Chapter 7: Round Three

The matches were no longer held at the same time. The competitors had been reduced to sufficient numbers for them to have fights one after another during the day on the large field, stopping only for lunch and dinner, and continuing until night fell or all were finished. This afforded fighters the luxury of studying one another, but made it nearly impossible to knock their opponent past the much larger boundaries of the field, thus depriving them of a popular and useful technique.

This also meant longer fights and more injuries.

If Syaoran thought he would be disappointed again in the morning, he was sorely mistaken. Whether the royal family wanted him out of the tournament as soon as possible now that he was a liability or Sakura had taken his request for a harder opponent to heart, he found himself facing the biggest, meanest-looking warrior he'd seen in a long time.

The man opposite him had a black eye and several old scars on his face. He sneered at Syaoran, a few of his scars twitching, and took up a stance.

Syaoran, while they waited for the trumpet blast, felt many pairs of eyes on his back. He knew that the royal family was watching him with more interest now that he'd given them his intentions. He hoped that he could present himself honorably and well.

When the trumpet-blast sounded, neither of the men attacked immediately. Instead, they circled each other, looking for weaknesses. As they did this, the rest of the world seemed to drop away and the swaying of the grass whispered victory.

Syaoran hadn't told any of the men but Fuku that he hadn't intended to win, so he didn't have to explain his change of heart. With a wolfish smile, he slid into a defensive stance to let his opponent take the first move. It was only a hesitant moment before the other man did.

His joints seemed oiled with honey and cream, he moved so smoothly and sweetly to avoid the first blow. His own attacks sang with the strength that was born of love and desire -- he was no longer fighting to impress her, he was fighting to win her, and that made a significant difference in the way he moved and struck.

He was swift, skilled, and there was no room for mistakes. In only minutes -- maybe it was moments -- the trumpet blast announced the end of the fight. He had won.

He bowed to his opponent, who scowled and spat while lifting himself from the ground, then walked back toward the stands. Syaoran could see the royal family clapping politely, the king and Sakura smiling at him. The prince only looked disgruntled -- his claps were slow and forced.

Several of the other warriors faced off, their fights more intense and grueling, lumbering masses of muscle and sweat. There were a few Syaoran noted as dangerous -- a slender youth with fast reflexes and a larger man that seemed to have studied under a master. Both of them defeated their opponents quickly, using cunning as much as power and skill.

Finally, it was time for her. Hers was the last match of the day, something Syaoran was sure they did on purpose.

The glowing coal-red sky burnished her hair and stained her clothing as the wind played across her. Somehow, the movement of her clothes and hair made the stillness of her body seem absolute, and her eyes were fathomless and solemn as she watched her opponent approach.

With the blast of the trumpet, she drew her fingers through the air as if through the water of a still pond and it seemed to ripple before her. Her lips made the barest movement as she whispered, and the wind snaked out toward her opponent. It was slow and tentative, not at all her usual rapid-fire technique -- but there was no small circle for her to flick him out of, and she seemed very conscious of this.

He seemed prepared for Windy and moved rapidly to his right, dodging the magic and rolling under it. He managed to gain several feet on her, but she neither blinked nor moved back, only murmured another spell so that his fists glanced off of an invisible shield instead of striking her. He moved back, ready to dart to the side the moment she unleashed her next spell, but she only stood there and watched him with appraising eyes -- as if trying to decide what to do.

"She doesn't want to hurt him."

Li turned to the prince, who was watching the battle narrowly, and then looked back at the quiet, still figures on the field. "What do you mean?"

"She's never hurt anyone in her life, and I'll be damned if she's not trying to find the safest way to disqualify him. She needs to just blow him up or something and be done with it."

Blow him up? "She can do that?" Li asked, alarmed.

"Do what?" The prince was irritated.

"Blow a man up? Is it a spell that inflates someone?"

The prince shook his head without taking his eyes off the battle, making his bangs fly into his face. "It's a figure of speech. I mean that she should just finish it and stop toying with the poor guy." He paused. "Not to say that I don't enjoy watching him being slowly crushed. It just makes me nervous for her to take so long."

"There she goes," Tomoyo said, stepping forward with her hands clutched against her breast and her eyes shining. Syaoran was standing conspicuously with the royal family, earning himself several dirty looks from the other warriors.

"For the love of God," Touya muttered, rolling his eyes as he realized the spell she'd used. "Could she get any softer?"

"It's her way," Tomoyo retorted in a rebuke so gentle it might have been a caress.

Li was staring at the field in bemusement. "What spell is that?" he asked the prince.

Touya's lips were twisted in a sardonic smile. "Float," he replied. True to the name of the spell, the man touched by it was bouncing gently toward them, rolling a little in the air as he tried to understand exactly what was happening to him. "That," he told Syaoran in a low voice, "is my insane sister. You still like her?"

Syaoran smiled. "I like that she solved the matter in a peaceful way. Blood should never be drawn if it can be helped."

Touya snorted and watched the befuddled warrior touch ground, staggering like a man too long at sea. He was now outside the fighting area and the trumpet was blown to announce the winner.

At dinner, Syaoran found himself talking to Tomoyo and her mother again, but there was a palpable undercurrent of understanding between the three. Syaoran found that they were perfectly willing to tell him about Sakura -- enthusiastic, even, to extol her virtues.

"He's going to think I'm a saint."

Syaoran had seen her come up behind the other two women, arms across her midsection and goblet in hand. Her head was set at a self-conscious tilt, but she laughed and smiled as they made room for her in their circle, joining the conversation with ease. While the other two women were busy agreeing with each other on something, she snuck a look under her bangs at Syaoran. She blushed and looked away when she saw that he was looking at her, but the impression of his steady, kind gaze stayed with her and made her a little breathless.

"Tell me something that you can't do."

She looked up into his eyes -- he was smiling at her -- and wished she hadn't. It made a weird floating sensation appear in her stomach and her mind went blank.

"It would be comforting to know that you're not perfect at everything." His eyes were laughing a little now, as if he knew what was going through her mind, but there was a blush staining his cheeks at his own impertinence. Am I really teasing the princess?

"I'm not," she protested, but didn't have enough air to put any force behind it. "I'm not perfect." She searched for something, trying to force her way past the strange blockage that wanted to pull up from her heart and fill her throat. "I'm horrible at math. And I'm not a great singer -- that would be Tomoyo." She turned to beam at her friend, relieved as the attention moved off of her.

"I don't think I've heard you sing," he said politely to Tomoyo, smiling in a friendly fashion.

"You did." Touya had come up to them, holding his own goblet and watching Syaoran through the same narrowed eyes with which he watched his sister fight. "Yesterday evening -- the song spell uses Tomoyo's voice." While Syaoran thought about this, he turned to Sakura. "Yukito is in bed -- he does nothing but sleep and eat these days. Even getting up the other night was hard for him."

"Doesn't he do nothing but eat anyway?" Lady Sonomi chuckled, but she silenced at the prince's unamused look.

"He's tired," he told Sakura. "Abnormally so -- even though he's not had to do much, staying transformed all the time is taking a toll on his body."

Her eyes were dark with concern as she looked back at her brother. "Should I use Kero tomorrow?"

The prince nodded. "It would be good to give him a break."

She smiled and nodded. "Okay. And thank you for telling me. I know he would never complain, so I'm glad you kept an eye on him."

Touya smiled. "You're not the only one who cares, monster."

She glared at him but refrained from stepping on his foot since they were in public. "Good night, Touya," she growled, expecting him to go, but he only raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not going to bed until you do. Someone," he said, shooting a look at Tomoyo who blushed and looked guilty, "has to make sure you stay chaperoned."

"Touya!" Sakura blushed, making a subtle attempt of stomping on him which he evaded.

But Syaoran was a few sentences back. "Yukito transforms? That fellow I met last night?"

The royal children stopped squabbling and turned to look at him blankly. He met their gazes and tilted his head, inquisitive.

"We should take this outside," Tomoyo murmured. They had already drawn some attention when the champion joined them, but when Touya had ambled over more and more eyes and ears started turning their way. Touya had kept his voice low concerning his friend, but it would be impossible to keep anything else quiet with the attention they were gathering.

"Yukito," Sakura whispered when they were outside, taking Syaoran's arm and leaning close to him as the others gathered around them at the railing, "is Yue. Not many people know this -- not even my own courtiers -- and it's important to keep it quiet." She took a deep breath and glanced up into Syaoran's eyes to gauge his reaction. What she saw there bolstered her. "He can stay transformed for long periods of time, but three days in a row is kind of rough. Yukito, being human and weaker, shows the strain more than Yue does -- he can't help falling asleep and he's always hungry. He's trying to replenish the energy that Yue uses up."

"But Yue doesn't really do anything on the field. How can he be using up magic?"

Sakura bit her lip. "He's never stayed transformed for this long. Yue needs a lot more energy to just be than Yukito does -- so --"

"Yue's being," Touya interrupted, finishing her uncertain thought, "is taking up Yukito's reserve energy stores. And by staying transformed from early until late at night, Yukito doesn't have enough time to replenish them. It's only a matter of time before he burns out." He looked displeased at having to tell Syaoran this, but Syaoran was too deep in thought to notice.

"Wouldn't the men be suspicious if your guard suddenly had to take a day off? It might imply weakness."

Sakura bit her lip again, but this time he noticed it and flushed. He knew he shouldn't stare at her lips with three other people looking at them, but he couldn't help himself . . .

"You can let go now," Touya growled at them both. Sakura was still hanging onto the guy's arm, and she jumped when she noticed.

"Sorry," she blushed. He only looked away and shrugged, both of them awkward. Syaoran was pulsing with the need to kiss her, and Sakura was pulsing with embarrassment. Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Finally, Syaoran shook his head. "I should go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day." But as he turned, he found himself being grabbed from behind and yanked back, off balance. Soon, the prince had him by his shirtfront, and Syaoran had to fight every instinct to strike out and free himself.

"You aren't going to tell anyone about this, right? Because if you do, I'll kill you myself." His eyes were fierce and black in the darkness, not their usual sparkling brown.

"I'm not an idiot," Syaoran said through slightly gritted teeth. Despite himself, he was glaring back. "I know I can't win her if I betray the people she loves."

Touya let him go reluctantly and watched him go. "I really hate that guy," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Sakura had watched him leave too, but didn't say anything to this. Tomoyo, watching her, smiled a little. "I think you're the only one here who does, Touya," she murmured, and the princess turned to blink at her.

"Hm?"

Tomoyo and Sonomi left, laughing.

Sakura watched them go, confused, then turned to her brother. "I was thinking about what he said," she told the still-frowning Touya. His eyes turned on her and softened. He just couldn't glare at his sister. She, however, didn't notice this. "Yue's absence would be conspicuous, and I don't know how the competitors would take it."

"But you agreed that he needed to rest."

"Yes, yes," she soothed, seeing that he was getting worked up. "I don't mean to drag him out of bed. But it might be good to make it look like he's there. To have a decoy."

"Ah." His eyes widened a little as he understood.

The siblings smiled at each other in the cool night breeze -- neither, for once, thinking about Syaoran Li.

The warriors were kept in the guest servant quarters -- a large room with lots of beds that was well-warmed by heating grates. It was too early in the year for the fires to be lit within the grates -- even though the nights were still a bit cold, the body heat at night made the room almost warmer than it was in the daytime.

Syaoran had a hard time falling asleep at night until all the other men did, so he was awake and sitting against a wall with his chin resting on his chest when the other men approached him. His eyes were closed and his breathing even, but he could hear their clumsy attempts to be quiet.

The first hand that reached for him to shake him awake was twisted and pulled so that the owner fell face-forward onto the ground at Syaoran's feet. He was soon standing with his foot on the offender's wrist and his eyes scrutinizing the rest of the men from under his bangs.

"What?" he ground out, interpreting the looks in their eyes as trouble.

No one else tried to touch him, which was just as well because he was ready to rip their arms off for trying. But they did speak, hurling insults and warnings at him, and the few things he caught led him to believe that they were angry about his cozy evening with the champion and the prince.

"If you have a problem with me," Syaoran cut through, glaring at them, "then take it out on the field. Choose somebody to fight me, and I'll meet him in fair combat tomorrow. I'm sure they'd allow a last-minute schedule change."

There was some low muttering and shifting and he thought that the matter was taken care of until one of the men stepped forward with a grim smile. "No, your lordship," he gave a mock bow. Syaoran knew that he was fairly identifiable as foreign nobility, but this startled him all the same. "We think this should be taken care of now. We don't like rich foreigners messing too much with our women. We think a local man should win this."

"So," another said, stepping beside his friend, "we're going to get rid of you. Tonight."

Syaoran didn't move back, even though unease was furling rapidly in his stomach. He only ground his foot on the wrist beneath him, halting the defeated man's pathetic move to get away, then shifted his feet as he saw the tensing of muscles before him, controlling his breath. On the first movement in the group before him, he used his right leg to propel him -- backwards. He landed high on the wall and used it as a springboard to hurl himself over the heads of the men surrounding him. He landed with bended knees, ignoring the shock of impact that tried to jar his body and make him fall over, and tore the amulet from around his neck, concentrating as he ran straight through the rest of the men in the hall and feeling the comforting weight of his sword as it appeared in his hand. Those he charged through fell back, avoiding the glint of steel, but they would long remember the hard, savage determination in the eyes of the man passing them.

He wasn't running away from the fight -- he was just moving to higher ground. He needed to be outside where he could use magic without worrying about hitting bystanders or setting the room on fire.

Where they got swords between the guest servant's hall and the training field, Syaoran only suspected, though he knew that they weren't allowed to wield them until the second part of the tournament was underway, and they certainly weren't supposed to have them in the living area. But Syaoran had already surmised that many of the men had their weapons hidden somewhere near them -- no true warrior would be caught without some kind of defense in a hostile situation like this.

The men were spread out because some were faster than others, so Syaoran met the first few with a grim smile, letting his steel speak for him.

He didn't kill them. He knew, though, that these first few men wouldn't be able to finish the tournament. It gave him a sinking sort of satisfaction. He, as yet, didn't know how the royal family would react to this late-night expedition-- but if he got away with it, there would be a few less contestants on the morrow.

He had time to stretch briefly before the second round got there -- he needed his blood to move swiftly through his veins and his muscles to be long and loose. Because, he mused as the next set of men fell upon him, this would be a long, rough night.

AN: I'd like to thank SibylSofiana for recommending a really good CCS fic in her review. Everyone, please feel free to recommend things to me, since I haven't been reading CCS for too long.(Along with any comments you may have about this story, of course!) And I'd like to thank everyone for reviewing and encouraging me. Reviews remind me that taking tests and copying notes aren't the only things I need to be doing!