Chapter Ninety-Nine

Sakura took half a step forward, arm shooting out as if to stop Syaoran from collapsing. Before he hit the ground, Kurogane bent down and hoisted the mud-covered boy over his shoulder, carrying him like a sack of flour. "Tomoyo-hime needs me to slay the rest of the demons before the border wards fall," he said, setting Syaoran on the grey mare. He pulled a length of rope from a leather pocket attached to the saddle and tethered Syaoran's wrists together. Then, he secured the rope around the horse's neck. The mare neighed in protest, but didn't move. "Take him back to the castle. There are healers there to help him."

Sakura stared at Syaoran. His face was angled down, neck hanging limply, eyes closed. But behind the layer of mud, Sakura could see the drying streaks of crimson on his shirt. "Will he be all right?"

"Probably. Kid's tough. Don't push that mare past a trot, though. He might fall."

She nodded and mounted the horse, just behind Syaoran. After a brief hesitation, she slipped her arms under his and took hold of the reins. She nodded once to Kurogane. "Be safe, okay?"

Something like surprise flitted across the ninja's face, but he nodded and steered his black gelding deeper into the woods. Sakura poked at her horse's flank with the side of her shoes, urging the mare back toward the palace. As they rode, Syaoran's unconscious body sagged deeper into the saddle. She leaned forward, resting her chin on his shoulder. His clothes were soaked through, his body chilled to a dangerous level. She pressed the side of her face against his clammy cheek, trying to share as much body heat with him as possible, as well as shield him from the rain. Every few seconds, she looked up to make sure the mare was going in the right direction, but otherwise she clung close to Syaoran.

The ride out had seemed to take only minutes. The ride back felt like hours. Forced to keep the pace to a trot, the trip took much longer. But it was more than that. Before, there had only been a chance Syaoran had been hurt. Now she was certain, and that made it so much harder to keep a relaxed pace. "It'll be okay," she whispered by his ear, hoping the words would somehow transfer to whatever dreams he was having. She adjusted her grip on the reins so she could free one arm to wrap around his head. Her fingers combed through his sopping wet hair.

This is my fault, she thought. If I hadn't questioned him, he wouldn't have felt the need to run away. It's my fault he's like this. Her hand tightened around the leather ropes of the reins, and she buried her face in Syaoran's dripping hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry . . ."

She felt him shift under her weight and withdrew, her arm uncoiling as she sought out the ropes tethering Syaoran to the horse. Did they come loose? Is he going to fall? Her fingers probed the knots, searching for a weakness. She found none. "Syaoran?"

Again he shifted, just slightly. She watched him pull reflexively at the ropes on his wrists, then wake suddenly, leaning back. His breath came in rapid gasps.

"It's okay," she assured him quickly. "Everything's okay."

He kept pulling at the ropes. She reached over to still his hand, and his head whipped around, his gaze sharp, like the point of a dagger. "It's okay."

"Why am I tied up?" he demanded, his voice sharper than she'd ever heard it.

"It's just to keep you on the horse. Here, I'll cut the rope."

He tensed as she brought her sword up toward the rope. Carefully, with the blade facing away from both of them, she cut the rope and let it fall into the mud beneath them. As soon as he was free, Syaoran relaxed.

"Are you all right?" she asked tentatively.

He hesitated, his hand going up to the bloody spot on his chest. He winced and clung to the mare's neck, leaning into her mane. "I'm fine. Sorry."

"You . . . Were you attacked? Is that why . . ."

He nodded. "I forgot this world had demons. They're stronger than the ones I—the ones the Other fought in Outo."

She flinched at the title, both hands clamping down harder on the reins. "I wish you wouldn't call him that."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. So quickly it seemed more like a reflex than a genuine apology. But she figured, since she'd pushed him to this, that made them even. She leaned forward again, resting her head in the dip between his shoulder blades.

"Is this okay?" she asked, when he tensed. As if on command, he relaxed.

"I don't mind."

She allowed herself a moment to close her eyes before returning her attention to their course. The mare had drifted to the left of the road, and was about to head down the wrong path. Sakura tugged on one side of the reins and directed the horse toward Shirasagi castle. "Do you . . . need anything? Blood, or—"

"No, not for a while yet. I only need to feed about once a week, less if I don't get hurt."

For some reason, this disappointed her. Though he'd refused her earlier, she'd thought that was out of some sense of shame. Surely, he could see now that there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Couldn't he?

"There are healers at the castle. They'll take care of you."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'll be back to normal in half an hour."

"I want them to examine your wounds anyway."

Syaoran was silent for a few minutes. Sakura could feel the rigid muscles in his back through her kimono. "What are you thinking about?" she asked.

He hesitated. "I . . . I don't want to lie to you, but . . . I think the truth might hurt you."

"I want to hear it anyway."

Another hesitation. He drew in a deep breath and spoke rapidly, as if the words tasted like bile on their way out. "I didn't think you would care enough to ask if I was hurt."

Her arms went rigid, and he flinched, lowering his head. "Oh," she managed, trying to fight the flood of hurt she felt at the statement. Of course he would think that, after the way I treated him in Infinity.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, I can see why you'd think that. I mean . . . We've been so distant, for so long. And you must've thought . . ." She shook her head, trying to orient her thoughts in a way that made sense. "I can't blame you for thinking that of me. We've really only been talking for a few days now, but . . ."

"But what?"

She bit her lip. "I don't want you to think . . . that I don't care about you. Because I do care."

The castle came into view then, and she straightened up, looking ahead instead of at the ground. Suddenly, Syaoran craned his neck around to look back at her, his expression almost frantic. "What do you mean?"

"Huh?"

"You said you cared about me. In what way?"

She blinked. "I don't think I understand what you're asking."

Some of the fervor in his eyes died away. He looked forward again. "I think I'm well enough to walk."

"Syaoran—"

He tugged on the reins, bringing the mare to a sudden stop, and swung his leg over the saddle. He slipped free of her awkward embrace with ease, landing lightly in the mud.

"Syaoran, wait."

He had already taken several tottering steps away from her. She pulled the reins harder, bringing her mare to a full stop before she rolled out of the saddle. Mud splattered all over her clothes as she landed.

Syaoran kept walking, every movement stiff and unnatural. She hurried after him, praying he wouldn't use his supernatural speed to run away again. "Syaoran, stop, please."

"I don't want to be a burden to you," he said, barely pausing. "So you don't have to take care of me."

"But I want to, Syaoran! I want to help you."

She saw him flinch, but his feet never faltered. Finally, she caught up to him and snatched his wrist, bringing him to a stop. His entire body went rigid again, as if he'd been touched by something slimy. When he turned to her, his face was blank. Cold.

She shivered. She had seen him look like that before. But that hadn't been him, exactly, it had been . . . her Syaoran. That's the problem, isn't it? He thinks he's nothing more than that Syaoran's replacement. She felt something give way in her chest, as if her heart had been suspended high up and suddenly dropped.

She stared at him for a long moment, waiting for the thickness in her throat to pass. When it didn't, she took a shaky breath. "Syaoran . . ."

"Yes?" he asked, his voice level, polite. Empty.

She hated that blankness. She hated that he was putting up this front against her, of all people.

She hated that she deserved it.

Her lungs protested, as if a metal bar had coiled around them, slowly strangling her. She was barely able to choke the words out. "You're not . . . my Syaoran."

He looked down, shoulders slumping.

"B-but you're . . . h-here, and . . . and I . . ." She looked up at him, trying to convey the message her crippled words couldn't get across. She felt the heat rise in her eyes as nascent tears blurred her vision.

Suddenly, she felt the gentle pressure of his fingertips against her cheeks. She blinked away the tears and saw his tortured expression. "Don't," he whispered. "Please don't cry. I'm sorry."

She took several breaths, each one shakier than the last. Just when she thought she was about to burst into sobs, her breathing stabilized. How can I show him what he means to me? she wondered, frozen where she stood.

His hands hadn't left her face. His touch left her body reeling with a myriad of complex emotions, some of them so intense, they were making the rest of her body respond. It was just like the last time she'd seen him in Infinity, when he'd left. The feeling that something was wrong with the world, and only she had the power to right it. If she chose to do so.

Uncertainly, she lifted her hand to touch the side of his neck. This seemed to fluster him, and he started pulling away. "No," she said firmly, bringing his hand back to her cheek.

"Sakura . . ."

"I won't let you leave me again," she whispered, leaning forward to brush her lips against his.