Chapter Eight

"Trick Tile?" Sakura says, forehead wrinkling.

Syaoran grimaces, watching as the last pieces of the giant game board lock into place. "The objective is to illuminate as many tiles as you can, using the color of each illuminated square to identify which tiles might be traps."

Understanding dawns in Sakura's eyes. "It's a strategy game."

Syaoran nods grimly. Sakura's luck might give them a marginal advantage when they run out of safe tiles, but it won't save them if they make a mistake. I should have been more insistent about keeping Sakura out of this tournament, he thinks, hands clenching. I should have guessed we might face a trial like this.

"You've played this game before?" Sakura asks.

"A few times." With Ryuuo. "I've never illuminated the entire board."

Sakura presses her lips into a thin line, staring at the empty board through the bars of the portcullis. "We have to try," she says at last.

Syaoran bows his head, neither acknowledging the words nor refuting them. They need to recover Sakura's feather. They've spent weeks angling for an opportunity. But Ryuuo's words about the dangers of this tournament thread through his mind, a reminder of everything they're risking, and anxiety creeps over him like frost across a pond.

Two minutes later, a slender woman clad in the tight-fitting clothes of The Red Band's attendants calls everyone in the tunnel to attention and explains the rules of Trick Tile. "In tonight's game, the objective is not to fill out the entire board," she says, her dark eyes panning across the participants. "Instead, one member of each team will start on a designated tile and make their way to another tile across the board. Once that person has been directed to their starting position, they will be blindfolded by one of the attendants, and their partner will guide them to the final tile using only their voice. Teams who make it all the way across the board will proceed to the next round."

A curly-haired man in a black pea-coat steps forward. "What happens if someone sets off a trap?"

"That depends." Something cold flickers in the woman's eyes. Annoyance? Contempt? Whatever it is, it melts away before Syaoran can identify it. "By itself, triggering a trick tile will not disqualify you from the round. However, the traps are designed to stun or incapacitate whoever triggers them, so it would be wise to avoid them. So long as you are physically able to continue, you may do so. Note, however, that some of the traps may be deadly. If at any point either team member wishes to forfeit, they merely need to announce their intention and wait until one of us can disable the traps. Questions?" When no one speaks, the woman nods. "Your names will be called in accordance with the tickets you drew earlier this evening. If any of you require anything, direct your request to the attendant at the end of the tunnel. The first round will begin shortly."

As the woman walks away, Syaoran turns to Sakura. "I'll wear the blindfold. You can direct my movements."

Sakura regards him, dismay and frustration warring on her face before settling into calm resolve. "No," she says. "I'll go into the arena. You can be my guide."

"Princess—"

"They're my memories," she whispers, her fingers knotting in the lacy trim of her skirt. "If there is an opportunity to recover them without risking anyone else, I have to take it. And also," she adds before he can object, "you understand this game better than I do. It's only reasonable for you to lead."

He bows his head to hide his expression. You're too valuable to put yourself at risk like this, he almost says, but he has watched this Sakura through his clone's eyes, and he knows the argument won't sway her. There is a reason Sakura is so beloved by her people: in her eyes, everyone's life matters. No one is expendable, not even him.

"As you wish, Princess," he says, the words bitter on his tongue.


A woman dies during the second game.

"To the left," her partner says from the glass platform suspended above the arena. Her eyes widen as she realizes her mistake, and she cries out, voice panicked. "No, the right!"

The words come too late. The blindfolded woman's foot comes down on the wrong tile, triggering a mine. The explosion ripples through the arena, disturbing the sand piled up along the edges of the board, and shards of translucent tile tear through the blindfolded woman as if she's made of tissue paper.

Shock ripples through the audience, then dissolves into cheers. On the platform, the dead woman's partner falls to her knees, staring down at her friend's remains and sobbing.


The next few games go better. In two, the blindfolded participants make it all the way across the arena without triggering any mines. Syaoran stands by Sakura's side, queasy. The Red Band's attendants had briefly entered the arena to clear away the remains of the game's first victim and replace the shattered tiles, but in their haste to move onto the next round, they'd left bits of viscera behind, and the coppery scent of blood lingers at the back of Syaoran's throat, making him want to retch.

Three rounds after the first death, a man triggers a trap. This time, instead of an explosion, the man receives a debilitating electrical shock and collapses onto the tiles behind him, clutching his chest. Syaoran freezes, watching the man convulse until the current subsides. The crowd goes silent—not in horror, but in anticipation—then applauds as the man rises to his feet, hands trembling. His partner, an alternate version of Shougo, looks even more shaken, but manages to talk the man through the rest of the round without setting off any other traps.

The next team consists of Souma and her partner. Syaoran watches them pause as the attendants lower the platform, blinking in surprise when Souma leans forward and kisses the dark-haired woman, first on the lips, then on the tattoo on her cheek. Even after his clumsy kiss with Ryuuo a week ago, Syaoran hasn't given much thought to how same-sex relationships might be perceived in this world. It's not an issue in Clow—unsurprisingly, given the way Touya and Yukito interact—but he's seen countries where such relationships are mocked or considered unnatural, and it's always somewhat discomfiting.

Evidently, same-sex relationships carry no such stigma here. Several members of the crowd let out hoots of excitement, while the rest offer the usual applause as Souma steps onto the platform. Her partner takes her position on the starting square, closing her eyes as an attendant steps forth to blindfold her. As the viewing platform rises to its height, Souma leans against the railing. "Forward one tile."

The tattooed woman steps forward, and as her foot touches the tile, several adjacent squares light up in various colors, indicating how many traps surround each one.

After a moment's consideration, Souma calls out another instruction. "Diagonal, forward and to your right. Now forward another tile. Left. Forward."

With each command, Souma's partner takes a single, careful step, touching down at the center of each tile and gradually making her way toward the other side of the board. With her shoulders loose and her hands folded in front of her body, she looks calm, almost relaxed. Even when Souma orders her back several steps to explore a less dangerous path, the woman's composure stays steady.

This is what trust looks like, Syaoran thinks, surprised by the rush of wonder he feels. Total confidence in your partner's choices. He glances up through the gaps in the portcullis, eyes sweeping the crowds for a glimpse of Ryuuo. Perhaps it's because he's known other versions of Ryuuo, or perhaps it's because this Ryuuo's idealism is a welcome contrast to the rest of this world, but despite how little time they've spent together, they've developed a surprising degree of trust in one another.

Trust, and something more. A connection. Desire. It's not quite love—love requires honesty, openness, and Syaoran has kept too many secrets for real love to bloom. But maybe, with time, they could . . .

No. He stomps the thought out before it can catch fire. Even if I could tell him everything, we'll be leaving this world as soon as the tournament is over. Whatever this is, it won't last.

He turns his attention back to the arena. Souma's partner has activated nearly half the tiles on the board, carving out several false paths. Syaoran studies the patterns in the colors, mentally eliminating suspect tiles and picking out those which must be safe. Above, Souma does the same, her approach methodical, and after another dozen moves, her partner safely reaches the final square.

Syaoran exhales sharply, closing his eyes and sagging against the iron portcullis. He may have to face Souma and her partner in a later round, but he is glad that, for now, he doesn't have to watch either of them fall to the cruelties of this game.


Nearly two hours pass before their turn comes.

Every twenty minutes or so, an attendant enters their tunnel to offer miniature cakes and iced tea, but Syaoran is scarcely aware of the refreshments, his stomach too unsettled even for water. Three people have been killed since Souma saw her partner safely across the board, one after a single misstep, two after being stunned by a non-lethal trap and falling onto one of the mines.

"Are you ready?" Sakura asks.

He lifts his head, confused. Sakura gestures to the arena, where the pair of women ahead of them are currently navigating the board. "We'll be heading into the arena soon. I wanted to make sure you were prepared."

"Oh." He swallows, fighting off another ripple of nausea. "Of course, princess."

Sakura studies him for a moment, then reaches forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be all right. I know you'll see me safely across."

How can you have so much faith in me? "I will," he says, because it's the response she's expecting. The response she deserves, even if he can't believe in it himself.

Beyond the tunnel, the crowd roars as the pair ahead of them reaches the final square. Syaoran straightens his back, looking forward as the attendants remove the woman's blindfold and lower the platform so her partner can embrace her. Too soon, they're retreating into the exit tunnel, the gate in front of Syaoran rising. This is it, he thinks, squaring his shoulders.

Beside him, Sakura lets her hands drop to her sides, waiting until the bottom of the portcullis clears their heads. Then, together, they step into the arena.