Yep. Lyra’s heart was definitely melting. Somehow, though, the pile of goo was still pounding away, hammering blood through her veins at breakneck speed. When she managed to form words, her voice came out as a whispered squeak.

“I do?”

“You do. And in a different way than I’ve ever seen in any other Presentation expert.” Cardamon smiled, his teeth white and gleaming against his dark olive skin. “You are quite an enigma.”

“I’m certainly… different,” she said, trying not to yell over the roar of her own blood rushing in her ears. “From my family, anyway. And I haven’t had the right training. I think… some of the other students think I’m an imposter.”

Cardamom frowned. “An imposter?”

“That I pulled some kind of trick to get in. That I’m a fraud.” To Lyra’s horror, her eyes filled with tears. She looked down at her hands, clenching them in her lap to keep herself steady. “That I — that I shouldn’t be here.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to banish the tears before they could fall. Where is all this coming from? she thought desperately. I thought I was over this. I thought I was settled. I thought —

Suddenly, Cardamom’s hand was covering both of hers.

“Old baking families are the worst,” he said softly. “Believe me, I know. The Coulis name is brand new compared to some of your classmates.”

Lyra tore her eyes away from the delightful sight of Cardamom’s hand on hers to stare at him in shock. “Really? I thought — I mean, you’re ‘the Third.’”

“Exactly.” His tone was grim, and edged faintly with bitterness. “Only ‘the Third.’ If you can count the generations on one hand, or even still keep track of them, that’s too few. The Mints lost count ages ago. So did the Meringues.”

“And the Berrys?” Lyra guessed.

“Oh, yes. Not that you’d know. They’re so terribly nice, the Berrys.” Cardamon sighed. His hand was still covering hers, just resting, as if it had been designed to fit there. “I’m saying that I understand what you’re feeling. I’ve been through my share of it.”

“But everyone respects you,” Lyra protested. “Professor Genoise can’t speak highly enough of you. You’re — you’re incredible!”

“I worked hard for it,” he said flatly. “So did my dad, and my grandfather. Our name is good now, but we’ve had to break the path every step of the way, with the old families laughing at us the whole time. And I’m here to tell you, Lyra: you can’t let them get to you. You can’t listen, not for a second. Understood?”

She nodded, unable to speak, but grateful that the tears were still contained within her eyes.

“You belong here,” Cardamom whispered. Then, louder: “You belong here. Say it.”

“I belong here,” she repeated.

“That’s my girl.”

He smiled. It didn’t light up his whole face, like Boysen’s grin, but his dark eyes sparkled with their own inner flame, which was far more exciting.

“And we’re going to make sure you stay here,” he went on, giving her hand an encouraging pat before leaning back and crossing his arms. “We just have to build up your skills to match. You’re in a good place with Flavor. What about Texture?”

With great effort, Lyra pulled her attention from the bewildering mixture of emotional ‘Flavors’ swirling inside her and tried to match his professional tone. “It’s off to a good start, I guess. An ‘okay’ start. I think I could really like Texture if I gave it a chance. Setting spells to music helps a lot.”

“Music?” Cardamom’s eyebrows lifted delicately, the faint distaste in his tone sending Lyra’s stomach into a nosedive. “You… sing the spells?”

“N-no,” Lyra stammered. “We just use music to memorize the words. The Whisk Whi— I mean, my friends and I find it helpful.”

Cardamon nodded, but his serious expression did nothing to reverse the course of Lyra’s plummeting stomach. “Interesting. And Puff approves?”

“Well… sort of. She said she would prefer it if we just did the assignment, as it’s written. Rise to the challenge, I think. But she also said that baking is a journey, and bakers should use any tool at their disposal to help them along the journey.”

“Of course.” He looked at her for a few moments, his face full of thoughtful concern. The silence lasted long enough for Lyra’s stomach to finish its descent, landing somewhere near her toes with a pathetic thud. When he did speak, though, his voice was gentle. “I think you need to be very careful with this music element, Lyra. As your tutor, I feel it is my responsibility to warn you against bad habits.”

Lyra’s heart slipped loose and began to follow her stomach’s recent downward course. “Is music a bad habit?”

“It could be, if you become dependent on it. And even if not…” He hesitated. Then, in a tone that was somehow equal parts kindness and bitterness, he continued, “The baking world can be hard to break into. If you don’t show them you can play by their rules, they’ll never take you seriously. They’ll never let you in.”

“But…” She floundered, her internal temperature dropping faster than a magically controlled cooling drawer. “Aren’t we supposed to forge our own path? Make our mark?”

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“Absolutely. But first you have to prove yourself. Not by bending the rules, but by following them better than anyone else. And along the way, you infuse each tradition with your personality. The strongest personalities are the ones that stand out. Beat them at their own game. That’s how you make your mark.” Before Lyra could reply, Cardamon gave her another dazzling smile. “But that’s what I’m here for. Thanks to these tutoring sessions, you won’t need any more shortcuts. Right?”

“Right,” she echoed automatically.

“I have a feeling you’re going to make quite a mark, Lyra Treble. With my help, you could change Presentation forever. That’s the reason I wanted to work with you.” His hand reached out to rest on hers again. “Well… that’s one of the reasons, anyway.”

Lyra’s insides chose that moment to start singing. The song was loud inside her head, and shaky with nerves, but she couldn’t stop it.

In fact, she had no desire to.

The only problem was to keep her actual voice from joining in.

Bring it on, second term, sang Lyra’s soul as she perched on her stool. This time, it wasn’t her heart melting like tempered chocolate in the hot sun. It was her doubts and fears from only a few days ago. In fact, to borrow a word from Professor Puff, it was shaping up to be an ‘exquisite’ few months.

Private lessons with Cardamom?

Boysen for a partner in group projects?

Rooming with Ginger, and laughing with her and Mac at the Whisk Whiz Review?

The song of Lyra’s soul changed keys, coming around for another triumphant chorus.

Bring it on, second term. Bring it on, Royal Academy of Magical Baking.

I am SO ready.

Cardamom gave her hands a squeeze, then released them and stood. “Ready to make your inimitable mark on the discipline of Presentation?”

She rose from her stool, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hand she placed on the counter to keep from falling over. “Ready and willing.”

“Then we’re off.” He strode to a nearby bookshelf and returned with a stack of books, placing them on the counter with a thump. “Let’s forge the Treble path.”

—

Two hours later, Lyra found herself standing in the foyer of the dormitory, unsure what to do next.

Cardamom had gallantly walked her back to the dorm building, taking his leave in the foyer with a deep bow before heading upstairs to the third floor. But Lyra wasn’t interested in returning to her own room yet. Nor did she want to check if the Whisk Whizzes were still ‘reviewing.’

As much as she loved her friends, she wasn’t ready for people yet. Her internal ingredients shelf was far too jumbled. She needed time to sort through it all and get some of those tricky spices back in their jars.

It was the perfect time for another visit to Queen Penelope, but she was loath to show up in the chicken’s throne room empty-handed again…

And with that, clarity struck.

I want to bake, Lyra thought, marveling at how quickly she had forgotten this simple truth. That’s what I need. I’ll make some cookies and take them to Queen Penelope.

She retraced her steps to the main hall. All nine of the practice kitchens were kept fully stocked with basic ingredients, magically preserved and checked daily for any replenishment needs. Lyra had done all her practicing in the dorm during the first term, so she’d never had to use one of the large, brightly lit rooms.

Now, though, she was grateful for the academy’s abundant provision of space. With three practice kitchens on each of the second, third, and fourth floors, an ‘Aspiring Baker’ had plenty of options for some alone time.

Lyra went straight up to the fourth floor. Every practice kitchen was empty, so she chose the one closest to the stairs and began pulling out ingredients for her favorite cookie recipe: browned butter chocolate chip.

As she measured out the butter into a pot on the stove, she considered using a spell or two. It wouldn’t hurt to get in another rep of Madame Hazelnut’s Deepening Spell for Flavor, and she could always use more Texture time. Since she was technically in a ‘practice’ kitchen, shouldn’t she… well, practice?

But then Chef Flax’s voice pealed through her memory, accompanied by Bumble’s cheerful chatter:

“Sometimes, I find it soothing to bake without any magic at all.”

So do I, Chef, Lyra thought fervently. So do I.

Pushing aside all thoughts of Flavor charms and gray-eyed Texture professors, Lyra set the butter to brown and began measuring the two kinds of sugar. Next came the flour, sifted into a separate bowl with baking soda and salt. Then it was time to check the butter, giving it a brief stir so it wouldn’t burn…

Before Lyra knew it, she was singing her “Chocolate Chip Cookie Song”: the first baking song she had ever written.

Let the butter simmer now

Not too hot

Wait until it starts to brown

Then move the pot

While it’s cooling, sift together

Salt, soda, flour

A trio fit for any weather

Full of power

Join the sugars in the bowl

Brown and white

Add the butter, sweet and whole-

-some: happy sight!

Whisk until it’s light and fluffy

Eggs are next

Cure for every brain that’s stuffy

Or perplexed

Vanilla: pour it in, friend, by

The tablespoon

Though we’re near the end, cry

Not: sweet comes soon!

Fold the flour and chocolate in

Gentle, slow

Feel that special glow begin

Breathe, and know

When the oven’s done its job

You will feel

Gladness none can ever rob

Joy that’s real

Lyra couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so peaceful. Not even the merry warmth of the Whisk Whiz Review could rival the simple bliss of just baking, the movement of her hands falling naturally into the rhythm of the song on her lips.

Singing and baking fit together so perfectly, she thought as she placed the cookie sheet in the magically powered oven. How could it be wrong to combine them?

Chef Flax would say it wasn’t wrong at all. So would Ginger, and Boysen, and maybe even the whole Berry family. But were they in the minority? Cardamom’s concerns had been even stronger than Professor Puff’s, and certainly weighed more heavily on Lyra’s mind.

And, of course, Caramelle had made her opinions clear…

Lyra shook her head. No Meringue tonight.

But even without the Caramelle factor, the question of ‘music in baking’ was still trickier than choux pastry. Lyra sensed all her confusion from earlier returning in a flood. Her insides were suddenly back to feeling like a chaotic kitchen, with too many projects going on at once and dirty dishes piling up faster than she could clean them.

What was the best way to ensure she survived to the third term? Whose counsel should she prioritize? Between the Flax/Berry viewpoint and the Coulis/Puff warnings, what was a Treble to do?

To her surprise, it was her mother’s voice that pierced through the gathering mental haze:

“One note at a time, Lyra. Don’t think too far ahead. One note, then the next, then the next. Just keep on singing, and you’ll be fine.”

Lyra smiled, her rising spirits timed perfectly with the ding! of the oven.

One day at a time, she thought. Pulling the cookies out, she set them to cool and quickly finished clearing away her mess. Keep on singing — or baking, rather. Maybe both, sometimes.

Lyra arranged the warm cookies on a plate and gave her tidy workspace a final glance of inspection. Then she was off to the roof, stopping once or twice to breathe in the rich, nutty aroma of browned butter and chocolate chips, fresh from the oven.

She would figure it all out eventually.

And in the meantime… there were cookies.