“But he didn’t leave ThunderClan because he wanted to,” Fireheart protested. “It was impossible for him to stay!”
“Impossible?” Bluestar rested her blue gaze on him. “What do you mean?”
Fireheart looked down at the ground.
“Well?” Bluestar prompted.
Fireheart’s mouth was dry. “Ravenpaw knew a secret about Tigerclaw,” he croaked. “I…I think Tigerclaw was planning to kill him. Or else turn the Clan against him.”
Bluestar’s tail flicked from side to side, and Fireheart saw her shoulders stiffen. “Why would you think that? What was this secret that Ravenpaw knew?”
Fireheart answered reluctantly, meeting her stern expression as boldly as he dared. “That Tigerclaw killed Redtail in the battle with RiverClan.” Redtail had been the ThunderClan deputy before Lionheart. Fireheart had never met him, but he knew Redtail had been deeply respected by all the Clan.
Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “A warrior would never kill another of his Clan! Even you should know that—you’ve lived with us long enough.” Fireheart recoiled at her words, flattening his ears. It was the second time tonight she’d referred to his kittypet roots.
Bluestar went on. “Tigerclaw reported that it was RiverClan’s deputy, Oakheart, who killed Redtail,” she meowed. “Ravenpaw must be mistaken. Did he actually see Tigerclaw kill Redtail?”
Fireheart nervously flicked his tail, stirring the leaves behind him. “He said he did.”
“And you know that by saying this, you are questioning Redtail’s honor, because he must have been the cat that was responsible for Oakheart’s death? One deputy would never kill another in battle, not if it could possibly be avoided. And Redtail was the most honorable warrior I have ever known.” Bluestar’s eyes clouded with pain, and Fireheart felt a pang of dismay that he should have hurt her memory of her former deputy, even if unintentionally.
“I cannot account for Redtail’s actions,” he murmured. “I only know that Ravenpaw truly believes Tigerclaw was responsible for Redtail’s death.”
Bluestar sighed and relaxed her shoulders. “We all know that Ravenpaw has a vivid imagination,” she meowed gently, her eyes sympathetic. “He was badly injured in the battle, and he left before the fighting was over. Can you be sure he didn’t fill in the parts he’d missed?”
Before Fireheart could reply, a yowl echoed through the forest, and Tigerclaw bounded out of the undergrowth. His eyes flickered suspiciously over Fireheart for a moment before he addressed Bluestar. “We’re waiting for you at the border.”
Bluestar nodded. “Tell them we’ll be there in a moment.” Tigerclaw dipped his head, turned, and raced back through the ferns.
As Fireheart watched him disappear, Bluestar’s words echoed in his mind. She was right; Ravenpaw did have a strong imagination. Fireheart remembered his first Gathering, when apprentices from every Clan had hung on Ravenpaw’s words as he described the battle with RiverClan. And he hadn’t mentioned Tigerclaw then.
Fireheart jumped up as Bluestar stood. “Are you going to bring Ravenpaw back to the Clan?” he asked, suddenly afraid he had caused even more trouble for his friend.
Bluestar gazed deep into Fireheart’s eyes. “He is probably happier where he is,” she meowed quietly. “For now, we will let the Clan carry on believing he is dead.”
Fireheart stared back at her, his eyes wide with shock. Bluestar was going to lie to the Clan!
“Tigerclaw is a great warrior, but he is very proud,” Bluestar went on. “It’ll be easier for him to accept that his apprentice died in battle rather than ran away. And it would be better for Ravenpaw, too.”
“Because Tigerclaw might go looking for him?” Fireheart dared to ask. Was it possible that Bluestar believed him, even just a little bit?
Bluestar shook her head with a flash of impatience. “No. Tigerclaw might be ambitious, but he is not a murderer. Ravenpaw will be better remembered as a dead hero than a live coward.”
Tigerclaw’s call sounded again, and Bluestar jumped down from the log and disappeared into the ferns. Fireheart cleared the tree trunk in one leap and raced after his leader.
He caught up with her at the edge of a stream. He watched while she crossed, jumping from stone to stone to the other side. Fireheart followed carefully, his mind whirling. The knowledge about Redtail’s death had been resting heavily on his shoulders for days. Now he had finally told Bluestar, but nothing had changed. The Clan leader clearly didn’t think Tigerclaw was capable of cold-blooded murder. And worst of all, Fireheart himself had begun to doubt whether Ravenpaw had been telling the truth. He leaped onto the far bank and charged on through the undergrowth.
Fireheart skidded to a halt behind Bluestar as they reached the other ThunderClan cats. The group had paused at the top of the slope that led down to Fourtrees, the giant oaks where cats from the four Clans of the forest met in peace at each full moon.
Fireheart’s fur prickled as he felt Tigerclaw watching him. Did the dark warrior suspect what had passed between him and Bluestar? Fireheart shook his head to clear his mind and tried to think like Bluestar. Of course Tigerclaw would be interested in what Fireheart had said to Bluestar: he was the Clan deputy, so he would want to know anything that might affect the Clan. Fireheart looked again at Tigerclaw; the dark tabby was staring down the slope, his ears pricked and alert. The cats around him shuffled their paws in anticipation. Tigerclaw glanced at each of them, silently rallying them with his steady amber gaze.
Bluestar lifted her nose and sniffed the air. Fireheart sensed a tightening of muscles and prickling of fur around him. Then Bluestar signaled with a flick of her tail, and the ThunderClan cats plunged down the slope toward the Gathering.
Chapter 2
Bluestar halted on the edge of the clearing with her Clan lined up beside her. Some of the cats from RiverClan and ShadowClan turned and acknowledged their arrival.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Graystripe appeared at Fireheart’s shoulder.
Fireheart shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He was still troubled and confused by his conversation with Bluestar, and felt glad when Graystripe didn’t press him, turning his head instead to peer around the clearing.
“Hey, look,” he meowed. “The ShadowClan cats are looking stronger than I thought they would. After all, Brokenstar left them half-starved.”
Fireheart followed his gaze to a sleek ShadowClan warrior. “You’re right,” he agreed, surprised.
“Mind you, we did do most of their fighting for them!” scoffed Graystripe.
Fireheart’s amused purr was interrupted by Whitestorm. “The ShadowClan cats fought as hard as we did to chase out Brokenstar. We should honor their determination to recover,” he meowed sternly, before padding over to a group of warriors gathered beneath one of the great oaks.
“Oops!” mewed Graystripe with a guilty glance at Fireheart.
The young warriors stayed on the edge of the clearing. Fireheart could easily pick out the apprentices from the other Clans—their fur looked kit-soft, their faces round, and their paws plump and clumsy.
Two warriors approached Graystripe and Fireheart. A small brown apprentice tagged after them. Fireheart recognized the gray tabby tom from ShadowClan, but not the smoky black tom who walked with him.
“Hi!” meowed the gray tom.
“Hello, Wetfoot,” replied Fireheart. He glanced at the dark brown cat.
Wetfoot meowed, “This is Blackclaw of RiverClan.”
Graystripe and Fireheart nodded their greeting. The apprentice stepped timidly forward.
“And this is my apprentice, Oakpaw,” added Wetfoot.