“He kneeled so that he could be on a level with my height and kissed the top of my head. He embraced and held me. And he said, ‘How blessed I am to have a son, and such a fine son as you. Why did no one tell me that the throne of France already had its son and heir? Why did they keep you a secret?’ He had forgotten his other children, that I was not the heir, that I had then not one but two elder brothers. And though I was young, I had an answer ready. I told him it was because he had enough cares at court, and the Queen, my mother, and the rest of his councillors did not want to trouble him until France was finally at peace. ‘And is France at peace now?’ my father asked, still holding me. ‘It is,’ I told him, though it was a lie, ‘because you are king and have made it so.’ ‘Those accursed men,’ he said, ‘the English. They are all gone, my child?’ And I said, ‘Yes, do you not remember how you rode into battle clad in full armor, flashing your sword? It was only a matter of hours and the sea was crowded with Englishmen’s ships, setting sail for home.’ He believed me, and I recall he stood again to full height, as though renewed with faith in himself. He took my hand in his and held it, and we remained like this without speaking. Together we watched the setting of the sun until it became dark, and le Maçon returned and took me away from him. It was the last time my father and I shared such a moment. It was the last time he acknowledged that I was his.”

The Dauphin blinks slowly. With the toe of her boot, Joan nudges away a pebble. In her chest: a subtle ache.

“My father has been dead seven years. Is it strange? I possess almost no memories of him, yet I miss him.”

Joan wants to say, I miss my sister. I miss my dog. “We cannot bring the dead back, Your Majesty. If we could, God knows I would do it.”

He looks at her. His eyes, she observes, are small and watery. His nose, rubbed red, drips from the cold. A thread of snot hangs from the tip, quivering. She would offer him a cloth to dry it with, but she has none. She thinks, The Dauphin is just a man who misses his father. He is a son and a brother, as I am a daughter and a sister. So, why should he remain my enemy when we have both been wronged and by the same people? Royal blood aside, it is possible we are more alike than different, and to get what we want, we need each other. She looks away. From her list of names, she strikes out the Dauphin. She exhales, and the ache lightens.