I reached farther into my bag and found what I’d thought were some light stones. I pulled them out and stared at them.

“They’re not stones at all,” I said. “They’re just crumpled balls of straw.”

I turned the bag upside down. One last gem fell out, a small one. The rest was straw and stubble.

The girl in black picked up my stones and straw and placed them on a grate connected to a long pole. She held it over the blaze. The fire immediately consumed the straw, while it burned off impurities from the gold and silver and gems. They glowed with an otherworldly beauty, and I stared at them breathlessly, held captive by their radiance.

When I came out of my trance, I turned to Malaiki, now opening her third and final sack. She had dozens of precious gems, perhaps twenty diamonds and chunks of gold and silver. Her eyes danced as she watched the sunlight play on them. The grate was large, and a big warrior affixed it to the pole and held her stones over the fire.

“Well, if that don’t beat all!” Gordy said, bouncing around like a child in front of Christmas presents, sucking his teeth and gazing wide-eyed at the precious stones from his two bags. I was amazed at how many stones he’d picked up in such a short time. Gordy had always struck me as being not too quick on the uptake. Yet here he was with three times as many precious stones as I.

So when it comes down to it, who’s smart and who’s dumb?

For the next hour we all watched Shad go through the rest of his sacks. He stopped to laugh and dance a jig. Then he stood still and solemnly handed each stone, one by one, to the King’s envoy. She nodded her approval and put them on a large grate. It took two warriors to help her swing the pole out over the fire. The old man’s eyes watered as he watched the straw burn away and the precious metals glow in the fire.

I stared at all those stones. How could one old man have carried them all on our journey? In his own strength it would have been impossible—of course, that was it. He’d carried them with the strength of another.

“Thuros, like Earth, is the womb of Charis,” whispered a familiar voice beside me. “Choice and consequences. What is done in one world has profound effects on the next.”

As I nodded at Marcus, a warrior carrying the fine tools of an artisan stepped forward. He went to the grates where the stones were cooling. He picked up gold and jewels from each grate and masterfully forged them together into crowns of stunning beauty. Then he handed them to my companions, one by one.