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Ignis had been to the Amicitia home many times in the past, and had even joined Gladio’s family for dinner a few times. But this was the first time that he was specifically invited to a party - a special family-only one.
Ignis was nervous, and he didn’t immediately know why. He was quite sure that Gladio had no intention of revealing the true nature of their relationship to his family, the way Ignis had no intention of betraying it to his own. What they had between them…was something that took a backseat to every other thing they both held dear.
And Gladio had said that after his duties to the Crown, his duties to his clan took priority – only after all of that was Ignis. This much was made clear early on.
So maybe it felt a bit awkward for Ignis to be invited to a family gathering. And to be invited not even by Gladio, but by his mother .
Ignis could have refused, certainly. He could have come up with some flimsy excuse, and considering his status as attendant to the Prince, any excuse would have worked.
Instead, here he was: excuseless in the kitchen, helping prepare food that was going to be consumed by hungry Amicitias later in the day.
“I need your help,” he heard Gladio’s mother say from the kitchen doorway. “This is a little heavy…”
He immediately put down the knife he was using to cut up vegetables, and rushed to the doorway. He saw Lady Amicitia carrying a strange stone implement that…didn’t seem like it belonged in a kitchen at all. At least not a modern one.
Ignis placed the palms of his hands on the underside of the device to help carry it. He immediately saw that while it did indeed have some weight, it was not heavy enough to need two people.
He frowned, just as Gladio’s mother smiled.
“Thank you,” she said, as she turned the device over to him completely, without warning.
Ignis found his knees buckling a little. It was an armful of pure rock . It was two large layers of circular, rough stone the same size, with a lacquered wooden handle, which he presumed was for turning the top layer.
“Wh-what is it?” he asked.
“The secret,” Lady Amicitia said with a playful wink.
Ignis almost didn’t like that wink. It said she knew more about him than he was ready to know about.
Did she perhaps know about…his relationship with Gladio?
“What…secret?” he tentatively asked.
“Dear boy,” she chuckled. “To the Amicitia family’s famous rice cakes, of course!”
So she didn’t know. Ignis silently breathed a sigh of relief.
As an Insomnian, born and bred, Ignis of course knew about the Amicitia family’s famous rice cakes. Rice cakes were a traditional dessert that hardly anyone made - or even ate - anymore. You could buy them machine-made at a store, but they were virtually tasteless, until you slathered jam or a savory spread on them…and even then, they weren’t that good. Old-timers would often say modern rice cakes were “not like they used to be.”
No old-timer ever said that about the Amicitia family’s rice cakes, though. During every social gathering at the Amicitia clan complex, there would be white rice cakes that did not look or taste at all store-bought. And guests would love them so much that they would ask for some to take home.
Ignis had tried some, himself. They were really quite tasty. Although he preferred somewhat spongier flour-based cakes, he could see why these particular rice cakes were popular.
“The secret,” he inquired, “is this grinding stone?”
Lady Amicitia nodded. “It gives the rice cakes a texture and flavor that’s not easy to find these days. This one is only over a hundred years old…but did you know that the first one was in the Amicitia family at least a thousand years ago?”
Ignis made only an inquiring grunt as he carefully set the grinder down on the solid ceramic countertop.
Once the grinding stone was safe, Lady Amicitia patted his shoulder to tell him it was time to go back to the task of chopping vegetables.
“The very first one, I was told, belonged to the eldest girl of a poor farming family in Cleigne,” she casually began, as she and Ignis resumed chopping. “She devised a recipe for rice cakes with her family’s grinding stone – one that was so good, it was known far and wide. At length, the head of the Amicitia clan, who loved tasting different kinds of food, heard of her famous cakes, and invited her to his manor to be his personal baker.”
Ignis quietly listened. Being welcome in the Amicitia household, he’d come to learn, meant hearing many stories; they were a large family, with a long and rich history.
“Well, she and her entire family ended up staying in the manor, and the baker married the head of the clan. She bore many healthy Amicitia children, and soon the time came for one of them to marry. Her eldest son chose a girl from Leide – one who came with different recipes to introduce into their household.
“The girl didn’t quite like the rice cakes her mother-in-law taught her to make. So, one day, she added a bit of spice to the mixture – no one remembers what spice it was now, but it changed the taste of the cakes greatly. Then she insisted on making them that way from that point on.”
Ignis grimaced. “That must have caused some tension,” he pointed out.
“Right?” Lady Amicitia cheerfully agreed. “I thought the same, when I was first told this story. But you know what happened instead? The baker changed her recipe, to use the spice her daughter-in-law preferred. So then, people came to expect a different taste from her famous rice cakes.
“Of course, some patrons didn’t like the new recipe, and missed the old one…but others loved it, and thought it was a good change.
“Since then, it became a tradition among those marrying the future heads of the Amicitia clan to inherit the previous generation’s grinding stone, as well as their rice cake recipe…and if they must change it - based on available ingredients, or just personal taste - then they did.”
Ignis did not mean to be thoughtfully silent after this, but he at least hoped Lady Amicitia would not notice.
She did.
“You have a question,” she noticed, smiling.
“Not a question, exactly…but…” Ignis took the time to frame his question in the most respectful way. “Isn’t a personal recipe…a point of pride? Especially for bakers. If the next generation tried to change it, wouldn’t the previous generation find it offensive?”
“I would imagine so,” was the light-hearted answer. “I’m quite sure some Amicitia matriarchs even forbade the changing of the recipe. Strength of will has always been valued in the Amicitia clan, and all welcomed into it. But then, strength of will comes in many forms. Sometimes, it came in the form of small rebellions – like adding just a touch more salt. Or changing the size and shape of the cakes, without changing the flavor at all. Or making sure the next Amicitia spouse would be freer to choose.”
“Spouse” …not “bride”. This did not escape Ignis.
“Did you change anything from your mother-in-law’s recipe?” he ventured.
“Not much,” Lady Amicitia readily replied. “Clarus’ mother was…a stubborn one.”
Ignis had never met Gladio’s grandmother. She passed before Gladio’s little sister Iris was even born, from what he knew. But he had heard stories of her infamous “stubbornness”: it had seen the clan through hard times.
“Even after she died, I didn’t see a need to change her recipe anymore. I’ve grown quite fond of it. So you see, this recipe isn’t much different from hers.” As Ignis watched, Lady Amicitia took out a tray from one of the Amicitia kitchen’s many cupboards. The tray held a few rice cakes.
Her rice cakes, Ignis recognized.
“Give one of them a try now?” It sounded more like a command than a suggestion. Ignis obliged. And it was as good as he remembered.
“Now,” she asked, “what would you add or take away from it, if you could?”
Ignis’ eyes went wide. It took him a few good seconds to remember to swallow the bit of cake that was already in his mouth.
“I…” he carefully said, “don’t wish to offend…”
“Listen,” she said, kindly but firmly, “never worry about offending anyone. All anyone needs is for you to be true to yourself, even if what you are is different from what people are used to. Every clan needs to embrace change, to keep the current of time from pulling it under. Something is added, and something is taken away: that’s how growth happens. But something must stay, still and strong, through the years: that’s how something endures.”
As Lady Amicitia said “still and strong,” she glanced at the grinding stone Ignis had set down.
But at all other times, as she spoke, she kept her eyes on Ignis’.
And Ignis was suddenly certain that she knew .
Ignis blushed, and he could tell Lady Amicitia noticed; she chuckled happily.
She was still waiting for his answer.
And Ignis wasn’t sure why or how…but he suddenly felt it was safe to be honest with her about this thing. Just this one thing.
“I think…it could stand to be fluffier,” he admitted. “Like a foam cake. Maybe if the rice used were different…”
“Different rice,” she said thoughtfully, smiling. “Interesting…”
“Yes,” he said, then proceeded to list rarer rice varieties that might produce the “fluffiness” he mentioned.
As she listened, Lady Amicitia smiled – a reassuring, motherly smile.
And Ignis wasn’t sure how…but he felt it was safe to be honest about everything else.