You must choose, Joan, he had said. Choose between them and me. Her answer she keeps to herself. But if she had spoken, her reply would have been this: A throne, a crown is nothing without the people. There are those in the kingdom who possess so little, yet their lives are fuller than that of any nobleman or lady at court. These men and women labor the whole year long. They have never tasted the entremet or swan, but they will wrap a piece of cheese for you to take home and pour you a cup of fresh milk if you are thirsty. They will slip you a penny, money you did not ask for, if you patch a hole in their cottage or help weed their garden. They will break their bread and give you half, though it is winter and their own children have little enough to eat. Your throne, your crown would be empty without them. And as king, you are not only a servant of God, but a servant of them. If I choose them, I choose the kingdom, which includes Your Majesty. But if I choose you, I forsake them. I forsake myself. Everything I have set out to do.

At night, she visits the inn of the Striped Ass. She has put off seeing her father. What is the point? They will just argue. But curiosity gets the better of her. She makes the trip alone, dressed in her finest doublet, and carrying her sword. She isn’t afraid of him, but a part of her still flinches when he opens the door, swinging it like he wants to break down the wall.

The first thing she does is throw a purse of money on the table, like a dagger at a target.

“This is what you came for,” she says. Her reasoning: If they end up arguing, she wants it to be on her terms.

But he pretends not to see the purse. “You took your time coming here,” he says.

“I’m a busy person,” she replies.

“I can see that.” He sucks something out from between his teeth and spits in the space between them. “Too good for us now. I suppose you tell people you grew out of the earth, like a tree, or came out of a stone or an egg, hatched from a bird. No mother, no father to speak of.”

“I tell people about you.”

He flushes, but he seems pleased. He stamps to the table and pours out two cups of ale. So, he had been expecting her to come.

“This is all they have. None of the fancy wine you must be used to.” His hand picks up the purse. She watches as he turns his back to her, and she hears the light jangling of coins and a grunt, like a pig that has just been fed.

“How are my brothers?” she asks. “My mother?”

“What do you care?”