Chapter Ninety-Six

Syaoran drifted.

He wandered past the castle grounds, beyond the ill-defined edges of the surrounding city, and into the wilderness. In the rain, there was no one to stare at him.

The walk reminded him distantly of the training exercise he'd endured in Infinity—the one where he'd walked blindfolded until his feet bled. Whenever his feet started to hurt now, however, the damage repaired itself.

It's the vampire blood, he thought, his arms convulsing around the black cloak in his hands.

Sometimes, the storm settled into nothing more than a heavy downpour, but most of the time, the raindrops flew sideways under the force of the wind. At its worst, Syaoran feared it might rip apart the cloak he was clutching so tight to his chest.

Part of him wished it would. That the wind would sheer through the dark folds and leave him with nothing to remind him of Seishirou's betrayal. But the piercing gales, though they frayed the edges of his own clothes, did little to the heavy cloth of the cloak. Once he moved into the first copse of trees, the wind subsided.

Despite this being a new world, he was on familiar terrain here. Fujitaka had led the Other through dozens of forests and jungles as they'd traveled together. Those memories, along with his supernatural agility, carried him over exposed roots and sudden dips in the ground without a conscious thought.

Water dripped less readily through the canopy, catching on the branches before filtering down to ground level. The only dangers here resided in the slick mud trying to make him lose his footing.

As he wandered, the clouds seemed to darken. Syaoran couldn't be sure whether this indicated a change in the intensity of the storm, or if the sun was setting. It seems too early for that, he thought numbly. When I left, it was lunchtime.

He slowed, realizing the rain had raised bumps on his skin. I can't feel cold like I used to, but my skin reacts the same way to low temperatures. He stared at the bumps, noting how pale and wrinkled his skin looked. It was as if he'd fallen asleep in a bathtub.

Slowly, he lowered his arm and moved it back to the cloak. He'd nearly forgotten it was there. His gaze traced the soaked folds.

"What am I doing?" he whispered to himself, shaking his head. Rain continued to filter down through the leaves.

I can't hold onto this thing, he thought. I have to bury it. I have to put Seishirou to rest and move on.

He glanced around, looking for a suitable spot. With the ground turning to mud, there wasn't much for variety. He knelt down next to a patch of mud near a tree, hoping the proximity to the roots would keep the dirt from being washed away in the storm. His fingers dug through the squishy mud, boring a deep hole in the ground. His claws slid out, carving deeper trenches. Given their length, he was surprised they were not more fragile. Each claw seemed as tough as if it had been forged of iron.

Syaoran finished with his task quickly, digging a two foot deep hole in the dirt. Rivulets of water poured in from the sides, soaking the soil it had not yet touched.

He dangled Seishirou's cloak over the pit. Then he let it come down in his lap. The rain cleared his fingernails of most of the mud, but he could feel the layer of grit in the crevasse between his fingernail and the flesh of his fingertips.

A burial should be done with more ceremony than this. Even if there isn't a body to bury . . . He exhaled, then lifted the cloak up again. Still sopping wet. He twisted it up and wrung it out, letting a fountain of water spill onto the dirt. That would probably be as dry as it got; he folded it up and let it rest in his lap for a minute.

"Sometimes people aren't what we expect them to be," he began, voice shaking as he tried to think of something to say to honor Seishirou's death. "I was never sure what you were—not in Clow, not in Outo, and not during our travels. I could never figure you out. But you really did help me, and . . ." He bit his lip. Say it, he told himself. This is your last chance. Say it. "Thank you. For putting up with me, for saving my life. And for teaching me some important lessons about trust."

He laid the cloak in the pit and moved the loose dirt over it, packing it down. If the ground had been dry, it would've been easy to identify the spot where it was buried.

The rain will wash the top layer of soil away, Syaoran thought with finality. The rain will wash it all away.

He sat back, closing his eyes.

It was in that moment, when his eyes were closed and his guard was down, that he felt a hand coil around his hair.

Kurogane raised the wooden sword, only distantly cognizant of their sparring match. The princess retreated half a step, breathing hard as she prepared to deliver another blow. Kurogane waited, letting his senses stretch out. The percussive tap of the rain against the exterior walls mingled with the low murmurs of the palace servants. Kendappa passed through the hallway behind him, ordering one of her assistants to retrieve her rain cloak. Water ran down the shingles.

It was a numbing melody, the kind that encouraged inattention and fostered boredom, and even though Kurogane knew the boy was out in the storm, he found his attention wandering. Almost thirty seconds had passed before he realized Sakura had not tried to attack him yet. Usually, it took her only three or four seconds to catch her breath, less now that she was becoming more practiced. "What is it?" he asked, lowering the tip of his sword a few inches.

The princess blinked, head jerking up as if her attention had been diverted as well. Her eyes were troubled. "It's . . ." She closed her mouth, eyes flitting to the wall behind her. It was the nearest wall to the outside of the palace, and the rain beat more insistently on that side of the room than it did on the others.

"You're afraid for him?" he guessed.

The princess didn't answer, but after a moment, she lowered her sword and walked toward the wall. When she reached it, she lifted a hand up to touch the paper. He watched her lips move, but no sound came out.

"You know something I don't know?" he asked, irritated.

"Syaoran's out there somewhere."

"Yeah. We already knew that."

She shook her head, as if he'd missed the point of her statement. "He's out there alone. Really alone."

Looks like we're done training for the day, the ninja thought, letting the practice sword slide into the wooden cylinder standing in the corner. He walked over to the princess, resting a hand on top of her head. "I thought you were fine with him going out."

"He's been gone for hours."

"He needs time to grieve," Kurogane said. The mage was right about that at least. Even if that bastard doesn't deserve it.

Sakura stood up taller. "He needs me," she said.

"You want to go looking for him now?"

She nodded and turned toward him. "I'm going to need a raincoat, and a real sword, in case we run into any danger."

Kurogane leaned back, surprised at how easily she gave the orders. Sure, she was a princess, but he'd never known her to give commands. The closest she ever came to that were polite inquiries about what she could and could not have, what she could or could not do. Except in Tokyo, he thought. She didn't ask for an explanation in Tokyo. She didn't ask to go out into the rain. She demanded those.

Kurogane had followed others ever since he'd been old enough to understand obedience. First his parents, to whom he'd owed everything, and then to Tomoyo, who had both the heritage and the ability to command. And though he'd made plenty of choices on his own, Kurogane didn't think there was much room to argue on this one.

Maybe the boy did need the princess. Maybe he needed her a lot more than he'd let on in Infinity.

"All right," he said, shrugging as if this was the most natural arrangement in the world. "Let's go."