Chapter One

The numbness that crept up through Fireheart's legs was almost too much to bear as he laid eyes on the shape that Tigerclaw had brought forward. He now knew what the creature was, the limp, unmoving form splayed out of the ground. Blood still pooling beneath a ragged wound to her throat, Bluestar, revered leader of ThunderClan, Fireheart's mentor, laid dead, all her lives taken from her by seemingly one cruel bite. The orange tom hung his head, stunned, as the others began to crowd around, equally disturbed.

"Tigerclaw!" Whitestorm's snarl sounded in the still air. "What is the meaning of this? How did this come to be?"

The deputy was silent for a few moments before replying. "I entered the den to find her bleeding out in front of me. There was blood all over the den; it must have been one of the rogues, but I didn't see anyone enter or leave." Tigerclaw's usually gruff voice was now cracked and wavering from emotion, and Fireheart found his speech to be almost convincing.

"I felt so helpless," Tigerclaw went on, shaking somewhat. "I should have gone to fetch Yellowfang, I know, but I couldn't move. I was just stood there like a stump. I was… I was so weak."

Nobody moved for a long while. The RiverClan cats had regrouped and were standing a distance away, all silent in respect of the scene that had just unfolded. Fireheart caught a glimpse at Leopardfur, who looked equal parts mournful and irritated, as though the whole spectacle was causing her an inconvenience. The flame-coloured warrior watched as she hissed something to Mistyfoot, who blinked and said nothing in response. Fireheart was thankful for the latter she-cat's silence, and was suddenly struck with pain when he remembered that Bluestar was Mistyfoot's mother. He fought back the urge to rush to her and tell her, and was relieved from being torn apart by his thoughts when they were interrupted by a soft mewing from Yellowfang, who was supporting a dishevelled Frostfur on their way to join the other cats.

"Shock isn't weakness, Tigerclaw," Yellowfang rasped, her tone unusually soft. Fireheart supposed it was because of the gravity of the situation. "If she was bleeding out as you say, then there was nothing you or I could have done for her. Needless to say, it was a terrible crime, one that ThunderClan will mourn for many moons to come."

A yowl of agreement was raised into the air, and Tigerclaw blinked in gratitude at the grizzled medicine cat. "Thank you, Yellowfang. My guilt has been lifted by your kind words."

"So what happens now?" Sandstorm was staring, solemn-eyed at Bluestar's body. "How do we recover from this?"

Fireheart watched as Tigerclaw's façade slipped away for a moment as a flash of annoyance passed into his blazing amber eyes. "Naturally I will become leader, as is the demand of my position as deputy." He paused. "I will leave tonight, I think. I would feel more at ease if the Clan had a strong leader as soon as possible."

"Let me go with you, Tigerstar," Darkstripe meowed, deep voice void of any grief for Bluestar, and instead full of adoration. "I'll keep you safe from any rogues who might be hanging around."

Tigerclaw seemed amused by his supporter's offer; his whiskers twitched briefly, and a new gleam came into his eye. "I can take care of myself, Darkstripe, but I appreciate your companionship. I always reward my friends." His gaze passed over the Clan, then rested on Fireheart, who shuddered involuntarily. "Longtail and Dustpelt; you are to come as well, as will Yellowfang. We leave as soon as the herbs are prepared. Whitestorm will take charge of the Clan whilst I am absent." And with that, he got to his paws, abandoning Bluestar's body where it lay and leaving a silenced Clan in his wake.

"Tigerclaw," Leopardfur piped up, stepping forward briskly, "before you leave, we have matters to discuss."

Tigerclaw regarded her with a brief, disregarding look. "Oh?" He looked back over his shoulder. "Well, if you haven't already noticed, Bluestar is dead. Bother my Clan with your petty arguments another time."

Leopardfur sniffed with contempt at the dismissal. "Very well, Tigerclaw. I shall return in a quarter-moon's time to discuss the matter with you again." And without another word, she turned with her Clan to leave.

Fireheart leapt forwards, seizing the opportunity. "Leopardfur! Wait!"

The RiverClan deputy stopped, sighed, and then regarded the younger warrior coolly. "What is it, Fireheart? Shouldn't you busy fixing up the Clan?"

Fireheart shook his head, breathless. "I need to talk to Mistyfoot. I'll be brief, I swear by StarClan."

The she-cat in question pricked her ears in curiosity, but said nothing.

Leopardfur's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Fireheart was aware of the tail-flick she tried in vain to prevent, and the younger warrior grimaced, expecting a scathing refusal or some harsh jab. It didn't come.

"I'll hold you to that oath, young warrior," the deputy warned him, though her eyes were bright mostly with curiosity, and not hostility. She stepped aside to allow the grey queen to step forward, and Fireheart supressed a sigh of relief. The rest of the patrol padded a distance away, though most of them were watching the two warriors converse.

Mistyfoot sat down primly and began to lick her paws. "I hope you aren't asking me to convince Leopardfur not to ask for the kits again. They belong in their mother's Clan."

Fireheart shook his head again. "This has nothing to do with that. It's something else?"

"Is it?" Mistyfoot regarded him for a moment, then lowered her paw. "What's it about then?"

Fireheart braced himself. "It's about your mother."

"My mother?" Mistyfoot echoed. "What does Greypool have to do with any of this?"

Exasperated, Fireheart fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Greypool has nothing to do with this."

The she-cat's fur bristled with impatience. "Just what in StarClan's name are you talking about, Fireheart?"

There was a pause as Fireheart hesitated, then he tensed, lips contorted into a grimace. "Greypool isn't your mother, Mistyfoot."

"Are you mouse-brained?" Mistyfoot snapped, tail swishing. "Of course she is!"

"But she's not!" Fireheart gestured back to where the elders were carrying Bluestar away. "Bluestar was your mother! Oakheart was your father; they had a secret relationship and your mother had to give you up when you were just kits, for the sake of ThunderClan. Oakheart took you to RiverClan, to be with him, because he knew that Greypool had just lost kits and would have enough milk to feed you. You were raised in RiverClan by Greypool, but she was not your mother, nor Stonefur's. That honour belonged to Bluestar."

The older cat glared at him, eyes blazing. "I don't know what's addled your brain, Fireheart, but you're talking nonsense. Greypool is my mother – I'm a RiverClan cat, through and through! No cat can question that."

"Just…" Fireheart sighed, ears pinned back against his skull. "Just talk to Greypool, okay? Ask her for the truth. She's the only one who can vouch for it."

Mistyfoot sniffed with haughtiness, but a flicker of doubt appeared for a fleeting moment in her eyes. "Fine. I'll talk to Greypool," she growled, "but only because I owe you a debt – for my kits. And I'll only prove you wrong anyway." And with a last huff of pride, she got to her paws and padded away. Fireheart noted the bright stares of Leopardfur and the RiverClan patrol a few fox-lengths away; something about the RiverClan deputy's gaze unsettled the flame-coloured warrior, and something deep inside of him told him he should have waited for a better time. Something about this didn't feel right.

But the bustling of the Clan behind him roused his attention as the patrol vanished into the woods, and Fireheart decided it was time to join the mourners, to honour the memory of the fallen. In the distance, Whitestorm and Mousefur were heading over to where Brokentail lay, unmoving and eerily silent, and Swiftpaw, Brightpaw and the elders began to move Thornpaw's body away to be buried. Fireheart allowed himself a small sigh of relief at the brief time of peace, then faltered, remembering with a twinge of worry that the real challenge was sure to begin soon enough.

Tigerclaw would certainly see to that.