Once again, they are meeting on the banks of the Vienne. But there is no blue-shadowed dusk, no flickering candlelight to obscure His Majesty’s features. In the early hours of morning, she sees him with startling clarity, as he is. She takes in the pink tips of his ears, his white knuckles, the soft blue veins of his beringed hands, flashing with lapis lazuli and garnets.

“We could always make a trip to Orléans, Majesty,” she says. “And ask the people there if they feel it was a long time ago.”

“I know that would suit your purposes very well.” He grimaces.

“La Charité,” he continues. “Paris. All failures, all disasters. Men lost or deserted. Money and supplies wasted. How do you account for this?”

“You would know better than I. How do you account for it?”

A flash of anger.

“I have had successes, too,” she says. “If Your Majesty prefers, we could review those as well. For La Charité and Paris, there is Orléans. There is Patay. There is also every town between Chinon and Reims that threw open its gates and surrendered without resistance. What of those?”

“It has since been explained to me,” he replies, “that you were only able to win those battles because of the resources I gave you.”

“A soldier must be fed if he is to fight. But I wouldn’t give the herring in his belly all the credit.”

“My soldiers. My army.”

There is a long silence. The King does not look at her.

“How long, Joan? How much longer?” He stares across the river at the opposite bank. “I will be plain with you. I cannot simply have you removed. You still have support, however limited, at court; though the reason is unfathomable to me, there are some who still believe you are a holy woman. And I cannot let you go. I asked my councillors, Why can we not return her to her former peasant life—what harm could she do once she is back in her village, tilling the fields and watching the sheep? But they said to me, You have seen what happens when you put her in a crowd. She will gather a following. She will raise an army of peasants and turn against you. You cannot trust her. But they did not need to tell me this. It is a lesson I have already learned—to my detriment.”

He snaps his fingers, and a servant runs up with something folded in his arms.