Through a wall of men, she creates an opening, but another wall rises to meet her. She feels arms grabbing her, attempting to pull her down, as she is surrounded. Three more men are sacrificed before her sword is torn out of her grip. So, she uses her hands, her fists, which knock stars into her enemy’s heads. She kicks. She steps on an ankle and hears a cry beneath her as the bone breaks. She digs her heel in, so he will not ever run again.

Old arms fall away, but new arms clamp onto her shoulders, which are slippery with Burgundian blood. She strains against them, and for a moment, a horror ripples through the waves of men when they realize she is still fighting and unwilling to surrender. Her arms held, her head knocks against a Burgundian’s skull and sends his body flying into the soldiers behind him, like a toppled door. But she is panting. She has been fighting four hours without rest, and it is the first time she has stopped to catch her breath.

Before her, a clearing opens, and a black horse rides into the space. From its back, a man, lightly armored and shining in the late morning sun, dismounts. He hesitates before walking up to her.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks quietly, by way of greeting.

She studies the aquiline features, the thin, bloodless lips. She knows, and her heart leaps—with joy. How does one say, politely, You are number three on the list of people I would like to see dead? I have been waiting a long time for this moment.

She thinks of the rock battle in Maxey. So, this is the man for whom Guillaume died. This is who the redheaded captain of Maxey serves.

He takes a step closer.

“Kneel to the Duke of Burgundy,” a voice behind her says. She is kicked, though she only stumbles. She grunts but does not speak.

“What? Is France’s famous holy warrior mute?” the Duke asks, and laughter goes up around her. He takes another step closer. She holds her breath and hangs her head.

He is standing in front of her now, so close she can hear him breathe. His gloved hand reaches out, grips her chin to raise her face. It is a mistake. She bites down on the groove between his thumb and forefinger, her teeth sinking into ducal flesh until she hears a crack. She had been storing what strength she had left, and now she lunges. The hands that held her loosen in surprise, though only for a moment. She is pulled back and subdued. She is forced to kneel at his feet.