She does not have to consider her answer. She would raise an army twenty thousand strong and march on Paris before taking back Normandy. She would secure the loyalty of the duchies of Brittany and Aquitaine to France.

And then?

Secure the realm. Keep watch on the borders. Build a standing army. Raise money for ordnance, for guns and cannonry to be improved.

And then?

She has not thought that far. Jump on a ship? Cross the Narrow Sea? She has never seen the sea. Attack England?

But if she were God, if she had Christ’s powers to raise the dead, then she would not bother with war. She would pull her sister from her grave in Domrémy; she would resurrect her dog, Salaud, his half-burned body from its pile of ash. She would build a ship and leave the kingdom with them. That is what she would do. If she were God, she would be done with court. My sister. My dog. That is all I need to be happy, to live my life.

When she enters the stables, she catches pages stroking her one horse, making it offerings of fresh fruit. They pay bribes to Raymond and Louis to touch a piece of her armor, any piece.

She does not need to remind them she has failed. “What of it?” Louis protests. To him, she is like the great troubadour Arnaut Daniel. Would she rather be the author of masterpieces that will be sung and praised for all time or the author of very good but average and unmemorable works numbering in the hundreds? True, she has not fought so many battles. She has not embarked on dozens of campaigns. But she is young. And already she is the savior of Orléans! Jargeau, Meung, Beaugency, Patay—these are battles every squire and page wets himself thinking of at night. At her approach, the gates of cities go boom! Louis demonstrates the explosion, throwing out his arms. Except Paris. But that is only because she didn’t have enough men. Then he whispers into her ear, cupping his hands, “Everyone is aware that you were betrayed by the King, though they will not say it. They see that he is jealous of your fame and your glory, so they must take sides.” With her or against her.

She lets her pages go. It is the right thing to do, and they know it, even as they cry and protest. They accuse her of having a hard heart.

“Is that the best you can do?” she asks, trying to smile. “You must learn better insults.”

She turns next to Jean, who shakes his head. He is determined.