Jester chose not to comment on his mother’s advice. For some reason, it had sounded almost like a plea.
So instead, he pulled out a small bundle wrapped in paper. It was the object Alveston had gone to retrieve—earning him a black eye from its keeper—and Cressida’s eyes widened when she recognized what it was.
“So, your elf friend succeeded,” she said, taking the package.
“Not without difficulty, I’m told.”
“No, I don’t imagine that little minx would have been glad to give this up. Even though she doesn’t know what this really was.”
Cressida unwrapped it. Inside was a rectangular slab of black rock, roughly the same size as her palm. On one side was an engraved design of an eye and a star, sparkling as if drawn on with golden ink.
A Wishing Stone. It was basically pure power in the form of a tacky paperweight. And there were only six of these in existence. T
