Chapter 12

“Welcome back, Noémie.”

I looked up from my mug of liquor. Seemingly a bottomless pit of amber liquid, a tantalizing addiction that I like to indulge in from time to time. On days when I’m stuck in my head, there is nothing like downing a pint in a crowd of sloppy drunks.

I greeted Pertrece with the sweetest smile I could muster. “I’m dying for your bowl of rabbit stew.”

“When are you not?” Pertrece giggled, scribbling down my order. “Anything else you need?”

“Biscuits and wine.”

“Wine?” Pertrece mused, pausing at my request. She stared at me, lips twisting into a concerned purse and gaze steady on my face. “You only order wine when you're in the mood to talk.”

Knowing better than to lie, I shrug, “I could use some advice.”

“Give me a second?” At my nod, Pertrece whirled around to face the kitchen. “Flanken!”

A man poked his head into the window. Sweat covered his brow and an annoyed frown graced his lips. His brown eyes roamed the tavern until it fell upon Petrece. “Yeah?!”

“Need a bowl of rabbit stew and a tray of biscuits!” She hollered, “And get someone to bring out a bottle of my red please! I have a patron to attend to!”

I was grateful for this. I was still confused about how I wanted to go about the apprenticeship. I needed an unbiased opinion on this. 

Pertrece pulled out a chair and plopped down in front of me. “It's slow enough that I can sit and talk with you.”

“Thank-”

“I’m not missing out on tips just to listen to you preach on about how grateful you are to me.” Pertrece interrupts, “We can do that at a different time.”

I couldn’t help but to snort at that. As un-lady-like as it was, Pertrece wasn’t the type to stress over things like that. I’ve seen her outdrink the meanest drunks. Barely a flush settling on her cheeks as the men grumbled about in their drunk stupor. 

It surely was an entertaining sight.    

“There's talk about the apprenticeship for Lord Township. The whole town's talking about it.” 

“Indeed.” Pertrece nods, “If only I was smart enough to understand that gibberish.”

“You would apply?”

“It's not everyday a woman has a chance of having a title other than priest or wench.” The wench pondered out loud. Women had limited roles. If we weren’t priests, mages, or wenches, most stayed at home, taking care of their farms and homes. Their husbands would be out working out, either fighting for our country, praying to our god, or tending to their farms.  Pertrece continued, “It's about time we get a shot at the important things. This town wouldn't be able to survive without the likes of us, you know.”

She wasn't wrong.

We did more for this town than the average man. A harsh reality we’re forced to live in every single day. Our hard work usually goes unnoticed. Pushed off for some man to steal and take the credit and the glory that comes with it. 

“I think the role would fit you.” 

I blinked, “Really?”

“I couldn't see you being a knight or priest.” Pertrece answered with a frown. “And you have more potential than to lay on your back for the rest of your life.” She added on. Noticing how I rolled my eyes, Petrece pressed on with a frown. “I'm sure you've already realized that.”

“Hardly.” I snorted.

“If I may,” At my nod she continues, “What is your obsession with becoming a whore?”

“Vixen.” I corrected.

“Most start out with the intention of being vixens. It's a very quick and slippery path to becoming a whore.” Pertrece explained, “You'll fight with all your might. Holding on to all your morals, but it won't last. You'll soon be spreading your legs for the most loyal married man.”

I couldn’t do anything but stare at her. 

I’m aware that being a vixen isn’t as glorious or easy as they make it out to be. I know that there are many things that I don’t know about that life. Women have their reasons to fall into that sort of lifestyle. And although mine isn’t a last resort like most, it was something I thought I could see myself doing.

It's still something I kind of want to do.- 

“Here you go.” A wench sauntered up to our table, bowls of food and a tall bottle of wine balanced perfectly on her tray. I was in too much of a daze to acknowledge her. Something she didn’t seem to mind as she placed everything on the table, ignoring my gaping mouth and wide-eyed, startled glare. She turned to Pertrece, “Flanken says he’s going to need you in thirty.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The wench huffed, “Don’t go chasing away customers. She tips good for a-”

“I’ll beat you with this bottle if you finish that sentence.” Pertrece warned darkly. “I don’t mind losing one. I have plenty stashed away.”

“Whatever.” The wench grumbles. She turned on her heel, huffing her way towards her next table. “The last time I try to give a nigger a compliment.”