“The delegation assignments are finalized.” Finn held the false document prominently. “I’ve triple-checked everything. Queen Valdis will be pleased with her accommodations.”
Darragh played his part perfectly, nodding with false satisfaction. “Good work. File it immediately. We can’t afford any last-minute changes.”
“I’ll put it in the secure records room.” Finn made a show of clutching the papers. “This stays locked away until the delegations arrive.”
They walked away, Finn’s heart hammering. Behind them, Thomas’s shadow shifted.
/~/~/~/~/
Midnight arrived cold and silent. Finn pressed himself into the alcove near the records room, barely breathing. The small space smelled dusty, and his legs cramped from staying motionless, but he didn’t dare move.
Darragh stood in the shadows across the corridor. Helena and Aldric waited in the adjacent storage room, positioned to block any escape route.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Thomas appeared, moving quietly despite his size. He glanced around, saw nothing, and produced a key to the records room. The door swung open soundlessly. He’d clearly oiled the hinges.
Finn’s stomach churned. Thomas had clearly planned for every eventuality – that door had squeaked when Finn put the fake records in there earlier.
Thomas lit a small lantern and began searching the files. Finn watched him locate the delegation assignments, then pull out the document and spread it on the central table. Retrieving a pen from his pocket, Thomas started making notations in the margins.
From what Finn could see in the dim light, it looked as though he was changing suite numbers, and altering floor assignments. In other words, it made the fake situation even worse and deliberately sabotaged the summit.
Darragh stepped into the doorway. “Working late?”
Thomas jerked, knocking over his lantern. He grabbed it before it fell, turned with wide eyes. “Your Majesty. I was just…”
“Altering delegation room assignments?” Darragh’s voice was ice. “In the middle of the night? In a previously locked room?”
“I was reviewing them.” Thomas straightened, recovering his composure. “I noticed some issues and wanted to make corrections.”
“Issues.” Finn stepped out of the alcove, his voice shaking. “What kind of issues?”
Thomas’s face hardened when he saw Finn. “Diplomatic protocol issues. Inappropriate placements. The kind of mistakes someone without proper training might make.”
“Show me.” Darragh moved to the table and gestured at the document. “Show me these mistakes.”
Thomas hesitated, clearly realizing the trap had closed. Helena and Aldric emerged from their hiding places, blocking the exit.
“The mistakes are obvious,” Thomas finally said. “Queen Valdis placed two floors too low, rivals positioned adjacently, the Montclaire ambassador in substandard quarters…”
“It’s interesting that you know about this at all.” Darragh picked up the document. “Because this is a fake. We created it specifically to see if someone was sabotaging Finn’s work.”
The color drained from Thomas’s face.
“The real delegation assignments are secure and correct,” Darragh continued. “They’ve been correct for weeks. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? You saw an opportunity to ‘fix’ another of Finn’s supposed mistakes.”
“I…”
“Deny it?” Helena’s voice cut like a blade. “We have witnesses. We have evidence of every incident over the past three months. Wine deliveries. Invitations. Furniture orders. Files disappearing from locked desks.”
Aldric stepped forward, his usual jovial demeanor completely absent. “I’ve known you thirty years, Thomas. I served alongside you under the old king. I never thought you’d stoop to sabotage.”
Thomas’s shoulders sagged. Then, unexpectedly, his spine straightened. Defiance flashed in his eyes.
“Fine.” He set down his pen with deliberate precision. “Yes. I’ve been making things difficult. Someone had to.”
Finn’s breath caught.
“This summit is too important to be ruined by someone who doesn’t belong here.” Thomas looked directly at Finn, his expression filled with open disdain. “You’re a carpenter. A fifth son of a minor earl. You have no business being king consort of Safe Harbor.”
