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He was going to come after her very soon.
Agnieszka hung on the branches of the trees and bit into another one of the heart tree fruits. They were still nameless, which made her a little sad. She had been toying with names, but she wasn’t very good with words to begin with.
But more importantly, she could feel the simmering irritation of the local monster. The girl stealer, the one the village had been terrified of before Agnieszka danced with him at the harvest faire. She had a feeling that Sarkan’s reputation as a nice person was beginning to grate on him: he didn’t seem to be very keen on the gifts of harvest abundance. Agnieszka had already scolded him that he simply could not refuse Noah’s family’s gifts, because strawberries were a difficult fruit – whether or not he liked them was irrelevant.
She’d made strawberry jam, too. She wasn’t as good as Kasia, but she was good enough with the jams and the jellies. Her mother had been grateful for a jar – and she’d made sure Noah’s family got one, too.
Sarkan had been coming with her on her rounds to the wood, cleansing the trees. He spent the rest of his time in his library, stacking and studying books, watching her with an intensity that she didn’t understand.
He was trying to… pick at something. She could tell.
She hung a leg down from the branch she had settled on and spotted him. He was wearing black, and she had never told him – but she liked looking at him in black. The red cape was particularly pleasing. She looked at her own green dress and was amused to find a tear on the sides already.
He strode up to her and glared.
“Good morning to you too,” said Agnieszka pleasantly.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You’ll break your leg!”
She was feeling particularly mischievous this morning. She knew what she was going to do only a few seconds before she did it.
She dropped down from the branches, her iron grip on the branch while her knees held her still on the crook of the wood. Sarkan spluttered as her skirt fell down, her drawers being the only things to save her modesty.
He swore under his breath.
“Anyone could see!” he hissed.
“And just who will see?” she asked, one hand hanging down comfortably. “Who’s here besides you, you old frump?”
He pointed to the tower. “Get down, Agnieszka!”
“If you say so,” she said, and held the branch as she swung her knees off the branch. As she left the branch she toppled directly over him, and both of them collapsed on the ground. Her legs were across his lap, and her smile was designed to melt him. When he still didn’t, and seemed quite annoyed, she kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Stop,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows at him.
She fell back in surprise as he kissed her, his lips between hers. His fingers gripped her wrists and pinned them to her sides, and she smiled into his mouth. Her heart soared.
He stopped briefly to look at her.
“You are infuriating,” he promised her.
“I know,” she said. “And you’re easy.”
They kissed again, perhaps for a few seconds, for a few minutes – perhaps even for a few years. Perhaps until the Spindle dried up.