Lyra had never thought she would feel nostalgic for the first-year early mornings in the exam hall. Now, though, as she and her fellow second-years finished lunch and headed towards their first term exam, she couldn't help feeling envious of Marzy and Arch.

They're already done with their exam, she thought glumly, plodding along the familiar stone walkway connecting the main hall to the exam hall. That must be nice.

It had been a very silent, strained lunch, following a very silent, strained morning. Boysen insisted that last-minute cramming on the day of the exam would do more harm than good. But the night before was free game. Bowing to this wisdom, passed down from the Berry brothers who had come before Boysen, the 'Puff Paragons' had done all their studying the night before. Among the four of them, they'd produced so many pies, profiteroles, and other pastry pieces that Lyra had lost count. The goal was to stay up late, then try to sleep in so they could greet the exam well-rested.

Lyra wondered if her friends' attempts at this last part of the plan had been as unsuccessful as hers.

At least the weather was lovely. The academy was splendid in every season, but Lyra found she had a soft spot for these early winter days. The light had a soft, pale quality that reminded Lyra of clarified butter. The air was crisp but not yet frigid, rather like a lightly frosted raspberry. The ground was thickly carpeted in fallen leaves, while the trees' bare branches outlined against the sky always made Lyra think of chocolate shavings on whipped cream…

Her stomach rumbled uneasily. She had barely touched her turkey bacon sandwich at lunch, though Sprinkle's signature pesto was as aromatic as ever.

At least, with this year's schedule, you won't have to wait the whole afternoon for the end-of-term feast, she reminded herself. Just get through this exam, and then you can celebrate immediately afterwards.

Because there would be something to celebrate. Lyra had been through too much at the academy over the past year. She wasn't going to let a few layers of butter and flour bring her down now.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to lift her chin in a Caramelle-esque manner as she followed the group into the exam hall.

The three professors were already assembled on the platform across the room.

"Second-years!" Professor Honeycomb's smile outshone the winter afternoon sunlight. "All together, I see. I do so love the congenial spirit of this class! It's…"

Professor Puff placed a hand on her colleague's shoulder and addressed the student in a much calmer, though equally audible, tone. "Each of you has been assigned a specific work-station. Please find the envelope with your name on it and arrange yourselves accordingly. Do not touch the envelopes."

The second-years crept forward as one through the large, mostly empty hall. Lyra felt a wrench in her gut when they reached the work-stations and had to start splitting off. Thankfully, the professors had placed them all at the same counters where they took exams through the previous year.

"As we told you in class yesterday," Professor Genoise announced, "this year's exams will look a bit different. We have covered many different spells for shortcrust and choux —"

"Seventy-eight," Mac muttered from his work-station, behind and across the aisle from Lyra. "Each."

"— and we expect you to be able to perform them all, from memory." The Presentation headmaster smiled benevolently, ignoring the hollow silence of his audience. "Hence, we did not tell you which recipes we would be asking you to perform today. Such mystery! Such suspense!"

"You will each find your unique assignment in the envelope on your counter," Professor Puff explained. "When we say, 'Begin', you will open the envelope and see which two recipes we are asking you to bake today. One shortcrust, one choux. Your work-stations have been stocked with all the required ingredients for your two recipes, and yours alone. We have taken great care to choose recipes that would both challenge and delight each of you."

Professor Honeycomb bounced slightly on her tiptoes. "You are welcome to use any non-pastry spells we learned last year to supplement your creations. Singing is allowed, of course, but no consulting with your fellow bakers. We must be quite strict about this, my dears. Eyes and ears on your own counter. We shall be circling to monitor your progress, but cannot offer any assistance. We are confident you will all do splendidly! You will have four hours to complete both recipes. Any questions?"

Looking away from the professors, Lyra forced herself to meet Boysen's gaze. He was sitting sideways on his stool at the work-station in front of her and trying subtly to get her attention. As soon as he caught her eye, he gave her the classic 'pre-exam' version of his Lyra-only grin.

That terrifyingly distracting line of melody flared in her mind for ten full seconds afterwards, but it was worth it. Lyra had never faced an exam at the academy without that grin. She didn't care to find out what that would be like.

"No questions?" Professor Puff scanned the room one more moment, then nodded. "Very well. Aspiring Bakers, you may —"

The doors banged open.

"Sorry!" Rye Galette scurried in, followed closely by Florentine and Eclair. "Sorry, Professor. We ate lunch as fast as we could."

Professor Genoise smiled grimly. "Ah, yes. The Apprentice Bakers will be here, documenting the exam, as they did for the first-years this morning."

"As they have done all term!" Professor Honeycomb waved cheerfully at the third-years. "Welcome to our faithful recorders!"

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Lyra stifled a laugh at the venomous glare both Florentine and Eclair were giving the Flavor professor.

"Now that we are all assembled," Professor Puff went on serenely, "let us try this again. Aspiring Bakers, you may begin."

A hush settled over the exam hall. Even Lyra's pounding heartbeat seemed muted as she picked up the envelope on her counter and opened it.

Please let it be something simple, she begged silently. Cream puffs, or eclairs, or —

A squeak of dismay escaped her, echoing in the quiet hall.

LYRA TREBLE — Second Year, First Term Exam

Shortcrust: Quiche with Bacon, Caramelized Onions, and Gruyere

Choux: Paris-Brest with Hazelnut Mousseline

Paris-Brest… Paris-Brest… sharps and ALL THE FLATS, why did it have to be Paris-Brest…

The scratching sound of a pen on parchment drew her attention. Florentine was standing a few feet away, writing officiously in her well-worn notebook. Glancing up, she met Lyra's eye and smiled.

The message couldn't have been more clear if the third-year had piped it in bright red frosting: Go ahead, Treble. Choke. Fail. I'll be right here to capture every sour moment. And then I'll take it to the academy board, and we'll see just what happens to 'Enjoyment' after that…

Summoning all the boldness she'd absorbed from Ginger over the past year, Lyra returned Florentine's smile.

Nice try, she thought as hard as she could. But it takes more than a little stage fright to bring down an Any Weather Bard.

Her parents had chosen that name for their family band for a reason. 'No matter the weather, the show must go on': that slogan was cross-stitched all over the Treble household. Lyra had performed in just about every possible kind of weather, from rain to snow to fog to suffocatingly hot sunshine. If she collapsed now, in a pristine exam hall with magically controlled temperatures… her brothers would never let her live it down, to say nothing of her own personal shame.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

One note at a time. One ingredient at a time. Measure by measure, line by line…

The gentle rhythm Lyra always associated with baking seeped slowly into her muscles. Once her breath was moving in sync to that steady beat, she opened her eyes… and began.

At least the shortcrust recipe was easy. Lyra mentally thanked the professors for balancing the difficulty of paris-brest with the classic simplicity of quiche. Her fingers moved automatically, reveling in the sensation of butter and flour coming together to the 'quiche' variation of the Texture Shortcrust Spell:

Milk gives us butter Flour comes from grain Water forms the union For a rich breakfast refrain

It wasn't Lyra's favorite version of the spell. She preferred the more solemn melody she'd invented for 'chicken and ham' pie. The new 'breakfast' lyrics didn't fit as smoothly in the tune as her musical ear preferred. Still, it was bright and cheerful, like quiche itself.

And, best of all, it was quick. The dough was ready long before Lyra grew tired of singing the spell. Her fingers still tingling with blue Texture magic, she wrapped the dough in beeswax paper and set it in the magical cooling drawer.

Then came the first recitation of the Flavor spell, sung over the chilling dough while preparing the quiche fillings. This tune was one of Lyra's favorites, as it incorporated the 'bacon' melody she had invented the previous year. Rich and crisp and with a surprise minor interval for a hint of smokiness, singing it never failed to make Lyra smile.

It also never failed to make her hungry, but she didn't dare sneak a piece for herself. The professors had provided enough ingredients for only one decadent quiche. Even a single missing bite of bacon would diminish the experience of the final dish.

Once the diced onions were nestled in the skillet to caramelize slowly amongst the bacon, Lyra whisked together the eggs and cream. She added a healthy dose of shredded gruyere cheese, still singing the Flavor Shortcrust Spell over the chilling dough.

Thankfully, the quiche version of the spell only required a few recitations during the chilling stage. Lyra breathed an internal sigh of relief as she turned to some non-pastry Flavor magic. Calling upon her instincts, she carefully seasoned the egg mixture with salt, pepper, and dried rosemary, singing The Soufflé Sisters Cooperation Chant softly until the tune from the bowl matched the tune ringing through her gut.

Lyra allowed herself one moment to smile at the green glow pulsing from the egg mixture. Then she opened the cooling drawer and retrieved the pastry dough, once again grateful for the wonders of magical temperature control. How had the bakers of old accomplished anything, when they had to wait for their dough to chill normally?

The Presentation version of the Quiche Shortcrust Spell flowed easily from her lips as she rolled out the dough. The resulting purple light was so vivid and layered that she had to stop for a moment and breathe in. Another smile spread irresistibly across her face.

I'll never appreciate Presentation work like Mac does, she thought. But this pastry… I do think it has plenty of 'panache.'

The smile persisted as she placed the dough in the pie tin and trimmed it. She even found herself humming while she crumbled the bacon and spread it over the dough. The pan of caramelized onions demanded to be twirled during its transport from the stove to the waiting pie tin. Lyra just managed to keep herself from some Honeycomb-esque bouncing as she poured the egg mixture over the bacon and onions.

Sprinkling a hearty layer of shredded gruyere on top, she found the words of Chef Flax's 'final preparation' song bubbling to her lips:

"Where there is sorrow May you bring cheer Where there is weariness Make our minds clear"

Delight coursed through her like a strong Flavor-current of its own. Lyra couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed baking so much. And it was pastry!

Shaking her head, she opened the oven door and slid the quiche inside as she finished the song:

"Add spice to our labor Sweeten our rest Season each moment With lively new zest"

She paused before closing the oven door. For a moment, she stared at the quiche, willing all the joy flowing through her to manifest in some obvious magical way. Preferably in the form of yellow, sparkling, absolutely irrefutable light.

The quiche just sat there.

Her gut was insisting loudly that it was a very happy quiche. Anyone who ate it would share in that happiness. Lyra knew, with all the instincts of a seasoned performer, that some magic had been at work through her in Chef Flax's song. The difference would be obvious to taste… though still, apparently, invisible to the eye.

The scratching of a nearby pen intruded once again upon her thoughts. There was Florentine, hovering at the end of the counter, no doubt documenting Lyra's obvious failure to demonstrate 'true' Enjoyment magic.

Lyra swallowed the sigh she had been about to release. Closing the oven with a snap, she sang the second and final round of the Flavor Shortcrust Spell over the baking dough. Then, with a smile much more forced than it had been only moments before, she grabbed the waiting saucepan and set it on the stove.

One half of the exam down, she thought grimly. Now… it's choux time.

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