Everything ToG and ACOTAR

Death on Swift Wings

So, you know how there will be some ACOTAR novellas? I hope one is about Rhysand's past. We heard a bit about it in ACOMAF, but I'd like a full story (actually, giving how much there is, it might be a full novel...)

Anyway, while dreaming of this novel/novella/thing, I said, why not write my own? I mean, people do ACOWAR fanfics, but not many of Rhys's past. And even better, if it switched perspectives between Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel! So I made a cover and wrote a little bit. I'll post it here and you guys can tell me if I should do more!

It's called Death on Swift Wings, and here's the cover:

And here's a bit of the first chapter. It starts at the Blood Rite (where all the Illyrians get thrown into the mountains with no weapons or anything and have to survive the week).

**EDIT: the wonderful @Kayleighna1 reminded me that during the Blood Rite the Illyrians had their magic taken away and their wings bound! Thank you so much... well I'm an idiot. So I fixed it and added a bit. Hope you like (; 

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CHAPTER ONE

RHYSAND

I awoke with a gasp, sweat sliding down my face, but quickly freezing to ice.

Cold. Cold everywhere, engulfing me until I was sure I'd never be warm again. Yes, it had finally come—the Blood Rite. If I survived this week, I'd become a true warrior—but not all Illyrians survived. And—

Cassian. Azriel. I looked around me for my friends, but they were nowhere to be seen. Of course that cursed Devlon had separated us. Probably across mountains, he had.

There were no weapons on me, no armor, and only my shirt kept me warm. My wings were bound. Shit. Another shiver went through me. I will find them. If it kills me, I will find them.

I looked over the frosted peak for any other Illyrians. Nothing—nothing but unending white snow. Cassian, Azriel, and I had been through so much—it would take more than a simple Blood Rite to separate us.

I began hiking across the snow-covered mountains. By the looks of it, I had been trapped on the far east side of the mountains, which meant Azriel was on the far west side, and Cassian smack dab in the middle, or vice versa. If the one on the west side also figured that out and flew for the middle, and the middle one stayed put, then we could reunite.

The stars felt like a thousand eyes burning into my back. Though most of my magic had been taken away, my High Fae abilities allowed me to run faster than lesser faeries. The rocks ahead of me were bleak and snow-covered. I focused on them, scanning for any signs of life—there. A flash of bright white, a snow hare. I ran towards it, reaching for my knife—and realizing I didn't have one. Damn.

I gripped the snow hare and crushed its neck with the iron heel of my boot. Blood seeped into the snow.

Blood was not a good thing. Other Illyrians would smell it, see it, and come straight for me—

Too late. I heard footsteps and leaped up, violet eyes flashing.

An Illyrian approached me, wide, evil grin on his face. "Ah, it's darling Rhysand," he hissed, smirking.

"Eflon," I said. One of the weaker but more arrogant Illyrians.

Eflon cocked his head, studying me. "Hm," he murmured. "Perhaps killing you would be a wasted effort. I mean, you have no value whatsoever. I suppose that leaves killing for sport. Which is very fun, darling Rhys."

I gritted my teeth. "Very fun," I repeated. Eflon laughed, crossing his arms. This ought to be something...

"Come on, little Rhysand... what have you got? It'll feel so good to shed blood again..."

"I think the blood we're shedding will be yours, Eflon." In seconds, I had Eflon pinned to the snow, and I stared deep into his blue eyes. Smiling, I crushed chest with my boot, hearing a satisfying crunch of bones. Crimson blood seeped into the frosty mountaintop. He might not die from the wound—his magic would mend him—but the cold would.

The snow was bright scarlet. More blood. I had to get out of here. Grabbing the hare, I took off.

The kill didn't affect me. After all, Eflon was the first of many. This was the Blood Rite—the softhearted didn't survive.

I would've hoped that Cassian and Azriel had made it this far, but it really wasn't a matter of hope—I knew they had. Not as one of those "we're soul-deep brothers, I just knew" sort of things—more the "they just wouldn't die, they're too good fighters for that."

I was honestly surprised that Devlon had let me, a half-breed, and two bastards even participate in the Blood Rite.

I trekked through the mountains all night and all of the next day before collapsing in a small cave. I had already eaten the hare—I could go the night without food. To have food, I'd need to cook it, and that meant a fire—something I could not do.

I slept with one eye open, but no other Illyrians came to ambush me. Maybe they'd seen Eflon's body. Maybe they just weren't around here.

The next evening I woke up and started off without a sound. Going nocturnal wasn't that unusual—Illyrians were used to hunting day and night. I encountered a few more Illyrians—I killed them all, just as I'd been taught.

And I felt no regret. I wasn't sure if I should be worried—because I wasn't, I wasn't worried at all. The Illyrian war camps had taught me well.