The Fourth Life: The Square is Complete

School's out, Spring is set up, and I'm logging overtime.

Since school won't start back up till the 21st of January, 2020, that still means that come New Year's, I'm going on hiatus to finish my book.

I'll let you all know when it's done, and how the publishing process goes. If it goes sour, in regards to print, I'll throw it up on Kindle.

We also hit the 1800 mark on Reviews! Awesome job, guys!

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC

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The Assassin and the other Assassin that thought of herself as a Templar overcame their emotional funk on their way back to the Sanctuary. They arrived in the meeting area just in time to hear the last words of an argument.

"Four-hundred armed noblemen, Honoré! If it weren't for General Lafayette-"

Mirabeau had it. "Enough! The room is fogged with your bluster! All hot air, and no action!"

"Finally!" Cheyenne breathed loudly, she and Arno making their entrance. "Someone else besides me recognizes that Mademoiselle Trenet is nothing but hot air."

The woman in question scowled at Cheyenne, and none of the other Assassin higher-ups seemed pleased to see her, sans Mirabeau.

"Ah, and here are two with good news. Cheyenne, Arno, what did you learn of the silversmith?"

Arno tossed the pin onto the desk, Bellec picking it up to examine the blade.

"Poison," he noted. "The Templars are catching up."

"Germain made that pin," Arno said, "and others like it, for a man named Lafrenière."

Mirabeau hummed, clearly troubled. "Grand Master de la Serre spoke highly of that man's loyalty." The Mentor sighed. "Very well, then. Cheyenne, Arno, your course is clear. Find Monsieur Lafrenière and bring him peace in accordance to our tenants."

"On it!" Cheyenne chirped.

She spun on her heel and grabbed Arno by the arm, the man blinking in surprise and confusion. The council was just about to go back to whatever squabble they were engaged in when Cheyenne did another abrupt about face, yanking Arno along, nearly giving him whiplash. The council of Assassins watched this unfold with bewildered and confused expressions.

"M'kay, we're done!"

It took the old people a few seconds to figure out what Cheyenne meant by that, but when it dawned on them all at the same time, they broke out into a shouting match to see who could reprimand the loudest.

Arno's eyes darted back and forth between the higher-ups. "This is madness."

"This is the Assassin Brotherhood," Cheyenne said out of the corner of her mouth.

The council was so involved in their shouting that they didn't notice Shay's granddaughter casually reach behind her and pull one of her pistols. The gunshot silenced the council, making them all duck and flinch, sans Mirabeau, who had watched Cheyenne do her thing and was totally on board with it.

"Oh, my goodness," Cheyenne said, putting a hand to her mouth. "How on earth did this get in my hand?"

"Indeed, a mystery for the ages," Mirabeau said sagely. "Now, explain yourselves."

"Upon investigation, Cheyenne and I discovered evidence that suggested that Lafrenière was about to strike at the Brotherhood in force, so I took action. I also believed that it was Lafrenière that ordered Monsieur de la Serre's murder."

"Suggested?" Quemar asked, aghast. "Believed?"

"Yeah, I think he was getting to that part before you interrupted him."

Quemar shot Cheyenne a dirty look, one she returned with a suggestive grin, waving her eight-barreled pistol around slightly.

Eyes lingering on the old man, Arno continued with his debriefing. "In his memories, I saw Lafrenière writing the letter that would've warned Monsieur de la Serre of his betrayal. He also mentioned a club when speaking of his impending attack, one in Marais—not one of our safehouses."

Mirabeau breathed in deeply, and Arno continued. "Cheyenne also believes than Germain is a Sage, the same as Bartholomew Roberts seven decades ago, and that he is also the new Grand Master of the Templar Order."

That one sent some ripples through the council. The havoc that Black Bart caused during the Golden Age of Piracy, the hunt for him and his knowledge of the Observatory, was still quite fresh in the Brotherhood's memory, despite all those involves having since passed on.

"Your evidence?" Mirabeau asked.

Cheyenne shrugged. "Mainly just a gut feeling, but the man does have the mismatched eyes."

"I see."

Cheyenne snorted.

"Mentor, with your permission, I would like to investigate what I learned from Lafrenière."

"I don't like this," Beylier said. "The boy is a gifted Assassin, yes, but I fear he is obsessed with a private vendetta." Arno scowled at the man from under his hood.

Cheyenne made a noise. "Um, yeah. I know I wasn't the best student—as far as anyone in here is concerned, since I did get the highest marks in all of my classes—but I'm pretty sure that in history class, pertaining to Ezio and Virgil, I'm pretty sure those two were obsessed with a private vendetta.

"Ezio hunted down and killed all the Pazzi Conspirators due to the part they played in his father's and brothers' deaths, and then the Barbarigo family, too. And Virgil was pretty obsessed with massacring the Followers of Romulus and the Cento Occi for what they did to his family and consort. And both of them dismantled the Borgia since it was Cesare that was, in some part, responsible for the deaths of both of their families."

The council shifted as Cheyenne reeducated them on two of the greatest Mentors the Brotherhood ever had, all of them knowing what she was leading up to, all of them also knowing they didn't have an effective counterargument.

"Now we have Arno here, effectively doing the same thing: hunting down the conspiracy that killed his dad, and you guys don't want him to. So, qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?"

There was silence for a little bit, and then Bellec delivered a low blow.

"…if we want to talk about those who've killed Arno's father…"

Mirabeau slammed his hand down on the table. "Bellec! Silence!"

Scowling deeply, Bellec took his leave from the chamber, casting a rancid look to Cheyenne, who returned it full force, all traces of mirth gone from her at Bellec's allusion. Arno, for his part, was only just slightly confused.

"Now then," Mirabeau said, completely serious. "Arno, you have my permission to investigate whatever it was Monsieur Lafrenière was up to in Marais. Cheyenne, you have my permission to investigate Monsieur Germain—and both of you!"

They looked at the Mentor.

"No more rash action, hm?"

"Yes, Mentor," they both said, and they left for their respective assignments.

"I don't like this," Beylier said.

"We've already had this conversation, Master Beylier," Mirabeau said warningly.

"He has a point, though, Honoré," Trenet insisted. "Cheyenne would just as soon send us all to Hell if given the chance, and you're leaving her alone with Arno, and sending her on a mission to investigate the potential Grand Master, a Sage at that!"

"And just whose fault is it that Cheyenne bears such hatred for the Brotherhood, hmmm?" Mirabeau challenged. "Could it be that Cheyenne hates us so because instead of receiving any kind of charity or hospitality in the wake of her life being turned upside down, she instead received scorn and loathing for things she had no part of? No offered shoulders to cry on, no friends to play with, no parental figures to help fill the sudden gap? Never mind the horrendous training regimen she was put through for years on end, and the other abuses she suffered."

Mirabeau let his words sink in, and he watched Trenet, Quemar, and Beylier deflate and start self-pitying themselves.

"And now Cheyenne has a mysterious new friend by the name of Zoë Nightshade, who we know nothing about other than that she is female, dresses for hunting, and possesses the strange power to alter the minds of anyone we send to spy on her. If I were you, brethren, I would start making great strides to make amends with Cheyenne, or I fear we will not see the end of this revolution."

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"I suppose this is where we part ways for now," Arno said, exiting the Sanctuary and up into Café Théâtre.

"For now," Cheyenne agreed.

"How long until we see each other again?"

"Probably not that long."

"I take it you're going to see Zoë now, yes?"

"Oui."

Arno's jaw worked, feeling pangs of jealousy, though he had no real reason to be jealous, which spurned feelings of self-loathing. "I would…I would like to meet her…one day."

"That can be arranged."

"Going to confess your love to her?" Arno slightly teased.

"I just might. Hell, I might just push it all the way and bring her into my bed for one long, fun night."

"Oh? I take it then that you have a wellspring of knowledge regarding intercourse with women?"

"Not a clue, but I am a fast learner."

"Is that so?"

"Yep."

A somewhat awkward silence fell between them, until Cheyenne asked, "Hey, Arno? Why is that you're an Assassin?"

Without missing a beat, he answered, "To avenge Monsieur de la Serre."

Cheyenne nodded. "Our esteemed council…they're old fashioned. They don't like initiative, or proactiveness. They're all about the Creed as if it'll save the world, and if they adhere to it, that somehow makes them righteous. They're still a bunch of murderers, thieves and liars, so eh. What I'm getting at is that they don't have any respect or tolerance for people like us, people who aren't here for the Creed. You're here for vengeance, I'm here because…well, I'm just here."

"With all this mystery and majesty surrounding Zoë, I'm surprised you haven't let her spirit you away to parts unknown."

Arno was also glad for that, too, but he didn't voice it.

Cheyenne still picked it up on it, though, but she ignored it.

"She wants to, believe me, but where she wants to take me is somewhere I don't want to go."

Arno hummed. "Well, if she keeps pushing, just come get me and I'll handle it."

Cheyenne couldn't stop the little snort that escaped her. "She'd crush you like a bug."

"Would she now?"

"She could probably level Paris."

"That powerful?"

"Mm-hm."

"Then why haven't you reached some compromise with her that you don't go to wherever it is that you don't want to go to, but you still leave?" Arno demanded, voice rising. "With all that you've told me about what the Assassins have done to you, and what you've hinted at, it escapes me as to why you haven't let Zoë, with all of this great power she supposedly possesses, avenge you."

"My goodness, Arno, if I didn't know better, I'd say you cared about me."

The tease came at the wrong time. Angry as he was, Arno was just looking for a reason to vent, and Cheyenne gave it to him. His hands shot forward, grabbing Cheyenne's biceps, and he pinned her to a wall, glaring from underneath his hood.

Momentarily shocked and therefore rendered neutral by the sudden act, something that she'd kick herself for later as in a different situation, freezing like that would get her killed, Cheyenne recovered and put her sassy defense up, though it did nothing to quell the sudden heat that bloomed between her legs at Arno's domineering display.

"My, aren't we moving a bit fast? This only our third date."

Arno snarled and Cheyenne softened, realizing that he genuinely cared about her—something that created conflict in her due to her grandfather and Arno's father—and this anger he was showing stemmed from how nonchalant she was being about all the injustice against her at the hands of the Brotherhood, and from the fact that he had dedicated himself to avenging the man who raised him, and couldn't fathom why Cheyenne hadn't done the same in the name of Shay.

"It's alright, Arno," she said softly. "I've got a plan, and even a backup plan."

Raising up slightly, Cheyenne planted a kiss on his cheek, and gently pushed him back so she could have space to move. She stepped past him, intent on ending their episode with that kiss, but Arno grabbed her arm. She turned to face him, and saw his eyes swimming with uncertainty and doubt, his jaw working on trying to form the words his mind was struggling to put into order. Finally, after nearly a whole minute of deliberation, Arno simply said:

"Be careful."

"I will."

Arno let go of her arm and turned around, walking away to pursue his mission, and Cheyenne went in the opposite direction.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She did not go back to Germain's workshop. She didn't even go back to the same district. Instead, mentally tired, and just a little bit physically after not getting any rest for the past six straight days, and with a couple of sphincters letting her know it was time, Cheyenne went straight to where she and Zoë were living together in Le Quartier Latin, which was where the Paris Observatory was with its humongous telescope, which Zoë thoroughly enjoyed utilizing to look at the stars and planets just about every night.

Cheyenne entered their house.

"Oh, my petite fille returns. Did you play nice with the other little children?"

"Not really. I killed a lot of them."

Zoë's strange shtick was to use terms that made her out to be motherly and made Cheyenne out to be like her child. Case in point, referring to Cheyenne as her little girl when she came in through the door. Cheyenne didn't know why Zoë did it, and she didn't know why she let Zoë do it, though it probably had something to do with the fact that she kind of enjoyed the motherly treatment.

Probably had something to do with the small fact that she had never experienced motherly treatment before now, and found it enjoyable.

Kind of like Tobi in Son of Jashin, but minus the sadomasochism and penchant for spilling gallons of blood thinking it was all a playground game.

"You killed the other little children?" Zoë gasped in mock shock. "I think you need an appointment over my knee, jeune fille."

Cheyenne felt her heart beat a little faster at the naughty thought of being put over Zoë's knee, her bottom spanked as she was disciplined just like any other unruly child. And those thoughts dredged up the others Cheyenne had kept buried, the ones regarding her feelings towards Zoë, and all the uncertainty that revolved around them. It showed on her face, too: her eyes went to the ground, her lips pursed, and she did this awkward shuffle, putting one foot behind the other, and she gripped her fingers with her other hand.

Zoë didn't need any of those cues to know something was wrong with her Cheyenne, and she was immediately in motion. Rising from the couch, the crossed the floor to her girl in three strides and put her hands under Cheyenne's armpits, lifted her off the ground with far too much ease, one would think, given their sizes, and went right back to the couch, Cheyenne's legs and arms wrapping around Zoë on instinct.

"Cheyenne," the Huntress said sternly, putting a finger under the girl's chin to raise her head to eye-level. "Tell me what's wrong. Now."

This was one of the rare times in which Cheyenne didn't have anything to say. Words were failing her when they usually sprang to the forefront of her mind like bullets, and it was all because she hadn't ever been in this situation before. Dealing with smug Assassins, asshole Assassins, holier-than-thou Assassins, council member Assassins, thugs on the street, stuck-up nobles, etc.—that was Cheyenne's bread and butter.

Another girl that she evidently held romantic love for?

Nope. Never in her life.

With Zoë's several centuries of experience regarding girls and people in general, she could tell that whatever was on Cheyenne's mind weighed on it so heavily that it was keeping her mouth shut, meaning that whatever was going on, it was so far out of her comfort zone that her state of being was practically in a state of shock. Zoë's thoughts drifted towards Arno and Cheyenne's upbringing, and her own feelings for the little one, and the Huntress thought she had a decent idea of what was running through Cheyenne's head, and she felt guilty for it, knowing she was the root cause.

It was also in Zoë's experience that this typically plied those scared-shut lips wide open.

Adjusting Cheyenne in her lap, Zoë began sliding the straps of her tunic off her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Cheyenne asked.

"I am preparing to breastfeed you."

The granddaughter of Shay blinked, the term unfamiliar to her. "Breastfeed me? Like, feed me…with your boobs?"

Zoë was thrown for a small pause in regards to Cheyenne not knowing what breastfeeding was, but that pause was small for a reason. It quickly dawned on Zoë that, given Cheyenne's rather brutal upbringing at the hands of the Assassins, being taught how to kill and follow orders, that she wouldn't know about basic female functions—something that was corroborated by the story Cheyenne had told her a few weeks back about her first period, and how she had been freaking out over why blood was leaking from a wound she couldn't find.

In the face of all of that, Zoë saw an opportunity for a bit of a white lie in the face of Cheyenne's ignorance.

"In my culture, that of what is now considered mythological Greece, when one woman was so extremely stressed for a reason, it was expected of the woman's closest female friend, be that their mother, sister, aunt, cousin, or just a friend, to relieve that stress by way of milk from the tit."

"Milk from…we've got milk in these things?"

Zoë laughed, a gentle, bell-like sound that had Cheyenne's ears aching to hear it far more often.

"Indeed, we do. But if you're so unsure, come, drink."

"Drink…how?"

"Put your mouth over my nipple, and suck."

"And suck," Cheyenne repeated flatly.

"As if you were with a man," Zoë offered, keeping the disdain out of her voice.

Cheyenne's cheeks were dusted with a faint sheen of red as the intended action became clear. Totally oblivious to the true nature of being breastfed, she opened her mouth and leaned in. When she was where she thought she needed to be, she looked up with her eyes for Zoë's confirmation, and at the affirmative nod, she closed her eyes, braced, and gave a suck.

Instantly, her mouth was flooded with a warm, thick liquid. The first time something like that happened, Cheyenne recoiled, coughing and spluttering while being derisively laughed at. The taste then hadn't been that great either, and so she spat it out, and then had to fight for her life as her action was apparently offensive to some men. This time, however, the taste was so damn good—though it didn't make any sense how something coming out of Zoë's boob tasted exactly like the éclair's Shay used to make for her as a treat—that she kept sucking.

Greedily, as she was spurred on by flavor and by memory of much simpler, much happier times.

The explanation behind Zoë's milk tasting like it did was due to a potion Zoë knew how to make thanks to some lessons she received from the Hunt's resident witch, Lucy. With the right ingredients, the right phase of the moon, the right incantation, and the right timing, Zoë could brew a concoction that made her breastmilk adopt similar properties to the godly drink, nectar, in that it provided rejuvenation and tasted like your favorite food or drink, without the extremely harmful risk of the drinker being incinerated upon drinking too much.

As for why Zoë enjoyed breastfeeding so much…well, if she had to guess, it stemmed from her mother.

In a family so promiscuous as the Titans and gods, rife with incest, pedophilia, infidelity, bestiality, and more, Zoë seeking her mother's tit at any age was hardly something that appeared on the weird radar. It was an often occurrence before Zoë was exiled to spend time with her mother performing such an intimate act, because it was how she bonded with Pleione, and with so many trying for her hand in marriage due to her beauty, and her not wanting any of them in return, and them all doing something to spite her, it created a lot of stress.

So, the above lie about women in Greek culture breastfeeding their fellows as a means of stress relief, like a massage, wasn't necessarily a lie.

At least in personal regards to Zoë.

The Huntress supposed that breastfeeding others was a way for her to connect with Pleione, and attain a small glimpse back into the life that once was before Heracles came along, and her stupidity changed her life forever. For better or for worse could be subject to intense debate with exhibits spanning centuries, but here and now, in this moment, as she used her body to bring peace to this beautiful creature that she loved so much it hurt—because she knew that this love would cost her sisters and her goddess—Zoë could only think that it was for the better.

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By the time Cheyenne was full, Zoë had gently removed all the guns from the girl's holsters, and when Cheyenne was done, Zoë set about gently patting her back, now without the rifle in the way, until she let out a simple little burp, which caused a tired smile to spread across her face.

"I'm sleepy…"

Zoë's lips curled up and a rush of air left her nose at her Cheyenne. Knowing that now was the worst time to get Cheyenne to open up about what was ailing her mind earlier, since her belly was full and she hadn't slept in so many days, leaving her quite tired, Zoë ceded this battle.

"Alright. Time for this little girl to be put down for a nap."

Cheyenne was so content that she didn't make any kind of protest at being referred to as a little girl, nor did she offer any resistance when Zoë began undressing her, removing her boots, belts, trousers, and coat, and slipped a gown over her head, then picked her up and took her to the bed, pulling back the covers to put her down, then pulling the covers back up over and into place.

Cheyenne smiled as Zoë planted a kiss on her temple, and just like when she was a small child, and just like in moments like these, with her defenses down and that hurting child inside of her came out—though now that hurting child finally felt at peace—Cheyenne's finger came up and found purchase just inside her lip.

Zoë had seen some adorable things in her three thousand years of life, and this certainly ranked amongst the top ten.

The Huntress had come to grips many weeks ago that she had fallen in love with this beautiful creature called Cheyenne Cormac. What a specimen she was, too: strong, probably the most dangerous mortal girl on the whole planet, capable, crafty, snarky, sarcastic, self-aware, and a vulnerable side to her that drew Zoë in like a moth to flame, igniting a protective, possessive fire in her.

Cheyenne was hers, and she was going to protect—and love, of course, a whole lot of love—what was hers.

Yes, Zoë knew that romantic involvement with anyone meant an end to being an immortal handmaiden to her goddess, and she knew quite well the other goddess that just loved to screw with the eternal maidens. When Zoë first met Cheyenne, she did extensive meditation to determine if Aphrodite's hand was work, but after seeing that hand so many times across the centuries, and not seeing it here, Zoë could conclude nothing beyond that she was well and truly in love with Cheyenne Cormac.

And she couldn't have felt happier about it.

Zoë let Cheyenne sleep until the girl woke up on her own, which was well into the next day. After a promise of more breastmilk, coupled with the fact that she was now well-rested and ready to go, Cheyenne had no problems with confessing everything to Zoë, her love for her, her love for Arno, and how it was all roiling around inside her as to what to do about these feelings.

The cliché here would've been that Zoë had no experience with this scenario, even after three millennia, but no, she did. Gently cupping Cheyenne's chin, she tilted her head and they shared their first kiss.

Electricity ran up and down Cheyenne's spine, and her whole body was set aflame. Her knees felt wobbly, and her girlhood was suddenly active. Never had she experienced a kiss like this before, and dear Lord did she enjoy it. This must be what it feels like to be loved, Cheyenne thought to herself.

Zoë pulled away, and Cheyenne nearly whined aloud at the sudden loss of such wonderful contact.

The Huntress said, "Give this time. I know it is confusing and difficult, the matters of the heart, but in time, it will become clear. Trust me."

"I…I do…I will…" Cheyenne cleared her throat, cheeks burning. "So, um, what are we…I mean, in regards to our relationship, I m-mean?"

"Well," Zoë started, a teasing grin appearing on her face, "we could become lovers if you would like. I'm sure the bed is still warm."

Cheyenne flushed scarlet and let out an undignified squeak at the prospect of sapphic sex. However, Zoë detected more than just embarrassment. She saw fear, anxiety, and apprehension. The best part was that she understood completely.

She, too, had been racked with nervousness on her first night of being with another girl. What was she supposed to do, how was she to do it, how did she know if she was doing a good job, was it going to hurt, what if she hurt her partner, and a bunch of other what ifs. Sex could be a scary thing, even for the most gung-ho of men, because as far as the first time went, sex was an unknown practice.

By human nature, anything unknown was inherently terrifying.

Cheyenne started to stutter, her brain faltering between determining excuses and attempting acceptance, and it was all coming out of her mouth in an incoherent jumble. Zoë put an end to it with their second kiss of the day.

She ended the kiss, and looked deep into Cheyenne's eyes, conveying acceptance, understanding, and love. "When you are ready, I will be as well."

Cheyenne let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Zoë."

"You are welcome, my petite fille."

Coming from a group where sex was basically the bane of their lives, Zoë was the last person on the whole planet that was going to force anyone into having sex.

"You still haven't answered what we are to each other."

Zoë just smiled. "You are mine, and I am yours. We're not lovers yet, but we are soulmates."

Soulmates.

The way that word just resonated in Cheyenne, and the way it resonated in Zoë, and the fact that they could both tell the effect that word on them both, made it abundantly clear to them that soulmates was the perfect word to describe their newfound relationship.

That still didn't solve the Arno problem, but for now, Cheyenne didn't care.

Her soulmate.

"Well, then, mon â me soeur, I've got an assignment to go investigate this silversmith guy that I think killed Arno's dad. Wanna come with me?"

"I would just love to come with you."

The way that smile was worked, it made Cheyenne blush as she picked up on the innuendo.

Hurrying back to her room, where Zoë had put all of her equipment, she hastily got dressed, fully aware of the fact that while she was usually a frisky, bold, sexually aware young woman who had no problem making dirty jokes—hell, she'd already had sex three times, with three different men—but being in Zoë's presence, with Zoë making those jokes…it rendered her as sexually innocent as a schoolgirl.

It was equal parts frustrating and refreshing, this new experience.

Minutes later, Cheyenne emerged, clothed and armed to the teeth. Zoë was also dressed in her combat clothes, silver tunic, trousers, boots, belt, pouches, loaded quiver, bow, knives, and circlet. Cheyenne thought Zoë looked absolutely stunning, but now she was engaged in business mode.

"Alright, let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Unlike the last time she was here, yesterday, with Arno, Germain's shop was deserted. It made investigating the place much easier. The girls quickly happened upon a locked door, and instead of picking it or kicking it open, Zoë simply snapped her fingers, causing a brief breeze to pass through the shop, and the sound of the door unlocking was easy enough to hear.

"Woah~, how'd you do that?"

"Magic," Zoë grinned.

"Can you teach me that?"

Zoë's smile faltered a bit. "Maybe. It depends on if you have any affinity for magic or not. Some mortals do, some don't."

"What's the determining factor?"

"…the Fates."

The way Zoë hesitated in her answer told Cheyenne she didn't know that for certain and was only guessing. Still, that answer made sense.

"M'kay. Experiments for later, then. Let's see what's inside, shall we?"

Cheyenne opened the door and whistled. "I wonder who this guy affiliates with."

"The Templars, I imagine."

Inside this office protected only by a flimsy door was a wall dedicated to the Templar insignia. There was also a journal that Cheyenne found, opened, and read.

"I love being right," she chirped.

Zoë came and read over Cheyenne's shoulder. In the passages of the journal were Germain's thoughts regarding his plan, and the execution of said plan, revolving around Francois de la Serre's murder.

"And now we have the murderer of Arno's father," Zoë said.

"Well, technically. Charles Dorian was Arno's father, but de la Serre was more Arno's dad."

"Ah, yes, I understand."

And Zoë did. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for adoption in the Greek pantheon, and one's biological parent merely remained as such, where someone else came to be viewed as the true parents, in spirit, mind, and soul. Zoë even found herself in something of a similar situation, in that Atlas might've been her father, but he certainly wasn't her dad.

They both heard rapid footsteps and promptly took positions, ready to fight, only for a redheaded young woman to come charging in, followed closely by the blue-coated Arno Dorian.

"Someone's been in here already," Elise said.

"Damn straight," Cheyenne said, stepping back into view.

Swords were turned on her, but they were quickly lowered.

"Cheyenne!" Elise and Arno said at once.

"That is my name, don't wear it out."

Cheyenne didn't question how Elise knew her name, as Shay was a big figure in the Templar Order, and having a granddaughter suddenly pop up on his doorstep one night was certainly headline news. It was no surprise that the daughter of the late Grand Master would know who she was.

"I've wanted to meet you for some time now," Elise said.

Cheyenne spread her arms. "Well, here I am. Nice to meet you."

"If you're here, I take it you found something on Germain?" Arno asked.

"Yep." Cheyenne indicated the journal. "Germain's the guy."

Arno and Elise went over and read the pages, confirming for themselves the truth.

"We need to tell Mirabeau," Arno said.

Elise nodded. "Agreed."

"Hold on," Cheyenne held her hand up, and then pointed at Elise. "Telling Mirabeau implies you've met him, which means you must've been to the Sanctuary."

"I have been, oui."

"And I missed that?" Cheyenne cried, clearly distressed and not being able to bear witness to such amazing drama. "Oh, putain de tout! Was Bellec there?"

"Yes…" Arno said, brow raised.

"Was he a total dick?"

"Is he ever anything else?"

"Did someone punch him?"

"No, but Mirabeau sent him away."

"And I missed that too? Baiser!"

Elise was flushing as red as her hair at Cheyenne's vulgarity, and even Arno was a bit taken aback.

"Cheyenne Cormac, if you don't watch that mouth of yours, I will fill it full of soap."

Elise and Arno whipped around, weapons up, displaying some damn good defensive reflexes, at hearing Zoë's voice. The Huntress stepped into view, and the two humans were left awestruck at her ethereal beauty.

"Yes, Maman."

"Do not use that tone with me, jeune fille."

"Uh, and you must be Zoë Nightshade," Arno said awkwardly, not sure what to make of the dialogue happening before him.

"Indeed. You must be Arno."

The two didn't get to size each other up much, because musket balls from snipers across the street began peppering the windows.

Zoë just stood there, the magic of her oath protecting her from whatever was accurate enough to actually hit her—as she wasn't engaged in battle, she couldn't die—while the other three took cover. Even in the midst of this surprise assault no doubt planned by Germain, all four of them were deftly aware of the same thing, even Elise, as Arno already informed her of his own conflicting feelings:

The love square was altogether now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Unfortunately, this is the last chapter of this story for the year, and for an indefinite period after that. I'm sorry that I couldn't finish the Fourth Life by the year's end, but in order to finish y'all's Christmas present, and to finish the Christmas presents for my family, I need to cut it here.

Sorry about this.

But let's not think negatively. 'Tis the season to be jolly!

How was the chapter? Romance isn't my strong suit, and as hypocritical as it is, given everything else I've already written, lesbianism is against my religion, so I feel a little twisted on the inside trying to put effort into this.

…going to catch hell for that one, but anyway.

Fav, Follow, and Review please!