Rannok couldn't tell how much time had passed when the cart finally rolled to a stop, and the guards unceremoniously heaved him out onto the ground before binding his hands behind his back once again. The sky was still too dark to see where he was when they lifted him up, but the flicker of torchlights cast itself across the front of a building. Above it hung a sign in lettering he could not read.

"Stand up," the guard behind him said, before shoving him forward through the doorway. Rannok tried his best not to make any noise as he stepped through. Inside a pair of oil lamps burned in each corner, smudging the ceiling in soot. A small, crooked-nosed man sat behind a desk, staring at a piece of paper. His fat, crooked fingers wrapped around a quill made of hawk feathers.

The guard holding Rannok's arms pushed him into a chair on the other side, then nodded to the man behind the desk. Rannok twisted his neck to get a better look, but by the time he did, the guard had left, leaving him alone with the notetaker.

"Rannok, it says your name is. Is that correct?" The man behind the desk scarcely looked up from his paper. His fingers were bent with age, and the knuckles were red and swollen. His quill made scratching noises across the parchment, though Rannok could not make out any of the words he put down.

"Yes," Rannok responded, squirming a bit against the ropes that bound his hands behind his back. He'd begun to lose feeling in his fingertips.

"You've stolen coins from six different innkeepers since you entered this region. It's a wonder you haven't been caught before now." The man's accent was surprisingly clear, and Rannok lifted his eyebrows while trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Relax, we aren't going to take your fingers. We aren't the port towns." The man shuddered as if the thought of this displeased him, then brushed his black hair back behind his head.

"You speak good Terrean," Rannok said, the inside of his mouth still dry. 

"It is the duty of a town treasurer to know the tongues of many," the man said, eyes flickering back down to the paper. "My name is Mariel. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Mariel sniffed and passed his fingers under his nose before wiping them on the top of the desk. Rannok tried not to make a face.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble," he said, swallowing the lump of apprehension in his throat. "Please. I just want to find the woman you chased into the woods and we'll get out of your way."

The man smoothed his hand across the paper he'd been writing on and chuckled. "Theft is a serious crime. Not one I or anyone else will let you just leave. You need to pay back the money you took."

Rannok's eyebrows furrowed a bit in displeasure. "Do you think I would have been stealing if I'd been able to find work?" It wasn't his fault this place hated Terreans, or marked ones for that matter. He remembered the face on the innkeeper the first village he'd stopped at, where he'd made the mistake of asking if any of the horse stables needed cleaning. They'd found themselves shut out of their rooms that night.

"It's not my business why you committed the crime you did," Mariel said, tapping his quill on the paper a few times before placing it in an inkwell and lacing his fingers across his desk. "Not having money is not license to take it from an honest man. I know your type tend to be on the dishonest side of average, but that is still not an excuse."

Rannok's face got hot, and he squirmed under the man's gaze. He would have had no reason to be dishonest if it weren't for their quickly emptying food bags or lack of places to sleep. He was smart enough, at least, to not open his mouth and say so.

"I'm sorry," Rannok ground out between his teeth. "It won't happen again."

"Hmm, I don't doubt it," Mariel said, picking up the quill again and going back to the parchment. "Do you have connections to which we could send a pigeon? Someone who might pay the debt you owe the region."

Rannok thought for a second while trying to ignore the growing tightness in his chest. Phina would never send him money, and he didn't doubt Wren would still be angry enough to shred his letters. If she was even in Agatine at all, anymore. But it was worth a try.

"One of the brothels in Agatine," he muttered under his breath. Wren wouldn't ignore a desperate cry for help. Even if she was angry, she wouldn't be too good to save him from trouble if she could. He knew her well enough to know, and for a moment he let himself hope.

Mariel paused in his scribbling for a moment, then burst out laughing. It made the jowls on the side of his face quiver, and Rannok resisted a sudden urge to punch him until the movement stopped. 

"No, no, we won't take funds from one crime and put it toward another," he said. "That sort of activity is forbidden here. Filthy things. All of you are the same. It's no matter, a couple arranged to buy your debt before we'd apprehended you. You can work for them until your debt is repaid. They'll be here to take you in the morning."

"Wait, what--" Rannok stared at the man across the desk. "Take me where?"

"That's not my concern, is it?" Mariel looked up. "From what I've heard, they're a ways down the river from here. They'll probably treat you well, though if I were you I'd have thought of that before resorting to theft." 

"But Sasha--"

"She's left town, or at least she has if she has any sense," Mariel said. "The guards had strict orders to get her the horses and let her go. I know well enough what happens to a decent woman once she's caught up with the likes of you."

The tips of Rannok's ears burned, and he turned his face down into his lap. Rannok tried not to think of her alone, trapped in the woods, with nothing but the snakes and spiders for company. He tried not to think of her having to break camp alone in the rain without him. But she'd said she wasn't coming back. That was enough to know he couldn't hope for her to save him, either.

He'd sealed his own fate by stealing to begin with. The only person he had to blame for this situation was him.