Chapter 2
Una tried to stare anywhere but at the mountain of fruit tarts that sat directly in front of her.
To her right, the long presentation table held fourteen separate displays of sweet confections and baked masterpieces by the first-year flourier students from the Academy—the kingdom's most promising bakers.
Today would decide whether they had earned the title of Codex Apprentice.
And afterward, one exceptional student would be chosen to continue their training under the Royal Flourier himself.
Who also happened to be her father.
To her left, three men hovered over their parchment slates, tapping feathered pens against their bearded chins as they watched her stare down the magnificent display of peach tarts.
The tarts themselves were beautifully crafted. Round, flaky crusts surrounded uniquely sliced peaches arranged to appear like interwoven shafts of wheat. The overall display was striking. The dozens of tarts lined up on the tray resembled a field of golden wheat.
She reached out, pinching the crust off one of the peach tarts. It instantly gave way under the pressure of her fingers. That was good.
Her eyes darted up beyond the table. The fourteen student flouriers—easily noted by their yellow caps and bronze wheat pins—had stopped mid-conversation from various places throughout the grand hall.
She could not tell who had made the tarts, though, as they were all intently watching her every move.
She turned her attention back to the pastry that had turned to powder between her fingers. The grains of flour felt as rough as sand. It was perfectly tender. Perfect, that is, if it was intended to be a shortbread.
She looked back at the three actual judges of today's Codex Ranking. Her father looked back at her, a single eyebrow raised.
"The butter was worked in too thoroughly," she said.
Her voice was not particularly loud, but the entire room had gone silent, and the gold-covered dome ceiling reflected her every word back at her.
"If it had been layered in rather than mixed to a paste, the pastry might stand up against the wetness of the peaches. "
Her father's eyes grinned back at her, though no one else would have noticed the change in his expression. The two men at his side nodded in agreement.
Una glanced back out into the decorated hall. Her eyes instantly honed in on the flourier whose shoulders had fallen. Someone would not be getting his golden wheat pin today.
Una daintily shook the crumbs from her fingers, relishing the moment. It served them right. She knew what they said about her, the wagers they placed before presentation days.
Honestly, most of it was true.
It was easier, somehow, to be the inscrutable critic they had built her up to be. Because if she could always find something to criticize, no one questioned why she refused to eat.
She was a joke to them. The daughter of the royal chef, who always found something to criticize. Let them laugh at her. She enjoyed proving them right. She enjoyed playing them at their own game.
She was not even judging this presentation. She couldn’t be a judge because she was not a Codex Ranked Flourier.
The room watched in silence as she approached the next display. Even King Leon looked up from his place of honor just beyond the presentation table.
Let them watch.
The next display was a massive basket overflowing with golden loaves of brioche. The fluffy loaves had been braided, twisted, and shaped to also resemble a head of wheat.
At first glance, the technique appeared flawless. An even egg wash had created a shiny, perfectly colored crust that parted cleanly along the seams of each twist to reveal a soft, warm, cream-colored interior. Only a well-tended oven could produce such an even tone across the entirety of each loaf.
One of the loaves had already been cut open by the official judges and sat on the white tablecloth outside the basket. But Una reached over it and picked up a fresh one.
She lifted the near-weightless loaf and squeezed it gently between her hands, listening. A lean, crusted bread would have crackled. This gave a barely noticeable whisper, the sound of a crust so tender, it scarcely registered at all. A true soft crust on a sweet loaf.
Avoiding the gold-handled knife that also lay on the tablecloth, she tore into the loaf with her hands. The bread gave way easily, tearing apart at the twist as the feathery interior stretched into fine strands, then broke.
She inhaled through her nose. The slightly sweet, yeasty aroma did not have the sour undertone of dough that had sat out too long.
Finally, she pinched the soft interior between two fingers. The tiny bubbles of air momentarily disappeared, then bounced back into a soft, velvety consistency.
Una set the loaf down on the tablecloth with a subtle nod.
She could sense the silent sigh of relief that spread through the room.
Conversations softly resumed as she stepped further down the table.
The next item—a laminated pastry—did not have the codex minimum of six layered folds.
The cream puffs had too soft a shell. She could find no fault with the macarons.
"Una!" a booming voice called out over the room. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Una looked up from the spun sugar tower she had been examining. "I am so sorry, Your Majesty," she said, quickly stepping around the table to approach the king. "I did not hear what you said."
King Leon's wide smile welcomed her, and he held out a single fork. "This gloire cake is perfection. Tell me it is not."
Una leaned forward over the table, careful to keep her sleeve from touching any of the sweet and savory dishes spread out before him. The students had baked every presentation twice—one for the judges table, and one for the king.
Taking the fork from his hand, she stood back up.
She swallowed dry air as she looked down at the single bite of fluffy, crumbly, sweet cake drizzled in a caramel sauce. She twisted the fork in her hand, examining it from every angle. "It does look perfect," she said, risking a small smile at the eager face of her monarch.
"Go on," he urged. "Taste it and confirm."
Una swallowed again as she moved her eyes from the king's face back to the single bite of cake.
The room had once again gone silent, attention arrested by the king's loud call. Every eye in the room was on her as she gingerly lifted the fork into her mouth.
Sweetness flared across her tongue and she carefully schooled her face against the urge to grimace. The cloud of cake melted inside her mouth exactly as it was supposed to. The slightly roasted flavor of the caramel sauce overtook the buttery sweetness, and she swallowed.
The spot just above her eyebrow started to itch, and she scrunched her face in an attempt to overpower the sensation.
Gloire cake was a Lameran specialty, crafted by the Master Flouriers who had developed the codex itself. Every ingredient—from the egg yolks to the butter—was of a golden yellow to celebrate the prosperity of Lamera's bountiful crops.
"Your Majesty," she said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, "that is a gloire cake worthy of a codex master."
"Aha!" The king leaned back in his chair. "I knew it!"
The crowd broke into a cheer, and Una turned to see several well-dressed nobles congratulating a stunned flourier.
Unable to resist any longer, Una ran the back of her hand across her forehead, easing the itching sensation that still tickled just above her left eyebrow.
"Here, here," King Leon said, drawing her attention back to him. "Take. Eat." He personally placed a slice of the large cake onto a small plate.
The protest inside her died before it reached her lips. She dropped into a small curtsy. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Accepting the proffered plate, she moved as quickly as she dared away from the king's table.
So much for keeping her sleeves clean.
She had three more displays to 'judge' before she could make her escape.
Aware that half the room was still watching her, she dipped her fork into the cake the king had given her.
She lifted it halfway to her mouth, then pretended to be entirely engrossed in the five-tiered tower of palmiers in front of her.
When her body was safely behind the tower, she slid the fork up the cuff of her sleeve and deposited the bite of cake inside it.
Then she moved on. There were only a few displays left now, and she gave each the same unhurried scrutiny she had given the rest, until she reached the stack of pastry crowns near the end of the row.
There were twelve of them, choux rings lacquered gold and caged in spun sugar, and she stopped for a moment of genuine appreciation.
This was not the work of a mere apprentice.
The walls were piped double-thick so they'd hold.
The caramel was the perfect color, boiled right to the perfect temperature, then removed from the flame before it scorched.
The sugar spun lattice surrounding the masterpiece was a delightful cloud, whisked by a confident and practiced hand.
Even her father would be proud of having made this.
Only one element of the beautiful construction made no sense.
She looked up, easily noting the flourier who had created it because he had stepped forward, standing just across from her, on the other side of the table.
He was watching her through narrowed eyes, calculating her every move.
Una instantly lost the mild appreciation she had just started to feel toward his work. He was waiting for her verdict, waiting to see if she would take a bite, so that he could claim victory over his fellow students.
She turned her eyes back to the tower of crowns, back to the small, dark brown sphere that rested in the center of the smallest crown, like a gem.
She did not recognize the texture of the sphere, but the color reminded her of cocoa.
A rare ingredient known for its bitter flavor and pasty consistency.
Neither attribute was appreciated by the codex.
She picked up that smallest crown from the top of the tower, turning it in her hand to consider the weight of the choux. She wanted to let the man’s hope grow before she dashed it.
She picked at the spun sugar, looking for something to fault. It crackled under her fingers.
So she reached for the cocoa sphere. It was dense and heavy. The texture felt like an overbaked bread roll that was somehow still moist. This she could critique.
Lifting it to her mouth, she looked back up at the waiting flourier.
His eyebrows rose with hope as he followed the cocoa up to her mouth.
This was too easy.
With a practiced hand, she made a motion to plop the entire thing into her mouth. Instead, she carefully hid it behind her hand, letting it slide down the cuff of her sleeve as she pretended to chew. Then swallow.
Bitter. She could criticize the small sphere for being too bitter, even though she had not tasted it. Tart, sour, and bitter flavors were, ironically, the tasting notes she actually enjoyed, but no one in this room knew that. And they did not need to.
She knit her eyebrows together and shook her head. “Far too bitter.”
The man’s shoulders fell and his eyes narrowed.
She looked away from him first, not caring that he was disappointed in her verdict. Not caring that he had thought he could win her over by something as trivial as a rare ingredient.
Or, rather, she told herself she did not care. For the smallest moment, she had wanted to know what the small sphere would taste like, if the bitterness would pucker across her tongue the same way that the herbs she brewed late at night did.
But she could not risk it. She had to say no. It was the safest word she knew.
Walking away from the table, she joined her father to discuss their verdict.