The Royal Academy of Magical Baking

Chapter 80: A Bard in a Kitchen



Chef Peppercorn Flax had worked at the Royal Academy of Magical Baking for a few decades now. He knew exactly how to handle a weepy second-year caught in a cauldron of boiling pressure sauces. In less time than it took Caramelle to apply skincare step four, he had Lyra seated on a stool in the kitchen, with a handkerchief in one hand and a mug of hot pear cider in the other.

"Lots of cinnamon in that," he told her soothingly. "With a touch of clove and ginger. Sprinkle's recipe, of course. Take long, slow sips, and in between, you can tell me what's going on."

Lyra obeyed. The cider felt like liquid comfort sliding down her throat, filling her senses with aromatic spice while the delicate pear Flavor brightened her internal melody considerably. Alternating between the mug and the handkerchief, she quickly recovered enough to give Chef Flax a steady, mostly coherent account of her woes.

Not all of them, of course. She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the Berry melody, or her conversation with Ginger and Caramelle from the night before.

He probably knows anyway, though, she thought during a particularly luxurious drink of cider. Chef knows everything that goes on here.

But there was no need to bring up such sensitive matters. Her Enjoyment worries alone were sufficient explanation for her current state, especially when combined with the normal second-year academy stress.

"I just feel like I'm letting everyone down," she confessed, fighting down another wave of sobs with a quick sip from her nearly empty mug. "We're getting nowhere with Enjoyment. But we don't know what else to do."

"You've just hit a stodgy spot in the dough." He took her mug to the stove and refilled it from a simmering pot with a ladle. "We all have. Once we knead through it, we'll be in good shape to proof and bake."

She inhaled the fragrant steam and exhaled with a sigh. "I'm not even sure if the dough is alive anymore. I think we killed it."

"Oh, it's alive," he said cheerfully. "The yeast is active, even if you can't feel it at the moment. I do think you've been working yourself rather hard, though. Remember what I told you? Enjoyment will only work if the baker enjoys baking. It's supposed to be fun."

"That's another thing." Setting the mug on the counter, she began twisting the handkerchief in both hands. "I feel like I keep learning the same lesson, over and over and over. Having the same conversations. I thought I was growing, but… how many times have you had to tell me that baking is supposed to be fun?"

Her eyes were on the handkerchief, but she could hear the smile in Chef's voice. "At least once a week, I'd say."

"And I keep forgetting. My brain isn't a mixing bowl. It's a sieve. I'm making no progress." Lyra cast the handkerchief onto the counter beside the mug. "Just like Enjoyment."

"Now, now. You've got your spices all mixed up." Taking her mug from the counter, he put it firmly back into her hands. "Every time you complete a recipe, you're growing. And that recipe will be different the next time you try it. You'll be different. Even if it feels the same, you've added another round of memory to your muscles. You simply can't help getting better. That's what I love about baking."

Lyra stared into the amber liquid. "I wish the rest of life could be that simple."

"It isn't always," Chef Flax agreed, "but similar principles apply. We haven't had the same conversation over and over, Lyra. You're not learning the same lesson. You're advancing through the many levels of a particularly difficult lesson. Brilliantly, I might add. Every time I have the pleasure of speaking with you, I see how much you've grown."

"Even now?" she asked, with a weak smile.

"Especially now. First-year Lyra would still be a good two mugs away from 'calm.'" He grinned at her broadly. "The lesson is sinking in. Bit by bit, like flour and butter coming together to form pastry dough."

Lyra groaned. "Please don't mention pastry."

"My apologies," he said gravely. "I should have known better than to speak that word to a second-year. See? Even the wisest of us make mistakes."

"Thank you, Chef." Her smile widened without any forced effort. The head chef often had that effect, especially when Sprinkle's pear cider was involved. "For everything. I hope I haven't made you too late for your… social call."

He gave her another wink. "Not at all, my dear. You have merely saved me from Madame Citron's inevitable account of her nephew's latest victories. She has been a rather tedious companion since he opened his new truffle shop… though we are, of course, grateful for her support of Enjoyment. She's an absolute Flavor genius, and she's been on the academy board since I was a student here, so you can imagine the kind of weight her word carries."

Lyra nodded fervently. "Of course. Thank her for me."

"I shall. But I should be on my way." Retrieving his scarf from where he'd tossed it over a stool, he began winding it about his neck. "Why don't you stay here for a bit? Finish that cider, and then I think you should bake something. With no magic."

Her hands tightened around the mug. "No magic?"

"Best thing to clear the mind," he said, pulling on his thick wool gloves. "Remember, I practice some nonmagical baking every week. Relaxes the soul, while keeping the instincts sharp."

"I almost tried that yesterday," Lyra admitted. "But tonight, I was on my way to see Queen Penelope."

"Even better. Bake a sweet treat for her. She will be most pleased."

Lyra took a deep breath. "Right. What should I make?"

"Oh, anything." Chef settled his fedora back on his head at a jaunty angle. "Don't decide beforehand. Just start baking, and see where your instincts lead you."

"I'm afraid they'll lead to chocolate chip cookies or puff pastry," Lyra said glumly. "After this term, I'm not sure I know how to bake anything else."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Chef Flax laughed. "Of course you do. Just focus on the baking, and remember: no magic."

"Not even the new Enjoyment spell?"

"Especially not that." He held her gaze, his twinkling eyes suddenly serious. "Promise?"

She took a long sip of cider, then nodded. "I promise."

"Good girl." He glanced around the kitchen. "You should have everything you need. Bumble and Sprinkle are spending the evening with Queen Penelope, so whatever you make, add a couple extra portions."

He gathered her hands between his, enveloping her fingers in the cozy warmth of knitted wool.

"Happy baking, Lyra. Enjoy."

Then, with a merry smile, he was gone.

Lyra downed the rest of her cider in two large gulps. To her own surprise, she was eager to get started.

How long has it been since I just… baked? she wondered, pulling out a large mixing bowl. No assignment, no magic, no stress…

Her hands paused on the cupboard door where Chef kept various kinds of sugar.

I guess the closest was our holiday party, when I made chocolate chip cookies with Boysen…

She waited for a moment, bracing herself for the anxiety thrum that often accompanied the Berry melody these days. But it never arrived. The Flavor King's song played on, as simultaneously exciting and comforting as Boysen himself, yet without any resulting spike in her internal worry chorus.

Lyra felt a smile begin deep in her gut, working its way slowly up through her heart and throat to spread across her face.

Chef Flax's magical kitchen strikes again… or maybe it's Sprinkle's pear cider.

Whatever the source, Lyra was going to enjoy this rare moment of peace as long as it lasted.

Her hands moved on their own. Any doubts she might have harbored about her ability to 'just start baking, and see what happens' vanished as the counter filled up with ingredients. Once the oven was preheating and three round pans were prepped with parchment paper and butter, she began.

First, she pulled out a smaller mixing bowl for the dry ingredients. Measuring out three cups of flour, she deftly removed two tablespoons per cup and substituted two tablespoons of cornstarch. She whisked the cornstarch into the flour while adding baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Then she set the dry ingredients aside.

Chef always left a large supply of butter out on the counter, room temperature and ready for use. Lyra took three sticks and put them in the large mixing bowl. White sugar came next, with a smaller amount of brown sugar for depth and nutty sweetness. Picking up a wooden spatula with a contented sigh, she started whipping the butter and sugars together.

It was while she was adding three eggs and two egg whites that she paused again, hit by the sudden realization of what she was making.

Of course, she thought, that slow, deep smile spreading again across her face. What's the only other recipe I've made as much as chocolate chip cookies?

This was 'Lyra's Favorite Cake': the dessert she had made for three different exams the year before, including the entrance exam that won her a place at the academy. A simple, three-layer vanilla cake with vanilla cream cheese frosting. For the entrance exam, she had included a sprinkling of chocolate chips between the layers, but had switched them out for boysenberries starting with the first term exam.

Her smile widened as she remembered Boysen's delight at her Flavor choice. It widened further at the thought of how hard she had tried to convince herself that he wasn't the reason for that choice.

He wasn't, some small part of her still protested. Not entirely. Vanilla and boysenberry just go very well together.

"It's like they were made to be partners," she whispered, still smiling.

The smile broke into a laugh as she looked at the ingredients she had just assembled on the counter. There, ready and waiting, was a bowl of fresh boysenberries.

"I guess I'm making the updated version of the cake," she said aloud to the empty kitchen. "Fine by me. I'm rather done with chocolate chips for the moment, anyway."

She did not, however, use any of the magic she had employed during any of the exams. True to her promise, she tried to block out all thoughts of Texture chants and Presentation charms, and just… baked.

And while she baked, she sang.

It was like being transported back in time to that year before the entrance exam. There was no spell to master for homework, no board meeting to dread, and no new discipline to develop. She was just a bard in a kitchen, teaching herself to bake… and loving every minute of it.

The recipe took her all the way through the Any Weather Bards repertoire. She had already been singing "All Gather Round" while combining the dry ingredients, and she switched to Canto's beloved "Dawn Chorus" while creaming butter and sugar together and mixing in the eggs and vanilla. Her mom's favorite, "Table Tranquility," fit perfectly with the painstaking process of folding in the dry ingredients, alternating with buttermilk.

The medley paused just long enough for her to laugh over the dry ingredients. Chef Flax certainly had cake flour available, but she had automatically crafted the 'homemade' version with cornstarch, just like she'd done every time she made the cake before coming to the academy. It felt right, somehow. No magic, no stress… this was absolutely a pre-academy version of Lyra's Favorite Cake.

Other than the boysenberries, of course.

The laughter carried her into "Bubbles," her brother Largo's favorite song. Her heart as light as the catchy melody, she poured the cake batter into the prepared tins and placed them in the oven. The intricate clapping rhythm that brought "Bubbles" to a close was a fitting celebration of this stage's completion.

Now it was time for frosting.

"Skylark Symphony," one of her dad's favorites, trilled effortlessly from her lips as she whipped heavy cream. Once soft peaks formed, she added sugar and vanilla and kept whipping until the peaks were as stiff as her arm muscles. The soothing melody sustained her through another round of whipping, this time with cream cheese, and then kept her movements light and gentle as she folded the two whipped items together.

Pausing only to remove the cakes from the magically fast oven and pop them into the enchanted cooling drawer, she turned to decoration. A bit of frosting was set aside in two smaller bowls. One received a few drops of Bumble's homemade 'red' food coloring, while the other took a single drop of 'pale pink.' The effect wasn't quite as striking as Master Brulée's Coloring Charm, but Thespy's oft-requested tune "Showtime" was arguably even more fun to sing. It certainly added zest to the otherwise tedious process of coating the boysenberries in a vanilla glaze.

When it came time to assemble the cake, she found herself deviating from the repertoire. Her youngest brother Rondo was turning into quite a prodigious songwriter. One of his latest compositions, "Stairways," perfectly captured the cheerful chaos of the three-story Treble home. Lyra could barely keep herself from dancing as she coated the cake layers with frosting, stacked them, and piped ribbons and flowers in red and pink, singing Rondo's words at top volume.

Finally, all that remained was the addition of boysenberries. Lyra did this in a leisurely manner, placing each berry with great care. Only one song would do for this, the culmination of the baking process. It was the song that had closed most Any Weather Bards shows for as long as Lyra could remember, and her personal favorite: "The Joy Song."

She didn't notice anything strange at first. Singing "The Joy Song" always made her heart feel warm and sent delight tingling through every limb. But as she placed the last boysenberry on the beautifully imperfect cake, she looked down and gasped.

She was glowing.

It seemed to have started in her chest, though it was rapidly spreading outwards: a sparkling light that pulsed and danced to the beat of the song still pouring from her throat. As she watched, it pulsed wider and wider, growing into a golden orb that encompassed her and the cake. And still it grew, as if determined to fill the kitchen… perhaps the main hall, and the entire campus beyond…

She sang the final words, holding out the last note in time-honored Treble tradition. The light paused in response. Then, as soon as her voice cut out, the glowing orb vanished in a blinding flash.

Her eyes closed involuntarily against the glare. When she opened them, a cry of wonder tore from the depths of her gut.

The cake was still sparkling. Light danced around the piped pink roses and crimson ribbon, turning each glazed boysenberry into a tiny star. It was a rich, warm light, the color of sunshine and summer, and also a cozy fire on a cold night.

Yellow: the color of Enjoyment.


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