Lure

Drumbeats and pulse-jarring music entered the chamber at first light, startling Bolero awake. In his hawk form, the rays of sunlight and magical threads sparkled, moved as if they had a life of their own. Within the stream of music, he could hear the rhythmic jingling of ceremonial bells, and knew that the lure dancers were wearing their most formal attire today.

The lure dancing guild- the Kettle- were a central part of Eyrie culture. Their people had been swinging lures- mock animals attached to a rope- since before they even had magic, or their feathered forms. This form of dance required lightning-quick reflexes, and one or two dedicated partners to train with. To master lure dancing was to master not only rhythm, but connection with your dancing partner in their feathered form. Certain magic affiliations, such as air or ice, were more commonplace in the Kettle standings than others.

Bolero hurriedly preened, his beak zipping his slightly-disheveled feathers. He stretched, lifting one leg and extending one wing at a time. The other birds around him stirred slightly-no one would be able to sleep through the dancing ceremony, the musicians would be sure of that- as the drumbeats increased exponentially in volume above them.

A summons. The entirety of his people were expected to show up, and demonstrate their respect to the newly-bonded couple.

The music grew louder, the drum beats picking up tempo. Bolero flew down from the juniper tree- he didn’t want to be in his human form today. His human skin brought with it problems, complications that he left behind when he was coated in feathers and scales.

As a hawk, he could focus on the wind, the chase, the blazing fire that swam in the air wherever he went…

But a red-tailed hawk wasn’t suited for chasing a swung lure, and it was about time he wore… he grabbed his satchel. He opened it slowly, dread creeping up into his chest as he stared at its contents. The tunic was black as night, with golden flames embroidered on the bottom and around the neck, crafted from a material far finer than those of any of his other clothes. His lure dancing clothing. It had been years since he had donned the tunic, for wearing it was a sullen reminder of something that he would never have.

Bolero ran a finger over the stitching, starting to fray at the ends. His mother had hand-stitched those flames for his father.

Before he’d even been born, before…

Bolero sighed as he leaned down to tie the laces of his black knee-high leather boots, tucking in his tan slacks. Most likely, he would sit out of any dancing this morning. After last night, he was too tired to dance. His legs were somewhat sore, his head aching. Rather, he looked forward to tasting that roasted venison. He would ensure that Maeby ate the first bite, that she would know he still cared for her as a friend.

The feast would end the pair bonding ceremony, perhaps allowing a return to normalcy. The influx of magic would fade after the bonding was completed, after the moon changed phases and Altairi resumed her usual duties.

Bolero started up the stairwell to the Kettle, following the source of the music and bells. The Eyrie air was heavy with magic- so strong one could scent it on the wind. He adjusted the auburn feathers in his hair as he ascended the spiraling staircase. He heard footfalls behind him and moved to the side to allow others to pass by, nodding in respect as they surpassed him. The music continually got louder the closer he got to the Kettle.

“Long night, Bolero?” Indigo, a young merlin, chirped at him playfully as she bounded up the steps. “Moving a bit slow this morning.”

Hardly more than an eyass, Indigo’s magic had not yet revealed itself. Like other falcons, it was assumed her mastery of speed in flight would soon translate into manipulation of wind and air. She was known for her carefree spirit, making her training in both combat and lure dancing difficult for all parties involved. She smiled and winked at Bolero as she turned up and out of his sight, her long ash brown braid trailing behind her. He knew she would likely pester him at the ceremony, and grimaced. The bells tied to her ankles jingled as she swiftly made her way up to the dancing.

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The Kettle had truly gone above and beyond , Bolero noted, as he laid eyes on the gold-leafed dais. An ornate tiling covered the dance floor, creating an image of a falcon flying towards a lure fashioned after a game bird. Maeby and Badru were already sitting in lush velvet chairs on the dais, awash in bright blues and golds. Maeby’s dress and shimmering turquoise cloak nearly took his breath away.

Her pale blond hair the color of a full moon was piled on top of her head in a tight bun, save for loose strands that hung in curls, framing her face. She noticed him, and smiled pleasantly. Badru, as always, wore a more serious look. He was regal today, his dark golden hair left drifting down to his shoulders. His barn owl feathers, a darker tan than Maeby's, stood out against his turquoise kaftan. Bolero nodded to him and bowed.

Several pairs were already dancing, swinging matching lures. The birds performing the aerial steps of the dance- two peregrines, a goshawk and a merlin, twirled and dove on the wing. Lure swinging was its own art, much like combat. An intimate set of footwork, playfully keeping your partner in feather from catching the lure at the end of the line, it was about as personal as an unbonded shifter could get with another.

His gaze pinned on the goshawk, a flash of white and slate grey darting through the sky. She performed impressive aerial displays- Nadine, one of the Haggards. The eagles were nowhere to be seen- Altairi was most likely in the Temple, located in the heart of the Eyrie cliffs.

A larger musical group played today- two darbukas, at least, an oud and an ocarina. The drums beat a rhythm designed to assist the lure swingers, a steady, somewhat droning sound. Bolero stayed off of the dance floor, careful to avoid any lurelines and dancers.

The magic in the air hung low, heavy like mist on his skin. He sat cross-legged on a cushion, designed to match the color scheme of the dais, and watched quietly.

One peregrine, in particular, drew his eyes as she twisted on the wing, almost grabbing the lure, which was then pulled out of her reach on time. Her feathers were particularly beautiful, slate gray and iridescent, nearly a cobalt blue in the light of early morning.

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Azura Godbolt, the peregrine, finished her last descent and shifted. A fellow dancer handed her a robe and she left the stage to change into her clothing. She was one of the most skilled lure dancers, preferring to chase the lure rather than swing it. Of course, none of that was surprising for the daughter of the Kettle’s lead dancer.

She was even more lovely in her skin- her long, loose hair a slate grey so deep it was blue in the morning light. Her eyes were a similar color, her skin a rich olive. Azura had been Bolero’s pair bonding prospect for years, until her choice to join the Kettle full time and train under her mother. With Kettle membership came an intensive schedule, and the expectation to take a mate from within its members. The announcement had surprised nobody, yet it had left his heart in shambles for a long time. He had made a point to avoid the Kettle ever since.

Bolero tried to avoid eye contact- Azura typically asked him to dance with her despite everything, but his swinging was not as it used to be. He looked at his feet, and shifted forwards to fiddle with his boot laces. Out of his periphery, he immediately noticed her glance in his direction. His cheeks warmed as blood rushed to them.

She pivoted towards him, lithe form approaching far too quickly for his liking.

By the Eagle. Swearing, he finished tying his boot-for the third time in a row- and stood to greet her. He bowed, hands clenched behind his back, and offered her a smile. He hoped it didn’t look as forced as it was.

“Bolero,” Azura’s voice was musical, like one of the bells adorning her ankles and hair. “You look well this morning,”

“Azura,” He forced himself to make eye contact, and immediately regretted it. “As do you.” He nearly choked on his words. She always looked “well.” She was the most stunningly beautiful falcon he had ever laid eyes on. “You look lovely,” He corrected, “You dive with such grace.”

“I noticed you left Maeby and Badru’s ceremony rather early last night,”

Bolero glanced at the dais, noticing Maeby’s gaze upon him and Azura as they spoke. Her mouth was turned in a frown, and he could almost hear her berating him.

“The Kettle mates with the Kettle, Bolero. Unless you use that magic of yours to become a better dancer, there’s no chance with Azura.” He could have sworn he saw her shake her head.

“Yes,” Bolero responded lamely, “I felt tired. The hunt yesterday was intensive. I caught a roe deer, I’m sure you heard about it,”

“Going to roost early isn’t like you,” Azura pressed. “I was seeking you last night. I wanted to speak,” She laid a hand on his shoulder. Bolero’s eyes narrowed, unsure what her intentions were. Both knew that any chance of a pair bonding between them had been soiled by her joining the Kettle formally. Azura glanced at Bolero’s tunic, and stroked his shoulder gently. “Your stitches are fraying. I can mend them if you’d like.”

Bolero stilled, said nothing. She knew his mother had embroidered that tunic. Azura knew perfectly well that no one was allowed to touch those stitches. It was all he had left of her.

“You’ve seemed distracted lately, Bolero. Almost as if you’d rather be anywhere but here.” Her hand, fingers adorned in golden rings with the rubies typical of the Kettle, trailed down his arm. Her fingers slowly, gingerly, entwined with his. Her eyes held his, pinning him in place. Chills crawled up his spine.

“Azura, I-” He started.

Why? Why act this way with me when the Kettle would never allow it?

“Bolero, would you want to dance with me?”

He froze as her hand tightened on his. She smiled coyly at him and swung her hips slightly to the beat of the music. Her hands were soft, and felt strange as they brushed against the calluses covering his fingertips. Hunters’ hands, she’d always called them. Warrior’s hands. They would have made a historical pairbond.

If only she’d never joined the Kettle. He hoped his bitterness didn’t show on his face, as he lowered his hand to his side, gently forcing Azura to let go.

“I haven’t danced in a long time, Azura,” He forced his voice to remain calm, smooth.

She gazed into his eyes, hers shimmering.

“Are you really still angry that I joined the Kettle to train?”

Bolero sighed heavily, and shrugged.“Azura, don’t.”

He heard a cough from the dais-Maeby’s eyes were still trained on the two. Badru leaned over to her and whispered something in her ear which made her smirk. Bolero flushed and then turned his attention to Azura again. He couldn’t stay here anymore.

He spoke swifty to Azura, “Your decisions are not mine to make. I have no right to be angry at you. You were always a dancer at heart, in skin and feather.” At this point he wanted a reason-any reason- to leave this place. “I can’t dance right now, but maybe later. I’m still exhausted.”

Azura’s face fell in disappointment.

Bolero’s chest tightened- he’d said the wrong thing.

“You can’t even do one dance with her, Bolero?” Indigo’s voice chided. He hadn’t noticed her there, standing beside her cousin. For what she lacked in magical ability, the merlin made up with in stealth. She’d always been the best hider when they played as children. It made sense. She was the smallest of them in both forms. And without magic, certainly the most vulnerable of the lot.

Damned merlin.

Azura turned and glared at her cousin, her eyes shimmering. Was she really about to cry? Guilt tightened Bolero’s chest. She deserved more kindness than he could give her. She deserved a partner from the Kettle, a tiercel- a male falcon who could match both her grace and speed in flight.

“Oh, Azura…Azura, I wasn’t trying to…” Tears spilled from the falcon’s eyes.

Slowly, gingerly, Bolero reached up, wiped the tears with his thumb, and cupped her cheek gently.

“I’m sorry, Azura, I just…”

“It’s been years, Bolero. You can hardly look at me anymore.” Azura reached up and slipped her hand over his. “You used to never peel your eyes from me when I flew. You used to threaten others with flame if they tried to dance with me, or swing a lure for me.”

Bolero lowered his hand from her cheek, and leaned his head on her shoulder. It was slick with sweat, and rife with her scent. Once, years ago, that smell might have wavered his resolve.

“I never intended to hurt you,” He whispered, “My apologies, Azura.” She touched her chin to his hair, a momentary embrace. The lost possibilities between them were palpable. It took every inch of self control not to simply take her hand, whisk her away, ask for a pair bonding ceremony as soon as possible. It took even more control to pull away, to acknowledge internally that they could never be.

He was not of the Kettle. Even if they wanted to shift, catch a thermal and soar away to the edge of the continent, the Haggards would never allow it. He doubted they’d make it past the Nithra before Victor was sent to stop them.

Shuddering at the thought, Bolero turned to step away from the peregrine’s lithe, graceful form.

And froze.

An icy feeling gripped him, a chill that settled heavily in his chest. His knees buckled.

The world tipped into darkness.