"I'm not sure about this."

Lyra Treble stood on the sidewalk outside the Royal Academy of Magical Baking, her head thrown back to glimpse the seal at the top of the wrought-iron gates. Her heart was pumping adrenaline through her veins. It seemed to think flight was in order and was preparing all the necessary ingredients for a mad-dash escape, but her feet felt glued to the cobblestones.

She had forgotten just how imposing this entrance was.

"Nope." She shook her head, still craning her neck to take in the details of the historic seal. "Not too sure at all."

"Don't be silly, Lyra," scolded her mother. "You spent an entire year here. A successful year, I might add."

"Changed the baking world forever." Harmon Treble wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders and squeezed. "That's a direct quote from Professor… what's-his-name. The gent with the eyeglass. Glissando?"

Lyra smiled faintly. "Genoise."

"That's it. He couldn't say enough about your skills, Treblette."

"I know." Lyra sighed, finally lowering her eyes to the bags piled around her feet. "It's just… been a long summer."

"Not too long. We barely got in three weeks of touring with you," Harmon lamented.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"What for?" Harmon tightened his grip on her shoulder. "The Any Weather Bards can manage. We'll miss you, Treblette, especially on some of the trickier harmonies, but we'll get along just fine."

Melody Treble was watching her daughter closely. "What's gotten into you? You've been counting down the days until you could come back to this place."

A flood of memories from the summer rose up to wash over Lyra. Long evenings composing new baking magic songs… family rehearsals for the next Any Weather Bards show… testing out new recipes on her brothers… and, of course, weekly dinners at the Berry household with the other 'Whisk Whizzes', her academy classmates. Surrounded by such happy warmth, it had been easy to look at the year ahead with confident anticipation.

But now…

Lyra swallowed. "Last year, I knew what I was getting into," she said, struggling to knead her lumpy thoughts into some kind of cohesive dough, "I mean, I knew the basic outline. It was the Royal Academy of Baking. I would either make it through to second year, or I wouldn't."

"And you did," her mother pointed out. "So what's the trouble?"

"The rules are changing." Lyra forced her eyes back up to the wrought-iron gates. "You see that seal? It's a triangle. Baking has always been a discipline of three. Three years. Three professors. Three categories: Flavor, Texture, Presentation. And now it's different."

Harmon grinned. "Thanks to you, Treblette."

"But what does that mean?" Lyra asked desperately. "Professor Genoise said we were going to be 'striding forward into the unknown.' Off the edge of the map."

"An adventure!" Releasing her shoulders, Harmon took off his hat and tossed it in the air. "That's what happens when you bring in a true artist. The world gets turned on its head!"

Lyra closed her eyes. "I didn't want to turn the world on its head. I just wanted to learn how to bake. What if the whole 'fourth discipline' thing doesn't work out? 'Enjoyment' has never been a factor before. Professor Puff said it would be a huge experiment and we would almost certainly fail, at first. What if it just… messes everything up? The academy, and my friends, and —"

"That's a wrap," her mother cut in, using phrase that always marked the end of a Treble family rehearsal. "No need to borrow trouble, Lyra. Yes, this year is going to be a little different. Change is bumpy. But you can only tackle it the same way you tackled last year: sing one note at a time. Note by note, measure by measure…"

"The song will lead you to its treasure." Lyra waved a hand as she finished the familiar chant. "I know. It's just… scary."

"Of course it is," Harmon said soothingly. "But your mother's right. You had plenty of muddled times last year, when you weren't sure where the tune was going. And you always managed to sing it through."

Lyra managed a shaky laugh. "This is a switcharound for the books. Remember when you dropped me off at the beginning of last year? You were singing a different tune then. So was I. And now… here we are."

"We've grown," Melody said briskly. "And so have you, though it's easy to forget when the stage lights are staring you in the face."

Harmon Treble nodded. "It's just stage fright, Treblette. You'll be fine once you get through those first few chords."

They drew close on either side of Lyra. Leaning in, they sang the closing song for all the Any Weather Bards shows, so quietly that none of the passersby could overhear:

"I know it's never certain When we'll meet again —"

Lyra's eyes filled with tears. Fighting them down with a deep breath, she finished the line:

"So I'll watch through the curtain And think of you till then."

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They wrapped their arms around her and squeezed tightly.

"Love you, Treblette," her father whispered.

"We're behind you all the way," her mother said. "Knock 'em dead, sweetheart."

Lyra knew that any reply would release the tears hovering just behind her eyes. Pressing her lips tightly together, she hugged each parent fiercely. Then she shouldered her bags, took a firm grip on her battered guitar case, and opened one of the gates.

Ready or not, second year… here I come.

—

As soon as Lyra set foot on the second floor of the dormitory building, a shriek resounded from the far-right corner.

"Lyra! There you are!"

Lyra barely registered the auburn blur hurtling towards her before Caramelle Meringue wrapped her in a warm embrace.

"I am so glad to see you!" Caramelle squealed.

"Same," Lyra replied, returning the hug as best she could with a guitar case and several bags in the way. "Though… we did just see each other a few days ago. Remember? The Berry Bodacious Break-End Bash?"

"That was different," Caramelle mumbled, clinging to Lyra's shoulders as if to a lifeline. "It's good to see you here. Today."

Before Lyra could ask why, a peerlessly elegant voice wafted through the common area.

"I gather this is the famous Lyra Treble?"

"Do stand back, Caramelle," said an even more inimitably elegant voice. "There is no need for such egregious displays."

Caramelle leaned even closer and whispered, "Brace yourself." Then she released Lyra and stepped back. "Lyra, allow me to present my parents, Gâteau and Ganache Meringue. Father, Mother, this is Lyra Treble."

A pair of statuesque figures crossed smoothly into the common area, both radiating Self-Presentation spells of startling power.

Lyra panicked. What did one do in the presence of the baking elite? Bow? Curtsy? Avert one's eyes?

Settling for a quick curtsy that also somehow turned into a bow, Lyra put on her most cultured 'performer' tone. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Meringue."

"Sir and Lady Meringue," Caramelle's father corrected her. "The royal family is honoring us for our contributions to the baking community. There will be a special ceremony in three months' time to confirm our titles."

Soon-to-be Lady Meringue tsked softly. "Three months. Barely enough time to design the menu, let alone make all the other arrangements."

"Quite right, my dear." Gâteau placed a manicured hand delicately on his wife's shoulder. "But you know as well as I do that the Confectioners' Council always makes its official announcement at the turn of the year."

"Indeed, my sweet. And we must honor such noble traditions." Ganache's eyes surveyed Lyra coldly, from the red scarf tying back her long brown hair to the guitar case now resting on the floor beside her worn red leather shoes. The tall woman's lips pursed as one hand rose to gently pat her own perfect auburn coils. "At least some members of the baking community still understand the importance of history."

Caramelle mumbled something inaudible.

"Speak up, Caramelle," snapped Ganache Meringue, her eyes still fixed on Lyra's yellow bard tunic.

Caramelle's shoulders took on a ramrod stiffness Lyra hadn't seen since some of the darkest days of first year. "I said, making history is one way of understanding it."

"I agree," Lyra said quickly, moved by instinct to stand by her friend. "The best way, in fact."

Gâteau's lips pressed into an even thinner line than his wife's. "What a daring perspective, Miss Treble. No doubt such… audacity has served you well during your life on the stage. But there is another word for audacity, of course."

"Recklessness," supplied his wife.

"Well said. Recklessness." Almost-Lord Meringue flicked an imaginary speck of flour from his crisp blue apron. "There is no place in baking for reckless behavior, Miss Treble. We certainly did not raise our daughter to engage in any activity that could tarnish the time-honored sanctity of our profession."

"The academy is not being reckless," Caramelle said, her painfully tight voice growing louder with each word. "In this new venture, the professors have the support of the board —"

"By the narrowest of margins in the board's history," Ganache interjected coolly.

"— and the royal family!" Caramelle finished.

Her father sighed. "Do not raise your voice, Caramelle. Let us have no more 'scenes' today."

"What's this about the royal family?"

Lyra's heart almost melted with relief. There, striding from the room in the back left corner of the common area, was their classmate Boysen Berry. He held out his hand confidently to each of Caramelle's parents in turn.

"Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Meringue. Mrs. Meringue. I hear congratulations are in order!"

One of Gâteau's eyebrows rose delicately. "Indeed, Mr. Berry? And what have you heard?"

"That you're going to be honored at the next Confectioners' Council!" Boysen's grin permeated the air like the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, driving back the frigid heaviness of the combined Meringue presence. "Someone mentioned the royal family — that's what made me think of it. Mom and Dad were having tea with Uncle Nougie the other day —"

Gâteau's other eyebrow rose to meet its partner. "'Uncle Nougie'?"

"Lord Nougat," Boysen explained cheerfully. "Royal Chef of Flavor. Sorry — he's been Uncle Nougie to me since I was born. Hard to break a habit like that. Anyway, Mom and Dad were at the palace for tea, and the queen came down to the kitchen, and ended up joining them. And she shared that Mr. and Mrs. Meringue were going to receive the council's highest honor come the end of this year. Congratulations!"

Boysen broke into a round of applause there and then. He must have been baking in his dorm room, as his hands and apron were already covered with flour. Lyra held her breath to keep from inhaling — or laughing — as Boysen clapped vigorously, creating a cloud of fine floury dust. The not-yet lord and lady were forced to hop backwards to avoid being coated.

"Thank you, Mr. Berry," Gâteau said faintly. His wife sneezed.

"I'm actually trying out one of Uncle Nougie's recipes right now," Boysen said, gesturing towards the door of his room with floury hands. "Care to come observe? I'd be honored to have some pointers from two soon-to-be council nobles."

Ganache Meringue sneezed again.

"Most generous of you, Mr. Berry," said Gâteau hastily. "But I am afraid we have a dinner engagement with Master Chiffon this evening, and other members of the academy board. We have already lingered overlong to get Caramelle settled."

"All set now!" Caramelle smiled sweetly. "Do give Master Chiffon my love. I so enjoyed my lessons with him this summer." She turned to Lyra. "Master Chiffon was fascinated by the idea of Enjoyment as a baking discipline! Argued rather passionately for it in the board meetings, I understand."

Her mother opened her mouth, apparently to make some kind of objection, but cut herself off with another sneeze.

"We will certainly be speaking at length with Master Chiffon throughout the term," Mr. Meringue said sternly. "And ALL the board members. This promises to be a year of… intensive board involvement at the academy. And I hope —"

His wife sneezed so violently that Caramelle staggered backwards.

Boysen pulled a linen cloth from his apron with a flourish, scattering even more flour into the air. "Do you need a handkerchief, Mrs. Meringue?"

Caramelle's mother waved her hands helplessly as her husband ushered her away.

"Most kind, Mr. Berry. Goodbye. Regards to your parents." Gâteau Meringue paused by his daughter, fixing her with a narrowed-eyed stare. "Till later, Caramelle."

Mr. and Mrs. Meringue beat a rushed retreat from the growing cloud of flour, the latter's sneezes becoming louder and more frequent as they fled across the common room.

"Nice to meet you," Lyra called, just before the door slammed behind them.

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