Chapter 32: February

The housekeeper brought the post to the breakfast table at eight, as she did every morning.

It was February again, and I was twenty-eight.

I knew it before I opened my eyes. Corwin had been awake since five, and the mark told me so.

He sat across from me in his shirtsleeves, with a paper held up in front of his face.

He had not turned a page in ten minutes.

"The post, Majesty," the housekeeper said, and set the silver tray down at my elbow.

There were three envelopes on it.

The first was thin and white, with a Southbay stamp and my name in round, careful handwriting.

I knew the hand. It had been arriving on the first of every month, and I had answered about half of them.

I opened it.

The first forty are well, Bridie had written.

I told you I'd write when it was true.

Come in March. The quay smells terrible and I have never been happier.

Bring him. Don't bring a camera.

I smiled and set it beside my plate.

The second was brown and plain, with an Ironridge post mark and a cheap gummed flap.

The writing on the front was square and a little too neat.

I looked at it for a moment.

I knew the cedar smell, faint as it was, rising from the paper.

"Linnet?" Corwin said from behind his newspaper.

"It's from Garrick."

"I can have it burned."

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