can't say I've ever considered thoughts like that."
    As far as anybody knew, Junkou had always thought the world of his big brother. He'd rushed to his side as soon as Shishou raised the flag of Kouto. Although scorned as "the dumb little brother," Junkou had never turned his back on Shishou and had worked his fingers to the bone on his behalf. Junkou was the last person on earth anybody expected to have a cross word to say about his brother.
    "I appreciate that," he said. "But those thoughts have been nagging at me. The ideal kingdom my brother talks about simply seems too grandiose. Like this garden." Junkou pointed at the view of Shouka Park beyond the door of the gazebo. "A scene of a deep mountain valley. A green hill, the overarching peaks perfectly fashioned with beautiful stones, constructed so that a spring flows down from atop the ledge in translucent streams, together forming a scene of glens and ravines."
    "Yes, well, that is what it is."
    "But those ridges reach no higher than the eaves. It's all on a scale much smaller than reality. In the end, it's only made to please the eye. Small enough to be formed by human hands. Small enough that human hands can keep it all in order. The pine trees looking down on the mountain stream have been pruned to look as the gardener believes they should look. The stream is untroubled by a single weed, a single spot of litter. Anything displeasing to see has been removed."
    Junkou got to his feet and stood in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder at Seiki. "There's no place here for a retiring, run-of-the-mill mind like mine."
    "Taiho—saying such things—"
    "Oh, I don't want anybody feeling sorry for me. I'm just saying that I understand my own limitations. I really do believe in my brother's brilliance and his unerring course. People like me are the complete opposite. My brother always talked to me about the ideal Sai. It really did strike me as a wonderful world, but left me a little sad as well. Because there would be no place for a person