“I was betrayed, oui. But I followed the Father’s orders until the very end.”
So pious, even now. She doesn’t engage any further, but she also doesn’t make a move to step away.
“What do you think of what’s happening now?” I turn to stand beside her, watching the merriment of the feast.
“I think everything happens for a reason, even if you don’t understand why.”
“Did you know you are a saint in the human realm?” I ask, over the rim of my wine glass before taking a sip.
Joan snorts loudly.
“No, seriously! You are. The Catholic Church made you a saint. And you’re widely regarded as one of the first feminists. They’ve written novels, plays, poems, and even movies about you.”
Joan waves me off. “The legacy is not what I fought for.”
“What did you fight for?” Knowing she’d probably name Charles, the prince who betrayed her.
“A better world.” Her answer catches me off guard. “What we’re still fighting for,” she whispers. “If you’ll excuse me.” She disappears into the crowd, and I’m left mulling over her words.
A better world.
If we can save the world, could I eventually make it better, too?
Satiah finds me standing right where Joan left me.
“She didn’t depress you too much, did she?” She teases.
I flick my eyes to her warm ones. “Quite the contrary, she has me thinking of the future.”
“Very noble,” she giggles. Satiah’s past eludes me and I wrack my brain for any information.
“You’re wondering about my life before?”
“I am actually.” I tilt my head to the side, wondering if my thoughts play out vividly across my face for everyone to read.
“Not all heroines made it into the history books.” She smirks.
But there’s something about her face that strikes me in torchlight. Her bronze skin shimmers like that of statues carved in sandstone. “My husband was a Pharaoh, and I led beside him.”
My mind immediately conjures up images of long-ago Egypt, the black dirt, the marshy delta of the Nile, and the heat.
“My mother was the first female nurse in our kingdom and instilled within me her knowledge of healing.” Her smile is bright, but her eyes are a million miles away. She takes a sip of wine and her gaze returns to the room and people around her. There’s a sadness dimming her usual sparkle. “When a great plague swept through our land, I had infirmaries erected and healers brought in from all over the world to help save our people. I even worked there myself, trying to save as many as I could—before the illness took me too.”
She stands still, and that’s when I see it.
“There’s a statue of you in the Cairo museum,” I breathe. “But there’s no mention of that.”
She scoffs and waves me off. Her night-black hair skims her shoulders. “Why should there be? I did nothing any other decent leader wouldn’t have done to save their people. I did my best.”
She smiles at me, before tipping back her glass of wine and sauntering back into the crowd.
Her words linger in the air.
Words I needed to hear, to live by.
Just do your best.
A band begins setting up instruments in the corner. Excitement has me gliding through the crowd closer to where they’re setting up to play. My body sways as I walk, anticipating the sounds before the musicians are even in place.
