Lyra stared up at the gates that led into the Royal Academy of Magical Baking. "This is strange."

"Which part?" Boysen asked, giving her hand a playful squeeze. "The view, or the company?"

"Neither. Well, you do have some strange notes running through your melody line."

Boysen nodded. "Of course. A few dashes of oddness are key to a balanced Flavor profile. But that's not the strangeness you're referring to?"

"It's…" She squinted at the familiar shapes worked into the wrought iron, struggling to find words for the new strain of music unfurling in her mind. "It's me."

"You're only just finding out that you're strange?" Boysen grinned. "Oh, Treble. We could all have told you that two years ago."

She elbowed him. "Not me. I mean, I am well aware of my own 'dashes of oddness.' That's nothing new. But it's more how I'm feeling in this moment. Or… how I'm not feeling."

"How you're not feeling?" he echoed.

"Yes. That's it." Her face relaxed as the internal chorus finally resolved itself into something she could put a name to. "Why am I not more worried?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not worried, and… you're worried about it?"

"Exactly," she replied. "First year and second year, I was so nervous on move-in day. I had so many different variations on the anxiety theme running at once in my brain, I couldn't sort through them all. And both those years turned out great."

"Better than great," he corrected her. "Splendid. Scrumptious."

"Exactly," she said again. "So if I'm not nervous now, does that mean… this year is going to be terrible?"

He laughed outright and let one of their many bags slide off his shoulder so he could pull her into a hug.

"No," he said simply.

"No?" she repeated into his shoulder.

"No. You're thinking like a performer, Treble. Suspicion doesn't carry nearly so much weight in baking."

"That's not true." She leaned back far enough so he could see her narrowed eyes. "Bakers are just as suspicious as performers. Hasn't Razz been using the same set of measuring spoons for four years, since they're the set that 'got him into the academy'?"

He shrugged. "My brother has way more than 'a few dashes' of oddness in his Flavor profile."

"And doesn't Mac always clean his glasses with a special cloth three times before making bread and four times before making any kind of cake?"

"Fondant's best friend is a magical fox with a cravat collection," Boysen reminded her. "Hardly a standard for rational behavior."

Lyra narrowed her eyes further. "And don't you always roll your shoulders twice forward and twice backwards and then shake out your hands three times when you're about to start baking?"

"That's not suspicion. That's… preparation. But you've proved your point." He tightened his grip briefly before releasing her. Stepping back, he adopted his best 'Professor Puff' tone. "Though I'm still positive that you don't need to worry about not being worried. Think about it. What are the elements of a successful baking experience?"

Recognizing the prompt from one of their first-year textbooks, she rattled off the answer. "Quality ingredients, a good recipe, and an attentive baker."

"And joy," he added. "They'll have to do a new edition of that book. But I think the list is the same for a successful year. For ingredients, we've got people. And I'd say our crew, both students and professors, is pretty high-quality."

Lyra thought of their classmates, Caramelle and Mac. She thought of the Professors Honeycomb, Puff, and Genoise, and of the brand-new Professor Flax. She thought of Queen Penelope, the giant royal chicken who supplied all eggs for the academy, and of Bumble and Sprinkle, the flying squirrel duo who served as sous chef and gardener, respectively.

A happy sigh escaped her as she nodded.

"The very highest."

"For our recipe, we have the academy curriculum," he went on. "And however brutal it can sometimes be, there is a proven record of success for the past several generations."

Another, somewhat less happy sigh escaped her. "Except for all the new stuff about Enjoyment. That's not proven. They only just developed it this summer."

"With our help," he reminded her. "That meeting with the professors wasn't for nothing. So many quality 'ingredients' gathered in a room… the recipe can't help but be good. Trust me."

She nodded slowly. "That's two of the elements for a successful baking experience. What about 'an attentive baker'?"

"It's about motivation and concentration, right? The desire to do well and the focus to see it through?" Grinning, Boysen pointed up at the seal atop the academy gates. "We're all well-seasoned with motivation, I'd say. The fact that we even have a fourth discipline now proves it."

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She looked up. Sure enough, the old triangular seal had been replaced by a diamond, with a tiny symbol in each corner to represent one of the four baking disciplines.

Lyra felt vaguely dizzy, but in the best way. It was like the sensation right before a concert or a baking exam, when all her internal melodies were coalescing into one powerful chorus of excited anticipation.

Boysen, meanwhile, was still talking.

"And after all the time we gave last year, and even this summer, to making sure the year would go smoothly, I can't see how anyone could doubt our will to see it through. As for joy…"

She cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the steady stream of pedestrians passing along beside them.

"Understood, Flavor King. It's going to be an incredibly harmonious year."

His grin was one of the latest Lyra-only specials, requiring no Self-Presentation spell to make it dazzling. "The most delicious year yet. By royal decree."

Retrieving the bag he had dropped, he took her hand again and faced the gates.

"Shall we?"

"Stop whining, start baking?" Lyra took a firmer grip on her own bags. "Here goes."

—

"Mac!" Caramelle leapt up from the couch in the common area. "They're here!"

Mac stood more slowly, pretending to scowl. "It's about time. I could have baked and decorated two cakes by now, waiting for you two. Caramelle wouldn't even let me open the door to my own room."

"We all agreed that we would do this together," Caramelle insisted while wrapping her arms around Lyra. "Remember? Last night, at the Treble 'Time for Third Year' party?"

"I remember." Mac began picking up the bags that had been scattered around his and Caramelle's feet. "I also distinctly remember the words 'getting an early start.'"

"It's not our fault," Boysen protested, letting his own bags fall to the floor with a thump. "Mom insisted on having Lyra over for breakfast. Mull and Whortle wanted to help cook, so cleanup took… longer than usual. You all have seen the kind of mess my little brothers can make. Then we had to go back to Lyra's house to get her stuff and say goodbye —"

"And then my brothers had prepared a farewell song for me," Lyra broke in. "More of a medley, really. Rondo entered his 'long-form composition' phase this summer. It would have broken his heart if we'd rushed off halfway through."

"Besides, it's still technically 'morning,' since none of us have eaten lunch yet. 'Early' is a relative term." Boysen finished the explanation with his most disarming grin, but Mac's fake scowl only deepened.

"Last year, 'early' had a very exact meaning." The bespectacled boy's tone was theatrically aggrieved. "Last year, as I recall, Boysen was already here when I arrived. You got here at dawn and started baking immediately. After a summer of enforced not-baking, you couldn't get here fast enough."

"Mac is right." Caramelle primly patted her signature auburn coils, making sure nothing was out of place after her enthusiastic greeting of Lyra. "I believe your exact words, Boysen, were that you 'couldn't wait another salty second.'"

Lyra nudged Boysen with her shoulder. "You should've known not to use the word 'relative' around a Texturist."

Boysen groaned. "Cool your cakes, alright? Fine. I apologize for not adhering to my past schedule with more rigid precision. Can I help it if this summer has been a lot more worth savoring than the two before? Even without baking?"

He swung the hand holding Lyra's meaningfully, and Caramelle visibly melted.

"Oh, we're just teasing. Right, Mac? We didn't mind having some quiet time in the common room."

"Some hours of quiet time," Mac amended, but his eyes smiled behind his glasses. "And yes. We didn't mind."

"Why were you here so early, anyway?" Boysen asked.

Caramelle raised an eyebrow. "You've met my parents. You have to ask?"

"I still can't believe you stuck it out with them all summer," Lyra marveled. "Wouldn't it have been… nicer at your Aunt and Uncle Galette's house?"

Mac sighed. "The Galettes really are nice. They had us over for dinner a few times. Rye says 'hi' to everyone, by the way."

They all shared a smile at the thought of Caramelle's cousin, the Apprentice Baker for Texture from the previous year. Then Caramelle gave her head a brisk shake.

"Of course they're nice," she agreed. "And it would have been lovely to spend the summer with them. But my parents… if they're willing to remain on the academy board, despite their opposition to the new discipline, then I'm willing to remain under their roof. Despite my opposition to their…"

"Entire worldview?" Boysen offered.

"Every single one of their opinions?" Lyra supplied.

Caramelle nodded ruefully.

"Well, you're made of sturdier dough than I am," Boysen told her. "Especially since we all know they only stayed on the board because they didn't want the Confectioners' Council to take their new titles away."

"They are rather attached to being Lord and Lady Meringue," Caramelle admitted. "But I am trying to believe that was not their only reason."

Boysen frowned. "I'm sure it wasn't. That's what bothers me. Not trying to be thistle-ish, Caramelle, but I wish your parents had actually gone through with resigning. They could still make a lot of trouble this year."

"What happened to 'this year is going to be the most delicious year yet'?" Lyra reminded him.

"Oh, it will be," he assured her. "They won't collapse our cakes, whatever they do. Doesn't mean it'll be particularly pleasant to see them try. What about that odious cousin of yours, Mac? Is she still planning to kick up a sugar-cloud this year?"

The thought of Chantilly Joconde produced an opposite group reaction to the effect caused by Rye Galette. They all sighed, remembering the haughty first-year who had not even turned up to her final exam in protest against the emerging reality of Enjoyment.

"I didn't see Chantilly much this summer," Mac replied. "No complaints, of course. But the reason was that she was staying with my great-aunt. Her grandmother. Most of my family is on board with Enjoyment, but there are a few holdouts, and Great-Aunt Canelé is one of them. They'll be up to something, sure as salts."

"But we don't have to dance to their tune." Lyra dug her elbow pointedly into Boysen's ribs. "Right?"

"Ow. I mean, of course." Somehow, he managed to change his pained grimace to an encouraging grin faster than Caramelle could solve a Texture equation. "We're only singing sweet and savory recipes this year. No sugar-cloud can touch us."

Caramelle was staring vaguely at the wall, her mind clearly still on 'Lord and Lady Meringue.'

"Surely they loved baking at some point," she mused. "At least a little. I want to try to remind them of that, like you all did for me. I can't do that by moving out or cutting all ties."

"Which is very noble of you," Lyra said gently.

"Absolutely," Boysen agreed. "I just hope you're remembering that… it might not work."

Caramelle gave her head another brisk shake. "Believe me, I know. I have considered all potential outcomes, weighed their probabilities, and determined my actions accordingly."

"She has charts," Mac whispered loudly. "They are color-coded. Even Fortescue was in awe."

Caramelle smiled at him gratefully, but her eyes were sad. "This is certainly not the easiest course. I am well aware of that. And I know it may not produce the desired result. Still…"

She gave a shaky laugh. "I guess spending all that time in Lyra's artsy world is starting to alter my personal Texture. I've got this entirely irrational hope that I simply cannot shake. So I'm not going to give up on my parents… yet."

Mac took her hand.

"Nor should you give up," Lyra said stoutly. "My 'artsy world' has a point. You've lived with your parents your whole life. If you can still hope for them, so can I."

"Like I said: sturdier dough than me. Both of you." Boysen hoisted his bags back onto one shoulder. "But for now, let's not make Fondant wait any longer. Look around, Whisk Paragons and Puff Whizzes. Third year. Third floor. We made it!"

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