Page 139 of Plug and Tame

“The trade delegation returned this afternoon.”

“And?”

Kira groaned. “Fucking witches.”

“Let me guess…they imported more pumpkin carriages?”

“No, I wish. Legumes.”

“Legumes?”

“Beans, Nathaniel. They planted a fucking beanstalk. A giant one.” She explained, throwing her arms in the air in exasperation.

“Interesting.”

“In the middle of Wayside Channel.”

“In the middle of…?” Nathaniel raised his eyebrows.

“The beanstalk is smack-bang in the middle of the channel, growing out of the fucking water and into the sky. No ships can get in or out of the harbour.”

“Ah.” Nathaniel scratched his nose. “That is an expensive problem.”

Kira scowled. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not.” But his lip twitched, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“I said don’t laugh!” But she was laughing too. It was so fucking stupid. “What am I going to do with them? I’ve got more important things to worry about than babysitting witches. I know I promised to allocate positions in the castle equally between races, but…argh.” She rubbed her face.

Nathaniel let out a low chuckle. “Come here.”

With a low groan, Kira traipsed across the room and sat on Nathaniel’s lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and settled against his chest, breathing in his smoky scent.

This. She needed more of this.

“What am I going to do?” she asked.

“Promoting diversity and being inclusive was—”

“My idea, I know.” She rolled her eyes.

Under her leadership, the first twelve months of her rule had been peaceful. New systems had been implemented by people she trusted—loyal, competent people of various races, including wolf shifters, vampires, and humans. The only people not on her staff were witches and wizards, and that was mostly because despite their good intentions, they were, on the whole, an unreliable sort. There was even a saying for it:

Give a witch a seed, and you’ll get a pumpkin carriage. Give a witch a carriage, and you’ll find it wrecked within a mile of the nearest tavern.

The proverb meant that witches were dreamers, and generally made for terrible chauffeurs. Paperwork was not their forte either; nor were they to be trusted with weapons, lest they accidentally injure those around them. These traits disqualified them for most positions on the household staff, the Royal Guard, and the council.

They were highly skilled at magic, of course, but they were almost too efficient at enchanting the various structures throughout Wintermaw Keep. Kira had tried to keep the witches occupied, but it had taken them no time at all to complete their assignments. There was not a door in the capital that did not open of its own accord (sometimes at inconvenient times), nor a saddle that did not scrub and polish itself after each ride (to the increased pleasure of the still-mounted rider).

Kira had simply run out of useful things for the witches to do, especially when the result sometimes decreased the overall functionality of things that had once worked perfectly. Out of desperation, she had handed a bag of gold to each of the seven eager, young-faced, three-plus-century-old witches, and sent them on a trade delegation across the sea.

This mission had solved the problem of what to do with the witches, and gotten most of them out of her hair for a few months.

Until today, when the ship had returned missing half its sailors, the vessel’s timber and sailing masts coloured a pretty shade of pink. Furthermore, the witches had seen fit to unload their cargo halfway into port, much of which had sunk into the ocean. The magic beans—which apparently had been purchased with a great quantity of Kira’s gold—had instantly found roots in the muddy soil of the channel, the thick trunk shooting up through the brackish water and growing so high it disappeared into the clouds.

No ship could navigate around the large trunk, and the channel blockage had caused a supply chain disruption for the empire—and a serious migraine for Kira.

The pounding of her head somewhat eased as Nathaniel massaged her neck and shoulders.