By the time Lyra had her apron tied and her hair tucked under her headband, Chef Flax was already mixing ingredients for a new round of cinnamon rolls.

“Watch carefully,” he said, cracking eggs into the huge bowl. “Every baker has to find their own method, but we can still learn from each other.”

Bumble darted around the island countertop, collecting spices from various containers and tossing them into the bowl by tiny handfuls. He chattered to get Lyra’s attention and nudged a jar of salt in her direction.

“Really?” she asked, eyeing the jar nervously. “Me?”

Bumble made a chattering noise that resembled an indignant snort. He pointed meaningfully at Lyra’s apron.

“He says if you want to be a baker, you’d best do some baking,” Chef Flax explained. “Wise creature.”

“But…” Lyra hesitated, looking at the giant bowl of dough. “How much should I put in? One teaspoon? One and a half?”

Chef Flax chuckled. “I’ve got it taken care of. Start with a pinch, and then keep going until it’s right. You’ll know.”

Bumble chattered encouragingly and gave Lyra’s hand a go-get-’em pat. Summoning all her courage, she took the smallest possible pinch of salt and transferred it carefully into the mixing bowl.

A burst of pale, yellowish-green light erupted from the bowl, making her jump back. Chef Flax laughed merrily while Bumble thumped his tail on the counter in appreciation.

“Great start!” Chef Flax clapped a floury hand on Lyra’s shoulder. “I told you I had it covered. Just keep going until the light is a deep green, about the shade of kale. Then you’ll know it’s ready.”

Mystified, Lyra added another pinch of salt to the bowl. The burst of light was more truly green this time, but closer to snow peas than kale. She gathered another small pinch, voicing her questions as she went.

“You’re doing a spell, right? Flavor identification?”

“Something like that,” Chef Flax replied. “You probably won’t learn it for a while, as it’s not very useful for new bakers. It requires an in-depth grasp of the specific Flavor profile you’re going for.”

“So you cast the spell based on that Flavor profile, and then the colors show when you’ve reached it?” Lyra asked.

Chef beamed at her. “Exactly. Works best on a recipe you’ve done hundreds of times. Very helpful if you have a cold or just aren’t in the mood for taste tests. Of if you don’t want to measure and weigh out everything.”

Bumble clambered up onto Lyra’s shoulder, chattering. Chef Flax listened for a moment and nodded.

“Exactly. Also very useful for training new bakers. I’ve already cast the spell, so as long as you follow the colors, you’ll be fine.”

Lyra added several more pinches before the light reached the desired shade.

“That reminds me, Chef.” She looked at his apron, white underneath its stains. “Why isn’t your apron green? Aren’t you a Flavor specialist?”

Bumble snort-chattered again, and Chef Flax chuckled. “What gave you that idea, Lyra?”

“Well…” Lyra concentrated on wiping the salt from her fingers onto her own white apron, internally hoping she hadn’t stumbled into some baking culture faux pas. “Weren’t you offered that job at the palace? Royal Chef of Flavor?”

Chef Flax’s eyes twinkled as he added a chunk of butter into the mixing bowl. “Only because that particular post was open at the time.”

Bumble chattered a comment from his spot on Lyra’s shoulder.

“Yes, yes,” Chef Flax agreed. “And I apprenticed under the Flavor headmaster as a third-year here at the academy. But I would have been just as happy in the other two disciplines. It just so happened that one of my fellow students loved Texture more than life, and the other was brilliant at Presentation. So I went with Flavor. Quite happily, I might add. And then, right before I graduated, the Royal Chef of Flavor retired.”

“But you didn’t take that job,” Lyra said. “And you don’t wear a green apron now.”

Chef Flax shook his head. “I’ve always been impatient with these rigid divisions. Using the three disciplines to organize the curriculum is all well and good, but every baker worth their sugar knows you need all three to make anything worthwhile.”

“The Meringue family has always gone in for Texture.”

Caramelle’s words at their first meeting echoed in Lyra’s thoughts. Lyra looked down at her own white apron, thinking hard. “What if you happen to be really, really good at one particular thing?” Another image crossed her mind: the chapter of complicated Texture equations at the very back of Cakes, Magic, and You. Lyra shuddered. “Or really, really bad at another?”

“Then you find a style of baking that showcases your strengths and shores up your weaknesses,” Chef Flax said cheerfully. “And always spend more time with your weakest discipline. It’s not fun, but it’s the only way to grow.”

“What’s your weakest discipline, Chef?” Lyra asked, realizing too late that the question was probably rude.

He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Not sure, to be honest. Probably Presentation. Haven’t thought about in a while.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Lyra blinked. “Really?”

“No time.” He spread his hands, indicating the many active stoves and ovens around the room. “Far more important things at hand! Not that growth isn’t important,” he added hastily. “I just think too many bakers waste too much time pondering those three rigid boxes, trying to make themselves fit in one. What about working hard to combine all three, somehow?”

Bumble leapt across to Chef Flax’s shoulder, chattering emphatically.

“Bumble agrees with me.” Chef Flax poked a finger affectionately at the squirrel’s stomach. “We’ve had some good talks about the need for more interdisciplinary baking.”

Bumble chattered again, tweaking Chef Flax’s ear for good measure.

“Ah. Misinterpretation on my part,” he chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. “I mean, he does agree with me. I know from the past. But that’s not what he’s saying now. At the moment, he’s more focused on the task at hand. As should we be! Time to get kneading.”

Chef Flax dug his hands into the bowl, and Lyra gasped. Not just green, but blue and purple light burst from the dough in streams, interweaving around Chef’s arms before traveling back down into the bowl. The tricolored light show surrounded the dough like an expertly woven, living basket, pulsing as the magic brought about the desired Flavor, Texture, and Presentation elements for this stage of the recipe.

“That’s — you’re —” Lyra stared at the luminous dough, which was rising and proofing before her eyes. “That’s all three! At the same time! How are you doing three spells at once?”

“Decades of practice,” Chef Flax assured her, keeping his eyes on the bowl. “Not to be attempted by anyone with fewer gray hairs than I.”

Bumble chattered indignantly.

“Any human with fewer gray hairs than I,” Chef Flax corrected himself. “Though my flying friend knows very well that he’s as old as I am. Squirrels don’t turn gray with age, you see.”

“I see,” Lyra said faintly. “It’s just… I’ve never heard of anyone doing two spells at once. Even two from the same discipline.”

“I won’t say it’s common. As we were just saying, the baking world is a bit fixated on keeping the disciplines separate. One at a time. Find your spot, and excel in it.” The motion of the chef’s hands began to slow down as the colors deepened, sinking into the nearly completed dough. “But most accomplished bakers could run a few different kinds of spells at once if they wanted to. All three of your professors are more than capable. They’re just not so inclined.”

Bumble leapt down onto the flour-dusted countertop and sprinkled a layer of cinnamon over a large rectangular section. Chef Flax removed his hands from the bowl, giving Lyra a smile.

“That’s our cue. Time to turn this out and roll it flat! Care to do the honors?”

Trying not to shake too much with excitement, Lyra turned the magically proofed lump of dough out onto the cinnamon-floury countertop. Bumble handed her a well-floured rolling pin, and she went to work, rolling the dough into an even rectangle.

“Excellent,” Chef Flax said approvingly. Bumble also gave what sounded like an affirmative in squirrel language. “Now, while you’re rolling, why don’t you perform that Presentation spell you used in your entrance exam? Madame Temper’s Chant of Precision, correct?”

Lyra froze. “Now?”

“When else?” Chef Flax winked at her. “Not much use later, especially when the second-years get their greedy paws on these rolls.”

“But… I thought Presentation spells come at the end,” Lyra said desperately. “If you’re not doing them all at once, I mean. Texture first, then Flavor, then Presentation. It’s the finishing touch, right?”

Bumble chatter-laughed.

“Hush, you culinary rodent,” Chef Flax chided his animal companion. “Lyra’s right, as far as the textbooks go. Texture-Flavor-Presentation is a practical, well-established sequence of events.”

Bumble bowed apologetically, then nudged Lyra’s hand, reminding her to continue rolling.

“But it’s not the only correct method,” the chef continued. “With neatness spells in particular, I’ve found it’s very helpful to perform them throughout the process. Keeps things tidy from start to finish, so you’re not left trying to fix a sloppy mess at the end.”

Lyra took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

Taking great care to keep the rolling pin moving steadily, Lyra began mentally reciting Madame Temper’s Chant of Precision. To her bewildered delight, purple sparkles immediately began appearing around her hands, swirling over the rolling pin before sinking into the dough.

Her fingers tingled. Magic was surging through the enriched dough, smoothing over any rough spots leftover after kneading, binding the ingredients together while still maintaining the light, proofed Texture. Within minutes, the Chant of Precision aligned the lump of dough into a perfectly smooth, flat rectangle on the counter.

Lyra couldn’t hold back a shout of joy. “It worked! I could feel the molecules snapping into place. You were right: it’ll be so much easier to work the dough like this and keep everything neat!”

Bumble leapt straight up to Lyra’s head and performed a gleeful jig that, somehow, did not put even one of her hairs out of place.

Chef Flax joined in the happy laughter, but he was also watching Lyra closely. “Do you always hum while you bake?”

Again, she froze. “Was I humming?”

“Very quietly, under your breath. Impossible to hear without standing right next to you.”

“Good.” Lyra sighed in relief. “I mean, I’m glad it’s not noticeable. It’s a bad habit of mine. I’m trying to break it, I swear. I know it’s not allowed.”

Chef’s eyebrows rose. “Allowed? Of course it’s allowed! Did you think all baking must occur in total silence?”

“It certainly felt that way yesterday, at the exam, so —”

“Stop right there.” Chef Flax waved his hands for emphasis. “Don’t judge the baking world by the royal academy trials. Everyone there is wound tighter than underproofed bread, professors included.”

Lyra felt hope rising in her chest. “So… it’s okay to hum?”

“Hum, sing — scream, if you need to,” Chef Flax said with a grin. “Bumble and I have full concerts sometimes. He’s got a beautiful baritone that goes just right with my tenor range.”

Bumble somersaulted off Lyra’s head, landing neatly on one knee. Placing a paw against his heart, he sang a short line of wordless melody in a surprisingly deep voice.

Lyra wiped her flour-stained hands and applauded. “Let me know when your next show is. I’ll bring my guitar!”

“That would be quite an honor,” Chef Flax said solemnly. “One of the Any Weather Bards, performing in our kitchen!”

“You — you know the Any Weather Bards?” Lyra stammered.

“Of course! Rarely miss a show. I often go with the Berrys. Old friends, you know.” He smiled. “We all think you and your family are splendid.”

Lyra was too full of embarrassment and pleasure to form any coherent response other than, “Thank you. I — I’m glad I brought my guitar to school now.”

Bumble twirled to express his excitement for future music-making, then scampered over to one of the spice containers. Pointing at it with one paw, he chattered animatedly.

“All right, all right.” Chef Flax groaned good-naturedly. “Bumble here claims we need more cinnamon.”

“Claims?” Lyra echoed.

With great effort, the flying squirrel lifted the container and staggered over to Chef Flax, displaying its near-emptiness.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure it’s true.” Chef Flax offered a hand, which Bumble used to jump from the countertop all the way to the doors on the kitchen’s opposite wall. “But it’s also just an excuse to visit the greenhouse. It’s his favorite spot on campus.”

Lyra smiled at the small sous chef, currently clinging to the door handle and waving his tail to urge them on. “Really? Why?”

Chef Flax winked. “Come and see. I told you I’d give you a tour of the greenhouse anyway.” He strode to the doors, holding one of them open for Lyra to pass through.