Being out on the terrace also helped me control how many people got at me. Did I decide once that I wanted fame? It turns out I don’t like it nearly as much as I thought I would—at least not the kind of fame that involves complete strangers walking up and asking for personal stories about the harrowing things you’ve been through. Bad enough when it was just the scandal rags digging for dirt on me and Aaron, but the stories have very much grown in the telling, and not for the better. I like being famous in my field—I’m absolutely bursting with plans to collaborate with a dozen different people in following up on various details from the epic, and am carefully hiding from the reality that I can’t possibly write all the articles I’ve promised—but I’m content to stay there, and not chase notoriety.
Grandmama and I had a talk about that last night, as the ball was winding down. (Aren’t old people supposed to go to bed early? She has the endurance of an albatross.) “Chasing notoriety rarely ends well,” she said in that dry way of hers, while we perched on the railing of the terrace. “Those who seek it out usually wind up looking pathetic.”
“I didn’t chase it,” I objected, even though I was the one who had used that word originally. “It just found me.”
The terrace was well lit enough for me to see her wrinkles rearrange themselves into a smile. “Yes—that’s usually how it happens.”
I sighed. “Maybe if I go to Yelang for a year or two, it will die down. Kudshayn says our winters are acceptable, but our summers are not. But I’ve also been invited to give so many talks, and Cora wants to go tramp around central Anthiope to see if we can confirm whether Mt. Dezhnie is where the Anevrai believed the world was created, and—I don’t want to miss out on things.”
“You needn’t decide tonight,” Grandmama said, in her most practical voice.
She always has a knack for making things sound less complicated. “True,” I said. “I can always stay here, or go to central Anthiope, and then run off to Yelang to hide with Kudshayn if it gets to be too much. Or something else entirely.”
Grandmama didn’t say anything to that. I looked at her, and I saw the warmth creasing the corners of her eyes, and I knew there was something she wasn’t saying. And since it was Grandmama, who has absolutely no problem speaking her mind, I knew she must be holding back because she wanted me to figure it out for myself.
So I thought back over what I’d said. The different things I could do with myself, now that the translation has been published. Not wanting to miss out on anything.
Wanting.
“Ah,” I said.
She nodded. “I’m very glad that you understand me better now, Audrey. But that isn’t the thing I want most for you.”
The question I should be asking myself isn’t what would Grandmama do? Or Papa, or any of my other relatives.
It’s what will I do?
“I don’t envy you,” Grandmama said reflectively. “Oh, in some ways I suppose I do; it would be lovely to have all that youthful energy again, and to be able to spend it in a world where travel has become so much easier. And while I know you face obstacles of your own, at least some of them are smaller than they were for me. But I didn’t grow up with the weight of an entire family on my shoulders.”
“You aren’t a weight,” I objected.
“We have done our best not to be. But it was easier with Lotte, because what she wanted was so different. You chose to go into scholarship, and so inevitably we have been the measure against which you compare yourself. If I had borne more children, the weight might have been spread around, and you would have carried less of it; but instead it all fell on you.”
To live up to the family name. I felt like I had to, even if no one else named Camherst or Trent did.
But it isn’t the epic, nor my fame as one of its translators, that has freed me, whatever it may look like to outsiders. It’s like I said to Lotte months ago, about her running into the arms of Society. What really makes our family isn’t the papers we publish or the honours we win; it’s the way we find the things we’re passionate about, and then chase them with everything we’ve got. I’ve always enjoyed philology, but it wasn’t until this whole affair that I discovered what it was like to know—with absolute, crystalline certainty—what Audrey Camherst would do.
That certainty comes and goes. I don’t think even Grandmama has it constantly; she must have days where she wakes up and feels at loose ends. But that’s all right. At the moment I have plenty to keep busy with, and whatever I’m going to throw myself at next, I’ll know it when I see it.
Right now, I think what Audrey Camherst would do is go to bed. Even Grandmama and the star demons have quit the field; I should do the same. Tomorrow . . .
Oh, I just had the most absurd idea. But if I let myself chase it, I’ll never sleep. So I will close my diary, and see if I’m still feeling foolish in the morning.
I probably will.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marie Brennan is a former academic with a background in archaeology, anthropology, and folklore, which she now puts to rather cockeyed use in writing fantasy. She is the critically acclaimed author of the Lady Trent series, as well as the Doppelganger and Onyx Court novels, six novellas and more than thirty short stories. She won two Isaac Asimov Award for Undergraduate Excellence in Science Fiction and Fantasy Writing Grand Prizes.
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