"All right. Let's go through it again." Cardamom Coulis (the Third) gazed at the board in the practice kitchen, his dark eyes shining with the perfectly balanced ratio of 'weary' and 'determined.' "What have we tried thus far?"

Boysen frowned. Lyra didn't dare look too closely, but she was still confident that there was nothing 'balanced' about the look he was giving the Coulis.

"You ask this question every Friday morning," the Flavor King pointed out.

"Indeed," Cardamom replied, twirling a piece of chalk elegantly through his fingers. "Consistency is a vital ingredient in any experimentation recipe."

Boysen's scowl deepened. "Doesn't it take up a lot of our time?"

"Another vital ingredient is 'frequent analysis of one's efforts to date.' One never knows when a phrase will spark something new in one's mind, even when one has heard that phrase several times before." Cardamom pointed the chalk at Caramelle with a flourish. "Aspiring Baker Meringue, care to start us off?"

With a sidelong glance at Boysen, Caramelle began reading from her meticulous notes.

First, Cardamom had suggested that they each try baking Lyra's cake while Lyra stood next to them, singing either "The Joy Song" or Chef Flax's proto-spell. When a couple rounds of this over a couple weeks yielded no results, he had them move on to their own favorite recipes, still working one at a time so Lyra could sing over them. Each had reported a tiny surge of warmth, but nothing remarkable. Finally, they had spent a few disappointing weeks in the practice kitchen singing as a group over individual bakers, alternating between the two songs.

Lyra tried to focus on Caramelle's even, polished voice, but it was hard to hear much of anything over the discontented melody seething in the air around Boysen. Still, as the recital went on and on, she understood where the Flavor King was coming from. The exercise did take up quite a bit of their time. Cardamom insisted on a thorough report. Whenever Caramelle tried to condense or summarize the observations from a particular day, he would interrupt and graciously remind her to read every detail.

Besides, it was simply discouraging. Caramelle started each entry not only with the date but with what Cardamom called 'the experimental calendar notation': namely, the number of days they had spent in the practice kitchen during third term. That number was now uncomfortably high.

When Caramelle read "Day 15" at the start of the previous Monday's records, the latent anxiety chorus in Lyra's gut spiked savagely.

That means today is Day 16, she thought, feeling an unwelcome wave of déjà vu from the previous term's despair. Eight weeks gone. Only four weeks left in third term. In the whole school year. One month… sharps and FLATS, one month…

A strange impulse made her look over at Boysen. He was, indeed, looking at her, though not at her face. He was staring at the hem of her apron, his eyebrows scrunched into the rare 'Boysen is concerned' position. Glancing down, she saw that her nervous fingers had unconsciously twisted the starched white material into a mess of wrinkled knots.

She looked up just in time to see him turn away. Though her gaze kept drifting Berry-wards, he kept his eyes determinedly on the board for the rest of Caramelle's presentation.

Cardamom applauded when Caramelle closed the notebook, clearly undaunted by the lack of progress.

"All these sessions have been helpful," he told them, adding a few more lines to his list of notes on the board. "Now we know Enjoyment magic is not simply contained within Lyra, nor within the music itself. The spell must be practiced by the actual baker. And we have confirmed that both existing 'spells' don't seem to work for anyone besides Lyra. Ergo, we are now free to begin crafting our own spells."

"Our own spells?" Caramelle echoed.

"This is a much more involved process than we have engaged in thus far." Cardamom's hand flew across the board, outlining several days' worth of tasks. "We'll have to increase our hours. I suggest you all plan to return here after dinner this evening and every Friday. I'll ask Madame Patisserie if I can begin spending Saturdays and Sundays here as well, beginning this weekend."

"Ginger is here this weekend," Lyra objected.

"Oh, that's right!" Mac perked up. "Her parents' assistant is back from his honeymoon!"

"Finally," Caramelle muttered. "I must say, Ginger's parents are the most understanding employers I have ever heard of."

"Master Beignet has been with them for a long time," Lyra explained. "He's more like a partner than an assistant."

"Isn't he just about their age?" Boysen asked.

Lyra nodded. "Ginger always calls him Uncle Beignet. That's part of what makes the story so special. He thought he was too old to get married, and then this new customer started coming into the shop. Every day. Asking all sorts of detailed questions about the different pastries… Beignet fell head over heels."

"Asking questions?" Cardamom frowned. "I would have suspected this customer of espionage."

"No worry of that," Lyra laughed. "She's not even a baker. I think she's a banker, actually. Something with money."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Cardamom's eyes widened. "Not a baker? Master… Beignet, was it? He married outside the baking community?"

"Careful, Coulis," Boysen said dryly. "You're running a bit heavy on the 'snob' spice."

Cardamom drew in a sharp breath.

"So…" Caramelle leapt in before he could retaliate. "You were saying, Lyra, that Ginger is coming to spend the weekend?"

"That's right." Lyra smiled gratefully at her friend. "So we definitely can't skip Puff Paragon Recreation tonight. And tomorrow, Ginger promised to help us practice for the talent show. Well… some of us." She shot Mac and Boysen a withering glare. "Others of us are running a bit heavy on the 'sneaky' spice."

Mac beamed boldly back at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief behind his glasses.

Boysen kept his face deliberately blank as he shrugged. "Sounds like this weekend is full, Coulis. We all have a show to prepare for."

"So you are preparing?" Caramelle demanded. "Both of you?"

Boysen glanced at Mac.

"All talent requires preparation," declared the Fondant. "Even when it is of the sneaky variety."

Boysen gave him a formal bow. "What he said."

Cardamom sighed. "I wish you all weren't so fixated on this talent show."

"The professors approve," Lyra pointed out. "Even Professor Puff. She said Enjoyment deserves to be celebrated."

"And it does," Cardamom assured her. "I would just prefer that celebration to occur after the discipline has been officially accepted."

"We'll have another celebration then," Mac said stoutly.

"An even bigger one," Boysen added. "A huge party. There'll be a gala some time next year, mark my words."

The other Puff Paragons stared at him. He merely shrugged again.

"What? You think the Royal Academy wouldn't ladle in some extra ceremonial sauce for such an occasion? I'd bet you all the bacon in Chef Flax's kitchen that Professor Genoise already has plans drawn up and his wardrobe picked out."

"I am quite sure you are correct," Cardamom replied. "All the more reason to stay focused this year, and not get sidetracked with premature festivities."

Caramelle's hand lifted, almost unconsciously, to stroke the single Stellar Enchantment Pin on her chef's hat.

"I see the talent show more as a necessary release," she said quietly. "We are not fixated on it. Rather, it is helping us to avoid becoming fixated on other matters. Without some form of leavening, academy life can consume us to an unhealthy degree. Especially this year."

Cardamom shook his head. "I understand, but I think you've added too much leavening. It's devolving into a waste of time."

Lyra's stomach tightened as the frequency of the air around Boysen kicked again into high gear.

"It's not a waste of time." The Flavor King's voice was so low, Lyra wondered how anyone could hear it over the jangled melody swirling under every word. "Like Caramelle said, it's a necessary release. It gives our brains a break so we can focus better next time we are working on Enjoyment. That's a far better use of our time than rehashing all our failures every week."

Cardamom's eyes flashed at him, the ratio of moods in them no longer perfectly balanced. "And what about arguing with me every step of the way, Berry? Is that a good use of our time?"

Boysen held up his hands. "I'm just making an observation. Voicing my scientific objection to your methods. Isn't that what this process is all about?"

"Then I would ask you to understand my objections to the talent show," Cardamom countered. "I am observing that this 'release' is preventing all of you from devoting the necessary hours to experimentation. Hence, I conclude that it has become a distraction."

"One baker's distraction is another baker's magic," Boysen shot back.

Cardamom rolled his eyes. "How scientific. So we should all simply do our own thing?"

"Say that again."

Both boys turned to look at Caramelle.

"Me?" they asked in unison.

"Yes." She was staring at the air between them, her eyes distant and unfocused. "Each of you repeat the last thing you just said."

Cardamom glanced doubtfully around the room, then back at Caramelle. "We… should all simply do our own thing?"

"One baker's distraction is another baker's magic," Boysen repeated.

Caramelle's eyes refocused. Flipping open her notebook, she scribbled the two lines down rapidly.

"Thank you," she told the baffled boys. "Now, since we don't have this weekend available, we'd best make good use of the hours remaining to us today."

Lyra raised her eyebrows, but Caramelle waved away her unspoken question and smiled brightly at Cardamom.

"Let's craft some new spells, shall we?"

—

"Salts," Ginger muttered when she and Lyra left Puff Paragon Recreation that night.

That was all she would say until they were across the common area and into Shortcrust, with the door safely closed behind them. Only then did she elaborate.

"When your message said Boysen was 'different', I thought you were exaggerating. Silly me. You can be a bit dense about the truth, but you don't tend to inflate it."

"And this is one of his better days," Lyra sighed. Collapsing into a corner of the couch, she hugged one of the pillows to her chest. "I mean, he was in a good mood tonight. Seemed more like himself than he has been since Cardamom showed up."

Ginger shook her head. "Oh, Cardamom. The tricky spice strikes again."

"Honestly, I didn't know Boysen hated him this much," Lyra confessed. "I didn't think Boysen was capable of hating anyone."

"Tricky spices have a way of disrupting even the most well-balanced of Flavors. Even Flavor Kings aren't immune." Ginger strode over to the bathroom and began removing pins from her hair, unwinding the long dark braid from its coil. "But I'd say this is as much about you as it is about Cardamom."

"Me?" Lyra wriggled around on the couch to face her. "What did I do?"

"It's more what you didn't do," Ginger corrected. "You didn't send Cardamom packing. You didn't tell the Coulis exactly where he could stick all his oh-so-noble apologies and offers of assistance."

"We need all the help we can get," Lyra protested. "Would you have turned him away?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not you. Boysen didn't have to watch me stumble around in the Cardamom-daze through most of last year."

Ginger deposited her handful of pins on the bathroom counter and turned to Lyra, her voice suddenly and uncharacteristically gentle.

"You have to imagine how hard that must have been for him. He really, really cares about you. To an almost nauseating degree. And he thought you were free of that whole over-spiced mess, and then…" Ginger shrugged. "Just like that, Cardamom's back."

"Except he's not 'back'," Lyra said heatedly. "My only interest in Cardamom is whether or not he can help us with Enjoyment. I'm still spice-free, thank you very much. You'd think someone with instincts as refined as Boysen's would be able to recognize that!"

Ginger threw up her hands in mock dismay.

"You mean the Flavor King is a mere mortal? That even his superpowered insight can be clouded by human emotion? By all the seasonings, whatever shall we do?"

Before Lyra could reply, a shriek erupted from beyond Filo's closed door.

"Lyra! Ginger! Come quick!"

Lyra leapt off the couch as Ginger whirled around. Together, they threw open the door and burst into the neighboring room.

Caramelle was standing in the kitchen. She didn't look up at them. Her eyes were fixed on her hands, which she raised slowly, as if holding up a trophy.

There, dancing around her fingers, was the unmistakable gleam of yellow light.

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