Chapter One-Hundred

They arrived at the festival half an hour after dusk, entering through one of the side entrances so they could pretend they'd been wandering around since sunset. As they walked, Syaoran fiddled with the ties on his outfit. "Are you sure these are right? They look . . . lopsided."

"Best I could do with one hand," Kurogane said, shrugging. "We've got a good excuse: you don't know how to tie that type of knot, and I don't have enough hands to do it for you."

"Right," he muttered, pulling a loose string taut. Maybe no one will notice.

With a sigh, he looked up. Paper lanterns glowed softly on narrow ropes, their light casting shifting patterns everywhere. Beneath those, dozens of stalls had appeared, offering all manner of things. Syaoran wondered how they'd all gotten there. This morning, the imperial garden had been pristine and untouched. Now, vendors called out to potential customers, selling things like decorations, costumes, accessories, and food. Dozens of people, mostly men, crowded around a stall selling alcohol, exuding merriment as they demanded refills.

Music twisted through the garden. Some people tapped out rhythms on percussion equipment. Others plucked the strings of instruments that looked vaguely familiar, but with enough variation that he could be certain they weren't the same as the instruments he'd seen in other worlds. A few soloists played haunting melodies on flutes. Dressed in flowing robes accented with gold embroidery, they swayed with the music, almost becoming part of the song. Syaoran listened, transfixed.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his reverie. He turned to see Fai grinning at him. "I've been looking for you."

Syaoran prayed the vampire couldn't see his blush. "We've been here," he said unconvincingly.

"I thought you might have been otherwise occupied." He waggled his eyebrows, making Syaoran sputter.

Before he could manage anything coherent, Kurogane rested a hand atop his head. "Stop teasing him. It's not any of your damn business what we do." The words had no bite to them. If anything, they were affectionate, like a parent chiding their child for some minor offense. It made Syaoran smile. We're like family, he thought, though a part of his heart still longed for their missing companion. He lifted his head, scanning the trees. Everything looked different in the dark—he wasn't sure which tree held Sakura.

"What did Kurogane and Syaoran do?" Mokona asked, popping out of Fai's shirt. Somehow, the creature's face conveyed confusion just as well as a human face, even with her eyes closed. Syaoran gulped, glancing at Kurogane. It hadn't really occurred to him that Mokona wouldn't know about their relationship. The creature translated all their conversations—surely she'd heard something, sensed something. Could she have misinterpreted their bond for so long?

"We . . ." he began, staring at the jewel in Mokona's forehead. "Kurogane-san and I are . . ."

"In love," Kurogane finished. Syaoran's head whipped around at the casual statement, then swiveled back toward Mokona as he awaited a reaction. Somehow, explaining his relationship to people he cared about frightened him more than the idea of announcing it to the world.

Mokona's ears flattened. "But what about Sakura?"

Syaoran hesitated, eyes flickering to each of his companions before he answered. "I'm still trying to figure that out." His shoulders curled inward, flexing under the force of the awkwardness. Seconds ticked by as a bubble of silence enveloped their group. He shifted his weight between his feet.

"Why don't we go get something to drink?" Kurogane eventually suggested, pressing his hand to Syaoran's back and nudging him toward the drunken crowd. Mercifully, neither Fai nor Mokona called out after him.

They lost themselves in the crowd, moving in tandem. They made steady progress toward the stall, nudging their way through the close-packed bodies. When they eventually got to the front of the line, Kurogane addressed the vendor. "Two glasses of the strongest stuff you've got."

The woman turned, and Syaoran cocked his head to the side, trying to place her identity. Beside him, Kurogane stiffened. "Hey, it's you."

She smiled, handing him two tall cups of some yellow drink. "The one and only."

Somehow, I don't think that's true, Syaoran thought as Kurogane handed him one of the cups. The woman turned away, her ponytail bobbing like tinsel. "Who was that?"

Kurogane shrugged. "I met another version of her in Outo at the bar where she worked. I think her name was Caldina or something."

Ah, Syaoran thought. After all, Hinata Yamura cared for the sick in both Infinity and Nihon. It made sense that this woman would choose a similar profession to her counterpart in Outo.

They moved away from the stall, extricating themselves from the drunken crowd and wandering down the walkways between shops. Kurogane said nothing, walking by his side, his only hand occupied by a cup of ale. Syaoran sipped at his own drink, wincing at the astringent taste of the alcohol. Wow, this really is strong.

"Where do you want to go?" Kurogane asked after a few minutes.

Syaoran shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I don't know my way around anyway."

"Thought you spent the last week helping prepare for this festival."

"Yes, but . . . All these stalls arrived just today—I'm only familiar with the garden itself, but it looks so much different now." He looked around. Vendors tried to catch his eye with rapid movements and flashes of color, and the music seemed louder now than it had been when they'd arrived. If he unfocused his eyes, all the lights and hues became a blur, as if someone had tied a colorful blindfold around his head. "It's so . . . busy here," he said, unable to come up with a better descriptor.

"It's the biggest celebration of the year."

He glanced at the ninja, surprised at the hardness in his tone. "What's wrong?"

"If Tomoyo-hime hadn't sent me away, I'd most likely be on guard duty tonight, making sure things didn't get out of hand. Making sure no assassins slipped in with the crowds to attack Tomoyo or her sister. Souma and I would be running patrols wherever we were needed, watching the crowd. An event like this . . . Things get dangerous." He moved as if to cross his arms, cup still in hand, then scowled when he couldn't. He took a long drink, then discarded the mug in one of the bins the staff had set out.

"You're worried."

"That's not it." Kurogane turned his head, eyes sweeping the area around them. "If it was just worry, I'd remind myself that Tomoyo's still got a dozen guards around her at all times, Souma included. But . . ." He looked down. ". . . there's nothing I can do if things go wrong. I don't even have a weapon with me."

Syaoran looked down, considering his next words carefully. "It's not always about protecting the people you love. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is trust that they can take care of themselves."

The ninja stopped abruptly, meeting his eyes. The hardness fell away from his face, replaced by contemplation. "Yeah, maybe," he finally said, looking up. "I'd still prefer to have my sword to discourage any drunken revelers from picking a fight with me."

I don't think they're the ones looking for a fight, Syaoran thought. He edged closer to the ninja as they walked, allowing the backs of their hands to graze each other with every step. After a few paces, Kurogane took his hand, massaging his knuckles between his callused thumb. "You still love her. The princess, I mean."

Syaoran looked away. He'd been expecting this turn of conversation ever since it had come up with Mokona and Fai. "I do." There was no point in denying that. "I also love you."

"But you haven't thought much about what's going to happen after we get her back, have you?"

"No."

Kurogane stayed quiet for a few moments. "Hate to admit it, but the pork bun has a point. You need to figure out what you're going to do about the girl when we get her back. Don't get me wrong—I'm not against striking a deal where we trade off. But you've got two separate relationships here, and most women don't like sharing their lover with someone else. You'll want to think of another plan in case things go badly."

"And that plan would include . . ."

The ninja sighed, seeming to age ten years in just a few moments. "We all make choices, kid. Life wouldn't be worth living if we didn't. That doesn't mean choosing is ever easy. She's got to lead a country once she gets home. You could stay with her there. If she's feeling . . . generous, then maybe we can work something out for when we get to see each other. Or you could stay with me and . . ."

"And?" he said when Kurogane didn't continue.

The man shrugged. "I'm fine with whatever you want to do. I won't be hurt if you end up staying with her. I'm just letting you know that you have options."

"What if I wanted to stay with you?"

"Then that's fine."

"Would we stay here, in Nihon?"

"Probably."

"And . . . that would be okay? Your people would . . . accept what we have?"

"As much as any world does. No one screws with me. I've got a reputation here."

Syaoran's fingers tightened around the ninja's hand. He leaned against the man's side, resting his cheek on his arm. "Can I . . . can I take some time to think about this first?"

"Of course." Kurogane's arm circled around his shoulders, squeezing him gently. "As much time as you need."