The rest of the second term passed in a mostly happy blur for Lyra. The Monday morning exams made sure each week began with a shot of adrenaline. Lab days were grueling, but always left her with a sense of fulfillment. And then there were Whisk Whiz Reviews on Fridays to look forward to, followed by weekends full of baking with Boysen. The rhythm of academy life became so comfortably familiar that Lyra found herself wondering how she had ever felt ‘at home’ anywhere else.

  Then, of course, there was Cardamom.

  It was hard to tell which Lyra looked forward to more: the weekly tutoring sessions, or the Sunday night experiments. Wednesday and Thursday nights in the Presentation lab certainly had the most direct impact on Lyra’s educational growth. Mainly, this impact took the form of a gradual elimination of singing in her Presentation work. Practicing spells with Cardamom standing right next to her filled Lyra’s mind with an awed silence, pushing her customary mental soundtrack to the background. After several weeks of these tutoring sessions, she barely remembered any of the Presentation songs she had taught the Whisk Whizzes the previous term.

  Lyra took this as a definite sign that she was making progress towards becoming a serious baker. Better still, she was confident that she would soon be able to apply this new sense of discipline to Texture and Flavor also. Thanks to Cardamom’s tutoring, she would no longer be dependent on music to succeed in magical baking.

  Then even Caramelle would have to take her seriously.

  Yes, the weekly tutoring sessions were effective. But the Sunday night experiments had their own special glow. Even though Lyra didn’t get to participate directly, Cardamom assured her that her listening ear and attentive gaze were profoundly helpful.

  She had no desire to object or complain. Not only was it an inspiring privilege to witness Cardamom’s passion for innovation, Lyra had the additional pleasure of knowing The Meringue was furious about all of it. Realizing just how much Caramelle would love to be in her shoes made every delicious moment all the sweeter for Lyra.

  The pleasant rhythm of these days did have some hiccups, of course.

  Queen Penelope struggled to get back to normal, and her slow recovery cast a pall on the academy kitchens. Chef Flax, Bumble, and Sprinkle ran themselves ragged. They devised as many egg-free dishes as possible so the royal poultry could focus on providing for the students’ classwork needs. They whipped up a veritable mountain of extra sweet treats for the queen with Sprinkle’s salutary spices. On the few occasions when Lyra was able to stop by the kitchen for a lightning-quick visit, she either found her friends dashing out to tend to Queen Penelope or dashing back in to work on the next meal for the dining hall.

  They were always so apologetic at not being able to receive her properly that Lyra felt ashamed. After all, she wasn’t providing any help to them or to Queen Penelope. She still hadn’t managed to bring her guitar for the long-promised concert. It was hard enough as it was to snatch an odd few minutes after dinner or before breakfast to duck her head into the kitchen and say hello. As much as she tried to convince herself that Chef Flax understood the pressures of the academy, she couldn’t stop feeling guilty.

  It didn’t help that the other Whisk Whizzes were all doing their part for the convalescent poultry. Ginger had taken it upon herself to experiment with egg substitutes for some of their project recipes. Boysen doubled his squirrel-speech vocabulary so he could consult with Sprinkle about different Flavor combinations for Queen Penelope’s medicinal desserts.

  Mac outdid them all. He pulled a few all-nighters in one of the main hall’s practice kitchens, elaborately decorating ‘health cakes’ for the royal chicken’s enjoyment and consumption. When his classmates objected, questioning whether this was truly the best use of his time, Mac revealed a hitherto buried streak of stubborn determination.

  “Beauty has healing properties,” he insisted, eyes flashing fiercely behind his glasses. “Making something prettier increases the health benefits. It’s not just for the physical senses, you know. It’s for the soul.”

  When Chef Flax confirmed this assertion, and even reported that the gorgeous cakes did indeed produce a noticeable improvement in Queen Penelope, the Whisk Whizzes surrendered. Lyra still didn’t think it was wise of Mac to sacrifice that much energy, especially as the second term final exam drew ever closer, but she kept her doubts to herself.

  She tried to be more vocal with her roommate. Ginger was still pushing back against academy authority at every turn. True to her promise to Mac, Ginger curbed her innovative tendencies during their weekly projects, but lab days were a minefield of experimental disasters. Looking back over the term, Lyra couldn’t list a single Thursday when Ginger didn’t return to Zester muttering about Professor Genoise’s ‘soul-crushing dictatorial tendencies.’

  Lyra listened sympathetically and made several cups of comforting chamomile tea, but she also felt it her duty as a roommate to speak hard truths. Whenever Ginger paused for breath between anti-establishment rants, Lyra tried to remind her that school was temporary. If they could all just put their heads down and get through the term, there would be time enough for revolutionary experimentation in the years ahead. Ginger just shook her head, took a large gulp of tea, and launched into another diatribe about Professor Genoise’s monocle.

  As the term drew to a close, Lyra’s concern for her roommate was nearly equal to her worries about Queen Penelope. The fate of both, along with Lyra’s guilt at not being able to help either, were twin clouds on the otherwise hopeful horizon of the second term.

  Then, of course, there was Boysen.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The Flavor King kept his face resolutely blank whenever Lyra mentioned Cardamom, and he was careful to avoid even the appearance of any pressure about the use of music in baking. With all his efforts, though, Lyra could tell he was bothered. The air around him would occasionally start vibrating at a particularly tense frequency, disrupting his usual serene tempo and jangling uncomfortably with Lyra’s nerves.

  Lyra tried to ignore these moments, but this became difficult as the term progressed. Not only did the discordant frequencies start popping up more often, but they also lasted longer. By the time Lyra arrived in the Flavor classroom for the final Monday morning of second term, her inner rhythm was still slightly off following a full weekend of nonstop ‘on-edge’ vibration from the Flavor King.

  “Welcome, Aspiring Bakers!”

  Professor Honeycomb’s cheerful greeting smoothed some of Lyra’s choppy thoughts, but the churning returned full-force with the Flavor headmistress’s next words.

  “Before we begin this morning’s project evaluation, we have another important event to discuss: the second term final.”

  Every single first-year inhaled in sharp unison. Lyra found herself wondering if their collective anxiety could actually flash-freeze the air in the classroom.

  “As you know, this is the last week of second term,” Professor Puff continued, her face and voice equally impervious to the students’ emotions.

  Professor Genoise, too, seemed oblivious to any change in the room’s atmosphere. “Therefore, it is time to announce the nature of this term’s final exam, which will take place this Saturday morning in the exam hall. For this exam, we are asking you to revisit a familiar recipe.”

  “A very familiar recipe.” Professor Honeycomb’s blue eyes twinkled. As if revealing a tray of delectable desserts, she spread her arms wide and announced, “You get to make your final entrance exam cakes again!”

  The students drew in another sharp, unison breath. Lyra now began to wonder if the academy had ever lost an entire group of first-years to mass hyperventilation.

  Professor Genoise took out his monocle, polishing it on his sleeve as he amiably took up the thread. “Of course, as with the first term exam, there are additional requirements. You must choose two spells for each baking principle. No more, no less. For Presentation, one of these spells must be Master Brulée’s Coloring Charm, used for any and all colors you choose to include in your cake.”

  “No specifications for Texture spells,” Professor Puff said, almost kindly. “You are aware of your own strengths and weaknesses. I am confident you will choose wisely.”

  “And for Flavor, I ask only that one of your spells be Madame Hazelnut’s Deepening. The other is up to you.” Professor Honeycomb beamed at the class. “Any questions?”

  Ginger raised her hand. “Do you want any additional Flavors, like you asked us to implement in the first term exam?”

  Professor Honeycomb’s smile brightened. “Excellent question, Aspiring Baker Crumble. Please do keep the Flavors you added for the first term exam, but no further additions.”

  “As we have discussed often this term,” Professor Genoise added, “too many new elements can rather muddy the waters, Aspiring Baker Crumble.”

  He gave Ginger an almost pleading smile.

  “Thank you, Professor,” Ginger replied, eyes wide with innocence. “No further questions.”

  Her voice was sweet, but Lyra knew her roommate too well to miss the steely glint in Ginger’s eye. It bore an ominous resemblance to Mac’s fervent defense of all-night ‘health cake’ decoration.

  Lyra’s heart sank. If Ginger tried anything crazy…

  Despite Ginger’s assurance later that she would behave for the exam, Lyra’s worries persisted. She tried to drive them away by immersing herself in exam prep for the rest of the week, but to no avail. It was all too easy to picture Ginger sacrificing the rest of her academy experience just to make a point.

  By Thursday evening, concern was still so heavy on Lyra’s heart that Cardamom noticed at the end of their tutoring session. She gave him a brief summary of her roommate worries in response to his courteous inquiry.

  “Is that all?” he asked, one eyebrow raised delicately in surprise. “Lyra, you don’t have time to worry about other people. No one at the academy does, but especially not you. The exam is your priority. That’s enough.”

  “I know.” She nodded wearily. “Practice, and repetition, and focus —”

  He waved an elegant hand to cut her off. “Yes, yes. All that. But you also need to take some time to prepare for winning. What are you going to say to Professor Genoise when he awards you the Stellar Enchantment Pin?”

  She stared at him. “You — you really think I’m going to win?”

  “Yes, Lyra. I really do.”

  His dark eyes caught and held hers. Even if she’d wanted to, she literally could not look away.

  “Remember what we said at the beginning of term?” he went on. “It’s not enough to be the best. These sessions have been about making you better than the best. You’re something special, Lyra. And on Saturday, you’re going to prove it.”

  She nodded, as incapable of speech as of movement.

  He smiled. “Let’s plan on a special celebration over the break, just you and me. I can take you to dinner. We’ll toast your victory and make plans for the third term. Yes?”

  She nodded again. Cinnamon and honey swirled around her, the aroma so strong that she almost thought she could see it. Was it possible to drown in scent?

  If so, she thought dreamily as he walked her back to the dorm, what a way to go.

  Still floating, she said good night, then practically twirled across the first floor common area.

  “All ready for the exam, I see?”

  Lyra froze. Gripping the door handle of Zester, she turned slowly to face Caramelle.

  The Meringue was leaning out of Pestle’s open door, her eyes sparking with anger. Had she been waiting there, listening for the sounds of Lyra’s return from tutoring? Was she really getting that desperate?

  Lyra shook her head. She was not about to let Caramelle steal any of this Cardamom-inspired happy haze.

  “Yes,” she replied coolly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Caramelle stepped through the door, looking Lyra up and down. Her voice was a perfectly obnoxious blend of syrup and scorn.

  “Enjoyed your extra time with Cardamom? Soaked up all those unfair advantages like a good little sponge?”

  “There’s nothing ‘unfair’ about it,” Lyra shot back. “I’m not the one who had to sabotage her own roommate to guarantee a win.”

  Caramelle went rigid with fury. “I’m not the one who has to depend on secret musical powers to get ahead. Got all your illegal songs composed for Saturday morning?”

  “No, actually.” Lyra forced her own posture a little straighter. “I don’t need those anymore. Cardamom helped me. I’m going to beat you fair and square.”

  “Is that so?” Caramelle tried to laugh, but it came out as a strained wheeze. “You’re going to beat me?”

  Lyra fought to keep the bubbling pot of rage in her stomach from seeping into her voice. “That’s right. I’m winning the Stellar Enchantment Pin this term. No music. No tricks.” She leveled one last glare at the auburn-haired girl. “I’m going to beat you, Caramelle, and I don’t have to cheat to do it.”

  Without waiting to see her reaction, Lyra turned the door handle and swept into Zester. The sound of Pestle’s door slamming seconds later sent the pot of rage boiling over into a wave of mean gladness.

  This time, Lyra promised herself. This time, it will be The Meringue who winds up with egg on her face.