“Oh, but he will listen to you.” The Dauphine’s voice takes them both by surprise, like hearing birds break into song in the branches over one’s head. It is airy and musical. She shifts her child’s weight in her arms and dips her nose to breathe in her daughter’s hair. “I am not thinking of myself, you understand, but of my children. I want France restored by the time my son is named king. He will not go without. I shall have no one, no prince or duke of England or any other place, laugh at my children and question their titles. My son shall learn from his father’s mistakes.”

“Marie, let Joan hold Radegonde,” Yolande says.

“Are you good with children?” the Dauphine asks Joan.

“Of course she is. Joan is good at everything.”

But the Dauphine does not move. Only when Joan nods and smiles does she pass the child slowly, carefully, into her arms. At face level, the princess touches Joan’s chin. She gapes, her tiny mouth open.

“Look, even your daughter cannot believe there are no whiskers,” Yolande says, chuckling.

The women walk her out. As she is about to leave, she feels a hand settle on her arm, holding her back.

“It cannot be helped,” Yolande says. “For a coronation, one needs the body of a king to be present. He cannot be there only in spirit, as at Orléans.

“You have replaced even La Trémoille in my son’s affections, something I never thought would be possible,” she continues. “But he won’t go quietly, none of Charles’s favorites do, and some of the bloodiest wars are fought not in the field but in the court. So, guard yourself. Watch what you say, your every gesture and action. Watch your thoughts. When you think a room is empty, know you are never alone. Against every door or wall an ear may be pressed, listening carefully for your first mistake. Trust no one. It is not always possible to see your enemy running at you from a distance, for at court we are masters of sleight of hand. Here, it is all shadows and cunning, a few poisonous words dripped into an open ear. La Trémoille’s dislike of you is well known. He has made his position clear, but I would give you this advice: Do not trust even his friend who holds high office. It is, I hope, unnecessary to be explicit as to this person’s identity.”

Joan nods. The Archbishop of Reims. “I am not interested in court politics,” she replies, “and as long as my lord La Trémoille does not get in my way on the battlefield, I shall have no reason to call him my enemy.”