真正正統中醫學在治療感冒時,最常使用的處方我幫大家歸納一下,讓大家都好記,也都會使用。中醫治療感冒是依據不同的感冒症狀來開立處方,不是依據西醫區分為那類病毒來開方子的。
1. 桂枝湯 : 處方內容是桂枝10克 白芍10克 生薑二片 炙甘草10克 紅棗十枚,每付藥加入六碗水使用大火來煮成二碗,成人於每三小時空腹時喝一碗,小孩減半,服用後會得到微汗出來,這個處方使用的最多,民眾如果在服用第一碗湯藥後,感冒症狀就好了,就不需要去服用第二碗,服用此湯藥後需要喝一點粥,來幫助藥力達到四肢末梢,如此就可以將感冒病毒清除於體外,病人會迅速恢復過來,使用此方時要注意病人的感冒症狀,當你發現感冒病人有出汗同時全身肌肉痛,不喜歡被風吹到身體,加上一點發燒又沒有胃口時,你就可以按照我說的比例來抓藥服用,在服用過後的第二天中午,如果病人的胃口恢復,就代表病已經完全好了。
2. 麻黃湯 : 處方內容是麻黃5克 桂枝10克 杏仁5克 炙甘草10克,每付藥加入三碗水然後用大火煮成一碗,空腹時服用,這個處方是專門治療一種特殊的感冒,主要症狀是非常怕冷,身體關節疼痛,發燒,沒有汗,這個感冒症狀多發生於冬天寒冷時,但是也有時會發生在夏天,大家只要記住一點,只要出現這個症狀就可以使用它,唯一要注意的是如果你有心臟病的記錄,就不可以服用它,其他的都可以服用。
3. 葛根湯 :處方內容是葛根15克 麻黃5克 桂枝10克 白芍10克 生薑二片 炙甘草10克 大棗十枚,每付藥加入六碗水使用大火來煮成二碗,成人於每三小時空腹時喝一碗,小孩減半,服用後會得到微汗出來,此方多用於小孩感冒發燒喉嚨痛時,這是因為病人是在發汗時得到的感冒,主要症狀是後項強痛,頭痛又怕風吹,身體肌肉疼痛,喉嚨痛,口渴等等,同時這個處方我們也可以給正在發水痘而發燒的小孩吃,在退燒的同時可以將水痘逼出體外,小孩服用後的第二天會全身起水痘,看似很嚇人,其實病已經好轉,病人燒退,體力也同時會好轉,當病人燒退同時胃口恢復時就可以停藥了。
4. 大青龍湯 :處方內容是麻黃10克 杏仁10克 石膏20克 炙甘草10克 桂枝15克 生薑二片 大棗十枚,每付藥加入六碗水使用大火來煮成二碗,成人於每三小時空腹時喝一碗,小孩減半,服用後會得汗出來,此方主要的感冒症狀是發燒,咳嗽吐濁痰,病人自覺體外怕冷體內很熱,體表沒有出汗,有身體疼痛現象,口渴又沒有胃口,此時就可以服用這個處方,大青龍湯是我國千年來專門用來治療瘟疫之類的傳染病時所使用的最有效處方,近來發生所謂的禽流感,就是大青龍湯證,民眾一旦發現得到此病而當你們當地的西醫與中醫都宣佈無法治療時,大家就可以使用此方來保命。
5. 小青龍湯 : 處方內容是麻黃10克 白芍10克 乾薑5克 細辛5克 桂枝15克 五味子10克 炙甘草10克 半夏10克,每付藥加入六碗水使用大火來煮成二碗,成人於每三小時空腹時喝一碗,小孩減半,服用後會得汗出來,此方主要的感冒症狀是發燒,咳嗽吐清白痰,病人自覺身體裡面非常冷,體表沒有出汗,也有身體疼痛現象,沒有口渴也沒有胃口,喉嚨中時常覺得癢癢的想咳嗽,有時感覺背後兩肩胛骨之間有一塊如拳大的冷塊區,此時就可以服用這個處方,服用後身體會出汗,之後高燒就會退去,咳嗽就會好轉。
6. 小柴胡湯 : 處方內容是柴胡15克 半夏15克 黃芩15克 黨參15克 生薑二片 大棗十枚 炙甘草10克,每付藥加入六碗水使用大火來煮成二碗,成人於早晚餐前空腹時喝一碗,小孩減半,此方主要症狀是病人自覺忽冷忽熱,有嘔心感,同時兩胸肋位感覺有脹滿感,這時就可以服用此方,還有要注意一點,就是女子在月經期中,如果得到任何感冒時,無論妳其他感冒症狀是如何不同,請一律使用此方就可以恢復過來,千萬不要去吃其他處方,如果妳同時有嚴重的痛經問題,妳可以在此方中自行加入茜草15克,白芍25克,而煮法與服用方法不變。
大家在使用上方治療感冒的同時,請注意一點就是當你服藥後的第二天中午時,你感到肚子很餓,這就是證據,證明了你的感冒完全已經好了,如果第二天中午病人仍然沒有胃口,就必須繼續吃藥直到好為止,上面的六劑處方是我國用之千年的經典之方,使用至今仍然不需要更改內容,而且效果是一劑就知,藥物又非常廉價,人人都可以負擔得起,同時又是真正可以將感冒治好的處方,西洋人至今仍然連個感冒都無法治好,所以西醫差中醫有千年以上的距離。
以上這六貼藥物才是真正的中醫學所在,而你們現在周圍的中醫都是溫病派中醫,這些中醫不是真正正統的中醫,所以跟西醫一樣都無法治療感冒,而上面處方中我開的麻黃,桂枝等等,對你們這裡的中醫來說是非常之恐懼,他們一生都未使用過這些藥物,而這就是他們之所以無法治病的原因所在,因此當你拿這藥單去藥房抓藥時,如果藥房刁難你,這不足為奇,因為你們那邊從未有一位中醫敢如此開藥的,請大家安心使用,我保證絕對是效果迅速,又完全無副作用,請大家將此篇論文到處去貼,同時如果有湖南鄉親看到這篇時,請將這篇列印出來,分送給親友們,大家如果都知道感冒可以照這樣處理,相信整個湖南省鄉親們都必將更健康更富足,而且更快樂的過日子,最後祝福大家身體健康,萬事如意。
請注意一件事,如果大家按照這種方式來治療一般感冒時,沒有見到效果,有可能是你取得的藥材有問題,或是你的辨症不正確導致,此時請你就近找合格的開業中醫師來治療,不可以延誤就醫時間。
- Dec 01 Sat 2012 14:20
中醫治療感冒處方(漢唐中醫倪海廈)
- May 25 Sat 2024 10:27
坂本龍一相關
①左うでの夢坂本龍一發跡在視覺感華麗的1980年代,他的藝人形象沾染了當時的新浪漫派氣息。《左之下の夢》是他生涯第三張專輯,與出道作《千の于イ7》(ThousandKnives)相隔三年,翻成中文是《左撇子的夢》——是的,坂本是個左撇子!他在封面上把臉塗白,畫上粉紅色眼影,十足奶油小生的模樣。從早年的青澀時代,到享譽國際的階段,乃至後來被尊為大師級的藝術家,坂本對每張專輯的封面構成都很講究,如《Beauty》高對比的黑白人像、《SweetRevenge》飽和度強烈的夢幻色彩,都共享相似的美學企圖:讓聆聽成為五感的饗宴,音樂與影像創造意在言外的默契。②YMOYMO是YellowMagicOrchestra(黃色魔術交響樂團)的縮寫,1978年,坂本龍一與細野晴臣、高橋幸宏共組了這支日本電子音樂的先鋒隊伍,參考德國Kraftwerk等電音先驅的未來派曲風,融入日本特有的東瀛美學,開創彼時國際樂壇罕見的日系色彩東方Electro-Pop音樂,影響力至今不墜!這隊「超級組合」成軍時,三人已是獨當一面的音樂人:坂本剛發行首張個人專輯,細野晴臣是1970年代民謠搖滾樂團HappyEnd的主唱,高橋幸宏則是備受矚目的鼓手,同樣在1978年發行了個人作。YMO的音樂走在時代尖端,專輯封面同樣引人側目,把異國情調與東京的前衛感調和成「近未來」的視覺語彙,譬如《Solid\StateSurvivor》封面上三人穿著醒目的紅衣,與金髮美女同桌打著麻將。③俘虜1983年對坂本龍一是重要的一年!他首度成為演員,在導演大島渚的《俘虜》中飾演一名日軍營長,於印尼戰俘營遭遇了英國搖滾明星大衛鮑伊飾演的英軍少校。當時鮑伊已是紅遍全球的巨星,坂本與他幾場關鍵的對手戲,不單被影迷們津津樂道,也大大提升了他在全球的知名度。《俘虜》開拍前,大島渚曾以《感官世界》榮獲坎城最佳導演獎,坂本視他為偶像,兩人見面時,大島渚邀請坂本參與新片的演出,剛滿30歲的坂本說了一句著名的話:「配樂也請讓我來做吧!」大島渚點頭了,於是誕生出坂本生涯最知名的作品,即電影的同名主題曲〈MerryChristmasMr.Lawrence〉。40年過
去,《俘虜》公認是1980年代最經典的藝術片之一,也留存了坂本、鮑伊和北野武,做為演員的珍貴形象。④奧斯卡金像獎由於《俘虜》入選了坎城競賽片,坂本龍一有機會在影展會場認識國際大導演貝托魯奇。1986年坂本參與貝托魯奇《末代皇帝》的演出,飾演日本軍官甘粕正彥,原劇本中,甘粕切腹自殺,坂本認為那對日本人是一件可恥的事,向導演強烈表達不滿,最後劇情改成舉槍自盡。從這件小事,可以看出坂本的尊嚴。其實,義大利電影配樂大師顏尼歐莫利克奈很想幫《末代皇帝》配樂,但貝托魯奇把這個機會給了坂本,請他先為溥儀登基一幕配樂,再和TalkingHeads主唱大衛伯恩與中國作曲家蘇聰共同完成整部電影的配樂,三人並一起獲得第60屆奧斯卡金像獎最佳配樂獎。坂本往後也替貝托魯奇的《遮蔽的天空》和《小活佛》配樂,成為炙手可熱的電影配樂家。⑤311海嘯的鋼琴2017年美麗的紀錄片《坂本龍一:終章》裡有一幕,坂本穿著厚厚的雪衣坐在南極的冰層上,像極圈的漁夫把錄音器材放入身前的冰洞,錄製冰河底下的聲音,坂本說他在「獵捕聲音這條魚。」(fishingthesound)這是他對自然界各種聲響與質地的好奇和探究。紀錄片中另外一幕,他搶救回一台倖存於311海嘯的鋼琴,對坂本來說,那台鋼琴「被自然調過了音」。鋼琴與坂本幾乎劃上等號,他是YMO的鍵盤手,學生時期迷戀著巴哈,甚至覺得自己是德布西轉世。那台歷經海嘯洗禮的鋼琴,後來成為「ISYOURTIME一設置音樂」展覽的主角,坂本和藝術家高谷史郎共同合作,融合燈光投影和簡約的空間性,藉由負傷的鋼琴,呈現出自然的正反力量,它可以摧毀,也可以復原,如我們人類的身體。⑥健康音樂2014年中,坂本龍一被診斷出咽喉癌,得暫時將手邊工作放下,好好休養,他向樂迷保證,會遵照醫生囑咐治療,痊癒後再重新投入音樂創作。一年後他完成療程,開始編寫《神鬼獵人》的配樂,2016年,坂本創辦的廠牌commmons迎來十週年,在惠比壽花園廣場舉辦三天的活動「健康音樂祭」,包括音樂、笑、知、食、運動這五大主題,演出藝人也請到YMO的老戰友高橋幸宏和細野晴臣音樂祭的海報上,印著「健康第一坂本龍一」,坂本向來是個自律的人,每天都要彈琴,但罹癌後,一天只能工作八個小時。雖然把健康放在第一順位,老天再次開了一個玩笑:2020年癌症復發,轉移到全身各處,時至2022年底,坂本已進行了六次手術,必須與癌共生。TheKajitsuPlaylist紐約是坂本龍一第二個家,1990年他與家人帶著20幾箱行李移居過去,方便在世界之都和「西方世界」各種合作案與創作者更密切地工作。坂本在曼哈頓的39街與萊辛頓大道附近有一家喜愛的日式餐館,他是店裡常客,那裡的食物、擺飾、家具他無一不愛,但對店裡播的音樂不太滿意。坂本認為,音樂有欠考慮(thoughtless),店主沒有將心思放在音樂的挑選上。他實在太愛那家店了,覺得「如果因為音樂就沒辦法去,實在很可惜啊!」於是寫了封禮貌的email給店主:「讓我幫你們排歌單吧!不需要給我費用,只要讓我在用餐時感覺比較舒適就可以了。」大概不會有店主回絕這個提案的,這件事,可以瞧見坂本對生活中細節的堅持,他是一個真正在過日子的人。8PlayingthePianofortheIsolated2020年四月,坂本龍一在新冠疫情正嚴峻的時候,在東京舉辦了一場線上演奏會「Play/ngthePianofortheIsolated」,替因疫情隔離在某處的人,彈奏鋼琴。坂本協同日本知名音樂家、三味線演奏者本條秀慈郎,共同帶來這場演出,影片錄製在空無一人的攝影棚,現場沒有觀眾。「大家好嗎?此刻安全嗎?」坂本坐在鋼琴椅上,問著「遠端」的觀眾。靜謐的琴聲中,人類正在適應那種新的演奏型態。兩年後,正當世界慢慢回到了常軌,坂本在2022年12月舉辦了另一場線上演奏會,他被癌症折損的身體,沒辦法再進行長時間的勞動,歌與歌是一首一首分開來錄製,再剪輯在一起。削瘦的坂本,演奏時臉上浮現了各種情感,彷彿用最後的餘力在彈琴,依然帶著關切與愛,把能量傳遞給我們。⑨人道主義者坂本龍一說過:「音樂和文化建立於平和時期。」他從學生時代就投入社會運動,不畏替堅信的價值發聲。移居紐約隔年,爆發波斯灣戰爭,開戰的日期1月17日是他的生日,身處「戰爭國」,這件事對坂本的衝擊很大,他以回歸母體的新專輯《Heartbeat》回應了那場戰爭。而911恐怖攻擊後,更強化了他反戰的信念,與村上龍等文化人發表了評論集《反戰》。坂本形容自己「無法當一個視而不見的人」,他參與反地雷音樂計畫,發起森林再造的保育計畫「MoreTrees」,搭船到格陵蘭考察人與自然的關係,並體現在作品中,更毅然走上街頭,高聲疾呼反對重啟核電廠!這是坂本讓人尊敬的地方——他大可當一位高高在上的藝術家,不染塵埃,把作品推到自己身前。然而,綜觀他40多年的生涯,坂本讓自己和作品合而為一,讓「坂本龍一」與他的音樂以及言行,成為面對世界,並且介入世界的媒介。他強大的感染力,就是來自於這裡。(文/陳德政,作家)
- Jan 13 Sat 2024 05:56
第四翼
Fourth Wing is a nonstop-thrilling adventure fantasy set in the brutal and competitive world of a military college for dragon riders, which includes elements regarding war, battle, hand-to-hand combat, perilous situations, blood, intense violence, brutal injuries, death, poisoning, graphic language, and sexual activities that are shown on the page. Readers who may be sensitive to these elements, please take note, and prepare to enter Basgiath War College...
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Rebecca Yarros. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
644 Shrewsbury Commons Ave., STE 181
Shrewsbury, PA 17361
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Red Tower Books is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com
Edited by Liz Pelletier
Cover art and design by Bree Archer and Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Stock art by Peratek/Shutterstock
Interior map art by Amy Acosta and Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Interior endpaper map art by Melanie Korte
Interior design by Toni Kerr
HC ISBN 978-1-64937-404-2
Ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-408-0
Printed in China
First Edition May 2023
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Aaron.
My own Captain America.
Through the deployments, the moves,
the sunniest highs, and the darkest lows,
it’s always been you and me, kiddo.
Here’s to the artists.
You hold the power to shape the world.
Table of Contents
Cover Map ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTEEN | FOURTEEN | FIFTEEN | SIXTEEN | SEVENTEEN | EIGHTEEN | NINETEEN | TWENTY | TWENTY-ONE | TWENTY-TWO | TWENTY-THREE | TWENTY-FOUR | TWENTY-FIVE | TWENTY-SIX | TWENTY-SEVEN | TWENTY-EIGHT | TWENTY-NINE | THIRTY | THIRTY-ONE | THIRTY-TWO | THIRTY-THREE | THIRTY-FOUR | THIRTY-FIVE | THIRTY-SIX | THIRTY-SEVEN | THIRTY-EIGHT | THIRTY-NINE Acknowledgments About the Author
The following text has been faithfully transcribed from Navarrian into the modern language by Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant at Basgiath War College. All events are true, and names have been preserved to honor the courage of those fallen. May their souls be commended to Malek.
A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.
—Article One, Section One
The Dragon Rider’s Codex
CHAPTER
ONE
Conscription Day is always the deadliest. Maybe that’s why the sunrise is especially beautiful this morning—because I know it might be my last.
I tighten the straps of my heavy canvas rucksack and trudge up the wide staircase of the stone fortress I call home. My chest heaves with exertion, my lungs burning by the time I reach the stone corridor leading to General Sorrengail’s office. This is what six months of intense physical training has given me—the ability to barely climb six flights of stairs with a thirty-pound pack.
I’m so fucked.
The thousands of twenty-year-olds waiting outside the gate to enter their chosen quadrant for service are the smartest and strongest in Navarre. Hundreds of them have been preparing for the Riders Quadrant, the chance to become one of the elite, since birth. I’ve had exactly six months.
The expressionless guards lining the wide hallway at the top of the landing avoid my eyes as I pass, but that’s nothing new. Besides, being ignored is the best possible scenario for me.
Basgiath War College isn’t known for being kind to…well, anyone, even those of us whose mothers are in command.
Every Navarrian officer, whether they choose to be schooled as healers, scribes, infantry, or riders, is molded within these cruel walls over three years, honed into weapons to secure our mountainous borders from the violent invasion attempts of the kingdom of Poromiel and their gryphon riders. The weak don’t survive here, especially not in the Riders Quadrant. The dragons make sure of that.
“You’re sending her to die!” a familiar voice thunders through the general’s thick wooden door, and I gasp. There’s only one woman on the Continent foolish enough to raise her voice to the general, but she’s supposed to be on the border with the Eastern Wing. Mira.
There’s a muffled response from the office, and I reach for the door handle.
“She doesn’t stand a chance,” Mira shouts as I force the heavy door open and the weight of my pack shifts forward, nearly taking me down. Shit.
The general curses from behind her desk, and I grab onto the back of the crimson-upholstered couch to catch my balance.
“Damn it, Mom, she can’t even handle her rucksack,” Mira snaps, rushing to my side.
“I’m fine!” My cheeks heat with mortification, and I force myself upright. She’s been back for five minutes and is already trying to save me. Because you need saving, you fool.
I don’t want this. I don’t want any part of this Riders Quadrant shit. It’s not like I have a death wish. I would have been better off failing the admission test to Basgiath and going straight to the army with the majority of conscripts. But I can handle my rucksack, and I will handle myself.
“Oh, Violet.” Worried brown eyes look down at me as strong hands brace my shoulders.
“Hi, Mira.” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. She might be here to say her goodbyes, but I’m just glad to see my sister for the first time in years.
Her eyes soften, and her fingers flex on my shoulders like she might pull me into a hug, but she steps back and turns to stand at my side, facing our mother. “You can’t do this.”
“It’s already done.” Mom shrugs, the lines of her fitted black uniform rising and falling with the motion.
I scoff. So much for the hope of a reprieve. Not that I ever should have expected, or even hoped for, an ounce of mercy from a woman who’s been made famous for her lack of it.
“Then undo it,” Mira seethes. “She’s spent her whole life training to become a scribe. She wasn’t raised to be a rider.”
“Well, she certainly isn’t you, is she, Lieutenant Sorrengail?” Mom braces her hands on the immaculate surface of her desk and leans in slightly as she stands, looking us over with narrowed, appraising eyes that mirror the dragons’ carved into the furniture’s massive legs. I don’t need the prohibited power of mind reading to know exactly what she sees.
At twenty-six years old, Mira’s a younger version of our mother. She’s tall, with strong, powerful muscles toned from years of sparring and hundreds of hours spent on the back of her dragon. Her skin practically glows with health, and her golden-brown hair is sheared short for combat in the same style as Mom’s. But more than looks, she carries the same arrogance, the unwavering conviction that she belongs in the sky. She’s a rider through and through.
She’s everything I’m not, and the disapproving shake of Mom’s head says she agrees. I’m too short. Too frail. What curves I do have should be muscle, and my traitorous body makes me embarrassingly vulnerable.
Mom walks toward us, her polished black boots gleaming in the mage lights that flicker from the sconces. She picks up the end of my long braid, scoffs at the section just above my shoulders where the brown strands start to lose their warmth of color and slowly fade to a steely, metallic silver by the ends, and then drops it. “Pale skin, pale eyes, pale hair.” Her gaze siphons every ounce of my confidence down to the marrow in my bones. “It’s like that fever stole all your coloring along with your strength.” Grief flashes through her eyes and her brows furrow. “I told him not to keep you in that library.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard her curse the sickness that nearly killed her while she was pregnant with me or the library Dad made my second home once she’d been stationed here at Basgiath as an instructor and he as a scribe.
“I love that library,” I counter. It’s been more than a year since his heart finally failed, and the Archives are still the only place that feels like home in this giant fortress, the only place where I still feel my father’s presence.
“Spoken like the daughter of a scribe,” Mom says quietly, and I see it—the woman she was while Dad was alive. Softer. Kinder…at least for her family.
“I am the daughter of a scribe.” My back screams at me, so I let my pack slip from my shoulders, guiding it to the floor, and take my first full breath since leaving my room.
Mom blinks, and that softer woman is gone, leaving only the general. “You’re the daughter of a rider, you are twenty years old, and today is Conscription Day. I let you finish your tutoring, but like I told you last spring, I will not watch one of my children enter the Scribe Quadrant, Violet.”
“Because scribes are so far beneath riders?” I grumble, knowing perfectly well that riders are the top of the social and military hierarchy. It helps that their bonded dragons roast people for fun.
“Yes!” Her customary composure slips. “And if you dare walk into the tunnel toward the Scribe Quadrant today, I will rip you out by that ridiculous braid and put you on the parapet myself.”
My stomach turns over.
“Dad wouldn’t want this!” Mira argues, color flushing up her neck.
“I loved your father, but he’s dead,” Mom says, as if giving the weather report. “I doubt he wants much these days.”
I suck in a breath but keep my mouth shut. Arguing will get me nowhere. She’s never listened to a damned thing I’ve had to say before, and today is no different.
“Sending Violet into the Riders Quadrant is tantamount to a death sentence.” Guess Mira isn’t done arguing. Mira’s never done arguing with Mom, and the frustrating thing about it is that Mom has always respected her for it. Double standard for the win. “She’s not strong enough, Mom! She’s already broken her arm this year, she sprains some joint every other week, and she’s not tall enough to mount any dragon big enough to keep her alive in a battle.”
“Seriously, Mira?” What. The. Hell. My fingernails bite into my palms as I curl my hands into fists. Knowing my chances of survival are minimal is one thing. Having my sister throw my inadequacies in my face is another. “Are you calling me weak?”
“No.” Mira squeezes my hand. “Just…fragile.”
“That’s not any better.” Dragons don’t bond fragile women. They incinerate them.
“So she’s small.” Mom scans me up and down, taking in the generous fit of the cream belted tunic and pants I selected this morning for my potential execution.
I snort. “Are we just listing my faults now?”
“I never said it was a fault.” Mom turns to my sister. “Mira, Violet deals with more pain before lunch than you do in an entire week. If any of my children is capable of surviving the Riders Quadrant, it’s her.”
My eyebrows rise. That sounded an awful lot like a compliment, but with Mom, I’m never quite sure.
“How many rider candidates die on Conscription Day, Mom? Forty? Fifty? Are you that eager to bury another child?” Mira seethes.
I cringe as the temperature in the room plummets, courtesy of Mom’s storm-wielding signet power she channels through her dragon, Aimsir.
My chest tightens at the memory of my brother. No one has dared to mention Brennan or his dragon in the five years since they died fighting the Tyrrish rebellion in the south. Mom tolerates me and respects Mira, but she loved Brennan.
Dad did, too. His chest pains started right after Brennan’s death.
Mom’s jaw tightens and her eyes threaten retribution as she glares at Mira.
My sister swallows but holds her own in the staring competition.
“Mom,” I start. “She didn’t mean—”
“Get. Out. Lieutenant.” Mom’s words are soft puffs of steam in the frigid office. “Before I report you absent from your unit without leave.”
Mira straightens her posture, nods once, and pivots with military precision, then strides for the door without another word, grabbing a small rucksack on the way out.
It’s the first time Mom and I have been alone in months.
Her eyes meet mine, and the temperature rises as she takes a deep breath. “You scored in the top quarter for speed and agility during the entrance exam. You’ll do just fine. All Sorrengails do just fine.” She skims the backs of her fingers down my cheek, barely grazing my skin. “So much like your father,” she whispers before clearing her throat and backing up a few steps.
Guess there are no meritorious service awards for emotional availability.
“I won’t be able to acknowledge you for the next three years,” she says, sitting back on the edge of her desk. “Since, as commanding general of Basgiath, I’ll be your far superior officer.”
“I know.” It’s the least of my concerns, considering she barely acknowledges me now.
“You won’t get any special treatment just because you’re my daughter, either. If anything, they’ll come after you harder to make you prove yourself.” She arches an eyebrow.
“Well aware.” Good thing I’ve been training with Major Gillstead for the last several months since Mom made her decree.
She sighs and forces a smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you in the valley at Threshing, candidate. Though you’ll be a cadet by sunset, I suppose.”
Or dead.
Neither of us says it.
“Good luck, Candidate Sorrengail.” She moves back behind her desk, effectively dismissing me.
“Thank you, General.” I heft my pack onto my shoulders and walk out of her office. A guard closes the door behind me.
“She’s batshit crazy,” Mira says from the center of the hallway, right between where two guards are positioned.
“They’ll tell her you said that.”
“Like they don’t already know,” she grinds out through clenched teeth. “Let’s go. We only have an hour before all candidates have to report, and I saw thousands waiting outside the gates when I flew over.” She starts walking, leading me down the stone staircase and through the hallways to my room.
Well…it was my room.
In the thirty minutes I’ve been gone, all my personal items have been packed into crates that now sit stacked in the corner. My stomach sinks to the hardwood floor. She had my entire life boxed.
“She’s fucking efficient, I’ll give you that,” Mira mutters before turning my way, her gaze passing over me in open assessment. “I was hoping I’d be able to talk her out of it. You were never meant for the Riders Quadrant.”
“So you’ve mentioned.” I lift an eyebrow at her. “Repeatedly.”
“Sorry.” She winces, dropping to the ground and emptying her pack.
“What are you doing?”
“What Brennan did for me,” she says softly, and grief lodges in my throat. “Can you use a sword?”
I shake my head. “Too heavy. I’m pretty quick with daggers, though.” Really damned quick. Lightning quick. What I lack in strength, I make up for in speed.
“I figured. Good. Now, drop your pack and take off those horrible boots.” She sorts through the items she’s brought, handing me new boots and a black uniform. “Put these on.”
“What’s wrong with my pack?” I ask but drop my rucksack anyway. She immediately opens it, ripping out everything I’d carefully packed. “Mira! That took me all night!”
“You’re carrying way too much, and your boots are a death trap. You’ll slip right off the parapet with those smooth soles. I had a set of rubber-bottomed rider boots made for you just in case, and this, my dear Violet, is the worst case.” Books start flying, landing in the vicinity of the crate.
“Hey, I can only take what I can carry, and I want those!” I lunge for the next book before she has a chance to toss it, barely managing to save my favorite collection of dark fables.
“Are you willing to die for it?” she asks, her eyes turning hard.
“I can carry it!” This is all wrong. I’m supposed to be dedicating my life to books, not throwing them in the corner to lighten my rucksack.
“No. You can’t. You’re barely thrice the weight of the pack, the parapet is roughly eighteen inches wide, two hundred feet aboveground, and last time I looked, those were rain clouds moving in. They’re not going to give you a rain delay just because the bridge might get a little slick, sis. You’ll fall. You’ll die. Now, are you going to listen to me? Or are you going to join the other dead candidates at tomorrow morning’s roll call?” There’s no trace of my older sister in the rider before me. This woman is shrewd, cunning, and a touch cruel. This is the woman who survived all three years with only one scar, the one her own dragon gave her during Threshing. “Because that’s all you’ll be. Another tombstone. Another name scorched in stone. Ditch the books.”
“Dad gave this one to me,” I murmur, pressing the book against my chest. Maybe it’s childish, just a collection of stories that warn us against the lure of magic, and even demonize dragons, but it’s all I have left.
She sighs. “Is it that old book of folklore about dark-wielding vermin and their wyvern? Haven’t you read it a thousand times already?”
“Probably more,” I admit. “And they’re venin, not vermin.”
“Dad and his allegories,” she says. “Just don’t try to channel power without being a bonded rider and red-eyed monsters won’t hide under your bed, waiting to snatch you away on their two-legged dragons to join their dark army.” She retrieves the last book I packed from the rucksack and hands it to me. “Ditch the books. Dad can’t save you. He tried. I tried. Decide, Violet. Are you going to die a scribe? Or live as a rider?”
I glance down at the books in my arms and make my choice. “You’re a pain in the ass.” I put the fables in the corner but keep the other tome in my hands as I face my sister.
“A pain in the ass who is going to keep you alive. What’s that one for?” she challenges.
“Killing people.” I hand it back to her.
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Good. You can keep that one. Now, get changed while I sort out the rest of this mess.” The bell rings high above us. We have forty-five minutes.
I dress quickly, but everything feels like it belongs to someone else, though it’s obviously tailored to my size. My tunic is replaced by a tight-fitting black shirt that covers my arms, and my breezy pants are exchanged for leather ones that hug every curve. Then she laces me into a vest-style corset over the shirt.
“Keeps it from rubbing,” she explains.
“Like the gear riders wear into battle.” Have to admit, the clothes are pretty badass, even if I feel like an imposter. Gods, this is really happening.
“Exactly, because that’s what you’re doing. Going into battle.”
The combination of leather and a fabric I don’t recognize covers me from collarbone to just below my waist, wrapping over my breasts and crossing up and over my shoulders. I finger the hidden sheaths sewn diagonally along the rib cage.
“For your daggers.”
“I only have four.” I grab them from the pile on the floor.
“You’ll earn more.”
I slide my weapons into the sheaths, as though my ribs themselves have become weapons. The design is ingenious. Between my ribs and the sheaths at my thighs, the blades are easily accessible.
I barely recognize myself in the mirror. I look like a rider. I still feel like a scribe.
Minutes later, half of what I packed is piled onto the crates. She’s repacked my rucksack, discarding anything deemed unnecessary and almost everything sentimental while word-vomiting advice about how to survive in the quadrant. Then she surprises me by doing the most sentimental thing ever—telling me to sit between her knees so she can braid my hair into a crown.
It’s like I’m a kid again instead of a full-grown woman, but I do it.
“What is this?” I test the material just above my heart, scratching it with my fingernail.
“Something I designed,” she explains, tugging my braid painfully tight against my scalp. “I had it specially made for you with Teine’s scales sewn in, so be careful with it.”
“Dragon scales?” I jerk my head back to look at her. “How? Teine is huge.”
“I happen to know a rider whose powers can make big things very small.” A devious smile plays across her lips. “And smaller things…much, much bigger.”
I roll my eyes. Mira’s always been more vocal about her men than I have been…about all two of them. “I mean, how much bigger?”
She laughs, then tugs on my braid. “Head forward. You should have cut your hair.” She pulls the strands tight against my head and resumes weaving. “It’s a liability in sparring and in battle, not to mention being a giant target. No one else has hair that fades out to silver like this, and they’ll already be aiming for you.”
“You know very well the natural pigment seems to gradually abandon it no matter the length.” My eyes are just as indecisive, a light hazel of varying blues and ambers that never seems to favor either actual color. “Besides, other than everyone else’s concern for the shade, my hair is the only thing about me that’s perfectly healthy. Cutting it would feel like I’m punishing my body for finally doing something well, and it’s not like I feel the need to hide who I am.”
“You’re not.” Mira yanks on my braid, pulling my head back, and our eyes lock. “You’re the smartest woman I know. Don’t forget that. Your brain is your best weapon. Outsmart them, Violet. Do you hear me?”
I nod, and she loosens her grip, then finishes the braid and pulls me to my feet as she continues to summarize years of knowledge into fifteen harried minutes, barely pausing to breathe.
“Be observant. Quiet is fine, but make sure you notice everything and everyone around you to your advantage. You’ve read the Codex?”
“A few times.” The rule book for the Riders Quadrant is a fraction of the length of the other divisions’. Probably because riders have trouble obeying rules.
“Good. Then you know that the other riders can kill you at any time, and the cutthroat cadets will try. Fewer cadets means better odds at Threshing. There are never enough dragons willing to bond, and anyone reckless enough to get themselves killed isn’t worthy of a dragon anyway.”
“Except when sleeping. It’s an executable offense to attack any cadet while sleeping. Article Three—”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe at night. Sleep in this if you can.” She taps the stomach of my corset.
“Rider black is supposed to be earned. You sure I shouldn’t wear my tunic today?” I skim my hands over the leather.
“The wind up on the parapet will catch any spare cloth like a sail.” She hands me my now-much-lighter pack. “The tighter your clothes, the better off you are up there, and in the ring once you start sparring. Wear the armor at all times. Keep your daggers on you at all times.” She points to the sheaths down her thighs.
“Someone’s going to say I didn’t earn them.”
“You’re a Sorrengail,” she responds, as if that’s answer enough. “Fuck what they say.”
“And you don’t think the dragon scales are cheating?”
“There’s no such thing as cheating once you climb the turret. There’s only survival and death.” The bell chimes—only thirty minutes left. She swallows. “It’s almost time. Ready?”
“No.”
“Neither was I.” A wry smile lifts a corner of her mouth. “And I’d spent my life training for it.”
“I’m not going to die today.” I sling my pack over my shoulders and breathe a little easier than this morning. It’s infinitely more manageable.
The halls of the central, administrative part of the fortress are eerily quiet as we wind our way down through various staircases, but the noise from outside grows louder the lower we descend. Through the windows, I see thousands of candidates hugging their loved ones and saying their goodbyes on the grassy fields just beneath the main gate. From what I’ve witnessed every year, most families hold on to their candidates right up to the very last bell. The four roads leading to the fortress are clogged with horses and wagons, especially where they converge in front of the college, but it’s the empty ones at the edge of the fields that make me nauseous.
They’re for the bodies.
Right before we round the last corner that will lead to the courtyard, Mira stops.
“What is— Oof.” She yanks me against her chest, hugging me tight in the relative privacy of the corridor.
“I love you, Violet. Remember everything I’ve told you. Don’t become another name on the death roll.” Her voice shakes, and I wrap my arms around her, squeezing tight.
“I’ll be all right,” I promise.
She nods, her chin bumping against the top of my head. “I know. Let’s go.”
That’s all she says before pulling away and walking into the crowded courtyard just inside the main gate to the fortress. Instructors, commanders, and even our mother are gathered informally, waiting for the madness outside the walls to become the order within. Out of all the doors in the war college, the main gate is the only one no cadet will enter today, since each quadrant has its own entrance and facilities. Hell, the riders have their own citadel. Pretentious, egotistical fucks.
I follow Mira, catching her with a few quick strides.
“Find Dain Aetos,” Mira tells me as we cross through the courtyard, heading for the open gate.
“Dain?” I can’t help but smile at the thought of seeing Dain again, and my heart rate jumps. It’s been a year, and I’ve missed his soft brown eyes and the way he laughs, the way every part of his body joins in. I’ve missed our friendship, and the moments I thought it might turn into more under the right circumstances. I’ve missed the way he looks at me, like I’m someone worth noticing. I’ve just missed…him.
“I’ve only been out of the quadrant for three years, but from what I hear, he’s doing well, and he’ll keep you safe. Don’t smile like that,” Mira chides. “He’ll be a second-year.” She shakes her finger at me. “Don’t mess around with second-years. If you want to get laid, and you should”—she lifts her brows—“often, considering you never know what the day brings, then screw around in your own year. Nothing is worse than cadets gossiping that you’ve slept your way to safety.”
“So I’m free to take any of the first-years I want to bed,” I say with a little grin. “Just not the second- or third-years.”
“Exactly.” She winks.
We cross through the gates, leaving the fortress, and join the organized chaos beyond.
Each of Navarre’s six provinces has sent this year’s share of candidates for military service. Some volunteer. Some are sentenced as punishment. Most are conscripted. The only thing we have in common here at Basgiath is that we passed the entrance exam—both written and an agility test I still cannot believe I passed—which means at least we won’t end up as fodder for the infantry on the front line.
The atmosphere is tense with anticipation as Mira leads me along the worn cobblestone path toward the southern turret. The main college is built into the side of Basgiath Mountain, as if it was cleaved from a ridgeline of the peak itself. The sprawling, formidable structure towers over the crowd of anxious, waiting candidates and their tearful families, with its stories-tall stone battlements—built to protect the high rise of the keep within—and defensive turrets at each of its corners, one of which houses the bells.
The majority of the crowd moves to line up at the base of the northern turret—the entrance to the Infantry Quadrant. Some of the mass heads toward the gate behind us—the Healer Quadrant that consumes the southern end of the college. Envy clenches my chest when I spot a few taking the central tunnel into the archives below the fortress to join the Scribe Quadrant.
The entrance to the Riders Quadrant is nothing more than a fortified door at the base of the tower, just like the infantry entrance to the north. But while the infantry candidates can walk straight into their ground-level quadrant, we rider candidates will climb.
Mira and I join the riders’ line, waiting to sign in, and I make the mistake of glancing up.
High above us, crossing the river-bottomed valley that divides the main college from the even higher, looming citadel of the Riders Quadrant on the southern ridgeline, is the parapet, the stone bridge that’s about to separate rider candidates from the cadets over the next few hours.
I can’t believe I’m about to cross that thing.
“And to think, I’ve been preparing for the scribe’s written exam all these years.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “I should have been playing on a balance beam.”
Mira ignores me as the line moves forward and candidates disappear through the door. “Don’t let the wind sway your steps.”
Two candidates ahead of us, a woman sobs as her partner rips her away from a young man, the couple breaking from the line, retreating in tears down the hillside toward the crowd of loved ones lining the roads. There are no other parents ahead of us, only a few dozen candidates moving toward the roll-keepers.
“Keep your eyes on the stones ahead of you and don’t look down,” Mira says, the lines of her face tightening. “Arms out for balance. If the pack slips, drop it. Better it falls than you.”
I look behind us, where it seems hundreds have filed in within the span of minutes. “Maybe I should let them go first,” I whisper as panic fists my heart. What the hell am I doing?
“No,” Mira answers. “The longer you wait on those steps”—she motions toward the tower—“the greater your fear has a chance to grow. Cross the parapet before the terror owns you.”
The line moves, and the bell chimes again. It’s eight o’clock.
Sure enough, the crowd of thousands behind us has separated fully into their chosen quadrants, all lined up to sign the roll and begin their service.
“Focus,” Mira snaps, and I whip my head forward. “This might sound harsh, but don’t seek friendships in there, Violet. Forge alliances.”
There are only two ahead of us now—a woman with a full pack, whose high cheekbones and oval face remind me of renderings of Amari, the queen of the gods. Her dark brown hair is worn in several rows of short braids that just touch the equally dark skin of her neck. The second is the muscular blond man with the woman crying over him. He’s carrying an even bigger rucksack.
I look around the pair toward the roll-keeping desk, and my eyes widen. “Is he…?” I whisper.
Mira glances and mutters a curse. “A separatist’s kid? Yep. See that shimmering mark that starts on the top of his wrist? It’s a relic from the rebellion.”
I lift my eyebrows in surprise. The only relics I’ve ever heard of are when a dragon uses magic to mark the skin of their bonded rider. But those relics are a symbol of honor and power and generally in the shape of the dragon who gifted them. These marks are swirls and slashes that feel more like a warning than a claiming.
“A dragon did that?” I whisper.
She nods. “Mom says General Melgren’s dragon did it to all of them when he executed their parents, but she wasn’t exactly open to further discussion on the topic. Nothing like punishing the kids to deter more parents from committing treason.”
It seems…cruel, but the first rule of living at Basgiath is never question a dragon. They tend to cremate anyone they find rude.
“Most of the marked kids who carry rebellion relics are from Tyrrendor, of course, but there are a few whose parents turned traitor from the other provinces—” The blood drains from her face, and she grips the straps of my pack, turning me to face her. “I just remembered.” Her voice drops, and I lean in, my heart jumping at the urgency in her tone. “Stay the hell away from Xaden Riorson.”
The air rushes from my lungs. That name…
“That Xaden Riorson,” she confirms, fear lacing her gaze. “He’s a third-year, and he will kill you the second he finds out who you are.”
“His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion,” I say quietly. “What is Xaden doing here?”
“All the children of the leaders were conscripted as punishment for their parents’ crimes,” Mira whispers as we shuffle sideways, moving with the line. “Mom told me they never expected Riorson to make it past the parapet. Then they figured a cadet would kill him, but once his dragon chose him…” She shakes her head. “Well, there’s nothing much that can be done then. He’s risen to the rank of wingleader.”
“That’s bullshit,” I seethe.
“He’s sworn allegiance to Navarre, but I don’t think that will stop him where you’re concerned. Once you get across the parapet—because you will make it across—find Dain. He’ll put you in his squad, and we’ll just hope it’s far from Riorson.” She grips my straps tighter. “Stay. Away. From. Him.”
“Noted.” I nod.
“Next,” a voice calls from behind the wooden table that bears the rolls of the Riders Quadrant. The marked rider I don’t know is seated next to a scribe I do, and Captain Fitzgibbons’s silver eyebrows rise over his weathered face. “Violet Sorrengail?”
I nod, picking up the quill and signing my name on the next empty line on the roll.
“But I thought you were meant for the Scribe Quadrant,” Captain Fitzgibbons says softly.
I envy his cream-colored tunic, unable to find the words.
“General Sorrengail chose otherwise,” Mira supplies.
Sadness fills the older man’s eyes. “Pity. You had so much promise.”
“By the gods,” the rider next to Captain Fitzgibbons says. “You’re Mira Sorrengail?” His jaw drops, and I can smell his hero worship from here.
“I am.” She nods. “This is my sister, Violet. She’ll be a first-year.”
“If she survives the parapet.” Someone behind me snickers. “Wind just might blow her right off.”
“You fought at Strythmore,” the rider behind the desk says with awe. “They gave you the Order of the Talon for taking out that battery behind enemy lines.”
The snickering stops.
“As I was saying.” Mira puts a hand at the small of my back. “This is my sister, Violet.”
“You know the way.” The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret. It looks ominously dark in there, and I fight the urge to run like hell.
“I know the way,” she assures him, leading me past the table so the snickering asshole behind me can sign the roll.
We pause at the doorway and turn toward each other.
“Don’t die, Violet. I’d hate to be an only child.” She grins and walks away, sauntering past the line of gawking candidates as word spreads of exactly who she is and what she’s done.
“Tough to live up to that,” the woman ahead of me says from just inside the tower.
“It is,” I agree, gripping the straps of my rucksack and heading into the darkness. My eyes adjust quickly to the dim light coming in through the equidistant windows along the curved staircase.
“Sorrengail as in…?” the woman asks, looking over her shoulder as we begin to climb the hundreds of stairs that lead to our possible deaths.
“Yep.” There’s no railing, so I keep my hand on the stone wall as we rise higher and higher.
“The general?” the blond guy ahead of us asks.
“The same one,” I answer, offering him a quick smile. Anyone whose mother holds on that tight can’t be that bad, right?
“Wow. Nice leathers, too.” He smiles back.
“Thanks. They’re courtesy of my sister.”
“I wonder how many candidates have fallen off the edge of the steps and died before they even reach the parapet,” the woman says, glancing down the center of the staircase as we climb higher.
“Two last year.” I tilt my head when she glances back. “Well, three if you count the girl one of the guys landed on.”
The woman’s brown eyes flare, but she turns back around and keeps climbing. “How many steps are there?” she asks.
“Two hundred and fifty,” I answer, and we climb in silence for another five minutes.
“Not too bad,” she says with a bright smile as we near the top and the line comes to a halt. “I’m Rhiannon Matthias, by the way.”
“Dylan,” the blond guy responds with an enthusiastic wave.
“Violet.” I give them a tense smile of my own, blatantly ignoring Mira’s earlier suggestion that I avoid friendships and only forge alliances.
“I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life for this day.” Dylan shifts his pack on his back. “Can you believe we actually get to do this? It’s a dream come true.”
Right. Naturally, every other candidate but me is excited to be here. This is the only quadrant at Basgiath that doesn’t accept conscripts—only volunteers.
“I can’t fucking wait.” Rhiannon’s smile widens. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to ride a dragon?”
Me. Not that it doesn’t sound fun in theory. It does. It’s just the abhorrent odds of surviving to graduation that sour my stomach.
“Do your parents approve?” Dylan asks. “Because my mom’s been begging me to change my mind for months. I keep telling her that I’ll have better chances for advancement as a rider, but she wanted me to enter the Healer Quadrant.”
“Mine always knew I wanted this, so they’ve been pretty supportive. Besides, they have my twin to dote on. Raegan’s already living her dream, married and expecting a baby.” Rhiannon glances back at me. “What about you? Let me guess. With a name like Sorrengail, I bet you were the first to volunteer this year.”
“I was more like volun-told.” My answer is far less enthusiastic than hers.
“Gotcha.”
“And riders do get way better perks than other officers,” I say to Dylan as the line moves upward again. The snickering candidate behind me catches up, sweating and red. Look who isn’t snickering now. “Better pay, more leniency with the uniform policy,” I continue. No one gives a shit what riders wear as long as it’s black. The only rules that apply to riders are the ones I’ve memorized from the Codex.
“And the right to call yourself a supreme badass,” Rhiannon adds.
“That too,” I agree. “Pretty sure they issue you an ego with your flight leathers.”
“Plus, I’ve heard that riders are allowed to marry sooner than the other quadrants,” Dylan adds.
“True. Right after graduation.” If we survive. “I think it has something to do with wanting to continue bloodlines.” Most successful riders are legacies.
“Or because we tend to die sooner than the other quadrants,” Rhiannon muses.
“I’m not dying,” Dylan says with way more confidence than I feel as he tugs a necklace from under his tunic to reveal a ring dangling from the chain. “She said it would be bad luck to propose before I left, so we’re waiting until graduation.” He kisses the ring and tucks the chain back under his collar. “The next three years are going to be long ones, but they’ll be worth it.”
I keep my sigh to myself, though that might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.
“You might make it across the parapet,” the guy behind us sneers. “This one here is a breeze away from the bottom of the ravine.”
I roll my eyes.
“Shut up and focus on yourself,” Rhiannon snaps, her feet clicking against the stone as we climb.
The top comes into sight, the doorway full of muddled light. Mira was right. Those clouds are going to wreak havoc on us, and we have to be on the other side of the parapet before they do.
Another step, another tap of Rhiannon’s feet.
“Let me see your boots,” I say quietly so the jerk behind me can’t hear.
Her brow puckers, and confusion fills her brown eyes, but she shows me the soles. They’re smooth, just like the ones I was wearing earlier. My stomach sinks like a rock.
The line starts moving again, pausing when we’re only a few feet from the opening. “What size are your feet?” I ask.
“What?” Rhiannon blinks at me.
“Your feet. What size are they?”
“Eight,” she answers, two lines forming between her brows.
“I’m a seven,” I say quickly. “It will hurt like hell, but I want you to take my left boot. Trade with me.” I have a dagger in the right one.
“I’m sorry?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.
“These are rider boots. They’ll grip the stone better. Your toes will be scrunched and generally miserable, but at least you’ll have a shot at not falling off if that rain hits.”
Rhiannon glances toward the open door—and the darkening sky—then back to me. “You’re willing to trade a boot?”
“Just until we get on the other side.” I look through the open door. Three candidates are already walking across the parapet, their arms stretched out wide. “But we have to be quick. It’s almost our turn.”
Rhiannon purses her lips in debate for a second, then agrees, and we swap left boots. I barely finish lacing up before the line moves again, and the guy behind me shoves my lower back, sending me staggering onto the platform and into the open air.
“Let’s go. Some of us have things to do on the other side.” His voice grates on my last freaking nerve.
“You are not worth the effort right now,” I mutter, gaining my balance as the wind whips at my skin, the midsummer morning thick with humidity. Good call on the braid, Mira.
The top of the turret is bare, the crenelations of stone rising and falling along the circular structure at the height of my chest and doing nothing to obscure the view. The ravine and its river below suddenly feel very, very far. How many wagons do they have waiting down there? Five? Six? I know the stats. The parapet claims roughly fifteen percent of the rider candidates. Every trial in the quadrant—including this one—is designed to test a cadet’s ability to ride. If someone can’t manage to walk the windy length of the slim stone bridge, then they sure as hell can’t keep their balance and fight on the back of a dragon.
And as for the death rate? I guess every other rider thinks the risk is worth the glory—or has the arrogance to think they won’t fall.
I’m not in either camp.
Nausea has me holding my stomach, and I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth as I walk the edge behind Rhiannon and Dylan, my fingers skimming the stonework as we wind our way toward the parapet.
Three riders wait at the entrance, which is nothing more than a gaping hole in the wall of the turret. One with ripped-off sleeves records names as candidates step out onto the treacherous crossing. Another, who’s shaved all his hair with the exception of a strip down the top center, instructs Dylan as he moves into position, patting his chest like the ring hidden there will bring him luck. I hope it does.
The third turns in my direction and my heart simply…stops.
He’s tall, with windblown black hair and dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble, and when he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, moving in a way that makes me swallow. And his eyes… His eyes are the shade of gold-flecked onyx. The contrast is startling, jaw-dropping even—everything about him is. His features are so harsh that they look carved, and yet they’re astonishingly perfect, like an artist worked a lifetime sculpting him, and at least a year of that was spent on his mouth.
He’s the most exquisite man I’ve ever seen.
And living in the war college means I’ve seen a lot of men.
Even the diagonal scar that bisects his left eyebrow and marks the top corner of his cheek only makes him hotter. Flaming hot. Scorching hot. Gets-you-into-trouble-and-you-like-it level of hot. Suddenly, I can’t remember exactly why Mira told me not to fuck around outside my year group.
“See you two on the other side!” Dylan says over his shoulder with an excited grin before stepping onto the parapet, his arms spread wide.
“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” the rider with the ripped sleeves says.
Xaden Riorson?
“You ready for this, Sorrengail?” Rhiannon asks, moving forward.
The black-haired rider snaps his gaze to mine, turning fully toward me, and my heart thunders for all the wrong reasons. A rebellion relic, curving in dips and swirls, starts at his bare left wrist, then disappears under his black uniform to appear again at his collar, where it stretches and swirls up his neck, stopping at his jawline.
“Oh shit,” I whisper, and his eyes narrow, as if he can hear me over the howl of wind that rips at my secured braid.
“Sorrengail?” He steps toward me, and I look up…and up.
Good gods, I don’t even reach his collarbone. He’s massive. He has to be more than four inches over six feet tall.
I feel exactly what Mira called me—fragile—but I nod once, and the shining onyx of his eyes transforms to cold, unadulterated hatred. I can almost taste the loathing wafting off him like a bitter cologne.
“Violet?” Rhiannon asks, moving forward.
“You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest.” His voice is deep and accusatory.
“You’re Fen Riorson’s son,” I counter, the certainty of this revelation settling in my bones. I lift my chin and do my best to lock every muscle in my body so I don’t start trembling.
He will kill you the second he finds out who you are. Mira’s words bounce around my skull, and fear knots in my throat. He’s going to throw me over the edge. He’s going to pick me up and drop me right off this turret. I’m never going to get the chance to even walk the parapet. I’ll die being exactly what my mother’s always danced around calling me—weak.
Xaden sucks in a deep breath, and the muscle in his jaw flexes once. Twice. “Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution.”
Wait. Like he has the only right to hatred here? Rage races through my veins. “Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we’re even.”
“Hardly.” His glaring gaze strokes over me like he’s memorizing every detail or looking for any weakness. “Your sister is a rider. Guess that explains the leathers.”
“Guess so.” I hold his glare, as if winning this staring competition will gain me entrance to the quadrant instead of crossing the parapet behind him. Either way, I’m getting across. Mira isn’t going to lose both her siblings.
His hands clench into fists, and he tenses.
I prepare for the strike. He might throw me off this tower, but I won’t make it easy for him.
“You all right?” Rhiannon asks, her gaze jumping between Xaden and me.
He glances at her. “You’re friends?”
“We met on the stairs,” she says, squaring her shoulders.
He looks down, noting our mismatched shoes, and arches a brow. His hands relax. “Interesting.”
“Are you going to kill me?” I lift my chin another inch.
His gaze clashes with mine as the sky opens and rain falls in a deluge, soaking my hair, my leathers, and the stones around us in seconds.
A scream rends the air, and Rhiannon and I both jerk our attention to the parapet just in time to see Dylan slip.
I gasp, my heart jolting into my throat.
He catches himself, hooking his arms over the stone bridge as his feet kick beneath him, scrambling for a purchase that isn’t there.
“Pull yourself up, Dylan!” Rhiannon shouts.
“Oh gods!” My hand flies to cover my mouth, but he loses his grip on the water-slick stone and falls, disappearing from view. The wind and rain steal any sound his body might make in the valley below. They steal the sound of my muffled cry, too.
Xaden never takes his eyes from me, watching silently with a look I can’t interpret as I bring my horrified gaze back to his.
“Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?” A wicked smile curves his lips. “Your turn.”
There’s a misconception that it’s kill or be killed in the Riders Quadrant. Riders, as a whole, aren’t out to assassinate other cadets…unless there’s a shortage of dragons that year or a cadet is a liability to their wing. Then things may get…interesting.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
TWO
I will not die today.
The words become my mantra, repeating in my head as Rhiannon gives her name to the rider keeping tally at the opening to the parapet. The hatred in Xaden’s stare burns the side of my face like a palpable flame, and even the rain pelting my skin with each gust of wind doesn’t ease the heat—or the shiver of dread that jolts down my spine.
Dylan is dead. He’s just a name, another soon-to-be stone in the endless graveyards that line the roads to Basgiath, another warning to the ambitious candidates who would rather chance their lives with the riders than choose the security of any other quadrant. I get it now—why Mira warned me not to make friends.
Rhiannon grips both sides of the opening in the turret, then looks over her shoulder at me. “I’ll wait for you on the other side,” she shouts over the storm. The fear in her eyes mirrors my own.
“I’ll see you on the other side.” I nod and even manage a grimace of a smile.
She steps out onto the parapet and begins walking, and even though I’m sure his hands are full today, I send up a silent prayer to Zihnal, the god of luck.
“Name?” the rider at the edge asks as his partner holds a cloak over the scroll in a pointless attempt to keep the paper dry.
“Violet Sorrengail,” I answer as thunder cracks above me, the sound oddly comforting. I’ve always loved the nights where storms beat against the fortress window, both illuminating and throwing shadows over the books I curled up with, though this downpour might just cost me my life. With a quick glance, I see Dylan’s and Rhiannon’s names already blurring at the end where water has met ink. It’s the last time Dylan’s name will be written anywhere but his stone. There will be another roll at the end of the parapet so the scribes have their beloved statistics for casualties. In another life, it would be me reading and recording the data for historical analysis.
“Sorrengail?” The rider looks up, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “As in General Sorrengail?”
“The same.” Damn, that’s already getting old, and I know it’s only going to get worse. There’s no avoiding the comparison to my mother, not when she’s the commander here. Even worse, they probably think I’m a naturally gifted rider like Mira or a brilliant strategist like Brennan was. Or they’ll take one look at me, realize I’m nothing like the three of them, and declare open season.
I place my hands on either side of the turret and drag my fingertips across the stone. It’s still warm from the morning sun but rapidly cooling from the rain, slick but not slippery from moss growth or anything.
Ahead of me, Rhiannon is making her way across, her hands out for balance. She’s probably a fourth of the way, her figure becoming blurrier the farther she walks into the rain.
“I thought she only had one daughter?” the other rider asks, angling the cloak as another gust of wind blows into us. If it’s this windy here, my bottom half sheltered by the turret, then I’m about to be in for a world of hurt on the parapet.
“I get that a lot.” In through my nose, out through my mouth, I force my breathing to calm, my heart rate to slow from its gallop. If I panic, I’ll die. If I slip, I’ll die. If I… Oh, fuck it. There’s nothing more I can do to prepare for this.
I take the lone step up onto the parapet and grip the stone wall as another gust hits, knocking me sideways against the opening in the turret.
“And you think you’ll be able to ride?” the asshole candidate behind me mocks. “Some Sorrengail, with that kind of balance. I pity whatever wing you end up in.”
I regain my balance and yank the straps of my pack tighter.
“Name?” the rider asks again, but I know he’s not talking to me.
“Jack Barlowe,” the one behind me answers. “Remember the name. I’m going to be a wingleader one day.” Even his voice reeks of arrogance.
“You’d better get going, Sorrengail,” Xaden’s deep voice orders.
I look over my shoulder and see him pinning me with a glare.
“Unless you need a little motivation?” Jack lunges forward, his hands raised. Holy shit, he’s going to shove me off.
Fear shoots through my veins, and I move, leaving the safety of the turret as I bolt onto the parapet. There’s no going back now.
My heart beats so hard that I hear it in my ears like a drum.
Keep your eyes on the stones ahead of you and don’t look down. Mira’s advice echoes in my head, but it’s hard to heed it when every step could be my last. I throw my arms out for balance, then take the measured mini strides I practiced with Major Gillstead in the courtyard. But with the wind, the rain, and the two-hundred-foot drop, this is nothing like practice. The stones beneath my feet are uneven in places, held together by mortar in the joints that make it easy to trip, and I concentrate on the path ahead of me to keep my eyes off my boots. My muscles are tight as I lock my center of gravity, keeping my posture upright.
My head swims as my pulse skyrockets.
Calm. I have to stay calm.
I can’t carry a tune, or even decently hum, so singing for a distraction is out, but I am a scholar. There’s nowhere as calming as the archives, so that’s what I think of. Facts. Logic. History.
Your mind already knows the answer, so just calm down and let it remember. That’s what Dad always told me. I need something to keep the logical side of my brain from turning around and walking straight back to the turret.
“The Continent is home to two kingdoms—and we’ve been at war for four hundred years,” I recite, using the basic, simple data that has been drilled into me for easy recall in preparation for the scribe’s test. Step after step, I make my way across the parapet. “Navarre, my home, is the larger kingdom, with six unique provinces. Tyrrendor, our southernmost and largest province, shares its border with the province of Krovla within the Poromiel kingdom.” Each word calms my breathing and steadies my heart rate, lessening the dizziness.
“To our east lie the remaining two Poromiel provinces of Braevick and Cygnisen, with the Esben Mountains providing a natural border.” I pass the painted line that marks halfway. I’m over the highest point now, but I can’t think about that. Don’t look down. “Beyond Krovla, beyond our enemy, lie the distant Barrens, a desert—”
Thunder cracks, the wind slams into me, and I flail my arms. “Shit!”
My body sways left with the gale, and I drop to the parapet, holding on to the edges and crouching so I don’t lose my footing, making myself as small as possible as the wind howls over and around me. Stomach churning, I feel my lungs threaten to hyperventilate as panic seizes me at knifepoint.
“Within Navarre, Tyrrendor was the last of the bordering provinces to join the alliance and swear fealty to King Reginald,” I shout into the howling wind, forcing my mind to keep moving against the very real threat of paralyzing anxiety. “It was also the only province to attempt secession six hundred and twenty-seven years later, which would have eventually left our kingdom defenseless had they been successful.”
Rhiannon is still ahead of me, at what I think is the three-quarters point. Good. She deserves to make it.
“The kingdom of Poromiel mainly consists of arable plains and marshlands and is known for exceptional textiles, endless fields of grain, and unique crystalline gems capable of amplifying minor magics.” I spare only a quick glance at the dark clouds above me before inching forward, one foot carefully placed in front of the other. “In contrast, Navarre’s mountainous regions offer an abundance in ore, hardy timber from our eastern provinces, and limitless deer and elk.”
My next step knocks a couple of pieces of mortar loose, and I pause as my arms wobble until I regain my balance. I swallow and test my weight before moving forward again.
“The Trade Agreement of Resson, signed more than two hundred years ago, ensures the exchange of meat and lumber from Navarre for the cloth and agriculture within Poromiel four times a year at the Athebyne outpost on the border of Krovla and Tyrrendor.”
I can see the Riders Quadrant from here. The enormous stone footings of the citadel rise up the mountain to the base of the structure, where I know this path ends if I can just get there. Scraping the rain from my face with the leather on my shoulder, I glance back to see where Jack is.
He’s stalled at just after the quarter mark, his stocky form standing still…like he’s waiting for something. His hands are at his sides. The wind seems to have no effect on his balance, lucky bastard. I swear he’s grinning across the distance, but it could just be the rain in my eyes.
I can’t stay here. Living to see the sunrise means I have to keep moving. Fear can’t rule my body. Squeezing the muscles of my legs together for balance, I slowly let go of the stone beneath me and stand.
Arms out. Walk.
I need to get as far as possible before the next gust of wind.
I look back over my shoulder to see where Jack is, and my blood chills to ice.
He’s turned his back on me and is facing the next candidate, who wobbles dangerously as he approaches. Jack grabs the gangly boy by the straps of his overpacked rucksack, and I watch, shock locking my muscles, as Jack throws the scrawny candidate from the parapet like a sack of grain.
A scream reaches my ears for an instant before fading as he falls out of sight.
Holy shit.
“You’re next, Sorrengail!” Jack bellows, and I jerk my gaze from the ravine to see him pointing at me, a sinister smile curving his mouth. Then he comes for me, his strides eating up the distance between us with horrifying speed.
Move. Now.
“Tyrrendor encompasses the southwest of the Continent,” I recite, my steps even but panicked on the slick, narrow path, my left foot slipping a little at the beginning of each step. “Made up of hostile, mountainous terrain and bordered by the Emerald Sea to the west and the Arctile Ocean to the south, Tyrrendor is nearly impenetrable. Though separated geographically by the Cliffs of Dralor, a natural protective barrier—”
Another gust slams into me, and my foot slips off the parapet. My heart lurches. The parapet rushes up to meet me as I stumble and fall. My knee slams into the stone, and I yelp at the sharp bite of pain. My hands scramble for purchase as my left leg dangles off the edge of this bridge from hell, Jack not far behind now. Then I make the gut-twisting error of looking down.
Water runs off my nose and chin, splattering against the stone before falling to join the river gushing through the valley more than two hundred feet below. I swallow the growing knot in my throat and blink, fighting to steady my heart rate.
I will not die today.
Gripping the sides of the stone, I brace as much of my weight as I can trust on the slick stones to hold and swing my left leg up. The ball of my foot finds the walkway. From here, there aren’t enough facts in the world to steady my thoughts. I need to get my right foot under me, the one that has better traction, but one wrong move and I’ll find out just how cold that river is beneath me.
You’ll be dead on impact.
“I’m coming for you, Sorrengail!” I hear from behind me.
I shove off the stone and pray my boots find the pathway as I burst to my feet. If I fall, fine, that would be my error. But I’m not about to let this asshole murder me. Best to get to the other side, where the rest of the murderers wait. Not that everyone in the quadrant is going to try to kill me, just the cadets who think I’ll be a liability to the wing. There’s a reason strength is revered among riders. A squad, a section, a wing is only as effective as its weakest link, and if that link breaks, it puts everyone in danger.
Jack either thinks I’m that link or he’s an unstable asshole who just enjoys killing. Probably both. Either way, I need to move faster.
Throwing my arms out to the side, I focus on the end of the path, the courtyard of the citadel, where Rhiannon steps to safety, and I hustle despite the rain. I keep my body tight, my center locked, and for once am grateful I’m shorter than most.
“Will you scream the whole way down?” Jack mocks, still shouting, but his voice is closer. He’s gaining on me.
There’s no room for fear, so I block it out, envisioning shoving the emotion behind locked iron bars in my mind. I can see the end of the parapet now, the riders who wait at the entrance to the citadel.
“There’s no way someone who can’t even carry a full rucksack passed the entrance exam. You’re a mistake, Sorrengail,” Jack calls out, his voice clearer, but I don’t chance losing my speed to check how far he is behind me. “It’s really for the best that I take you out now, don’t you think? It’s so much more merciful than letting the dragons have at you. They’ll start to eat you leg by rickety leg while you’re still alive. Come on,” he cajoles. “It will be my pleasure to help you out.”
“The fuck you will,” I mutter. There are only a dozen feet left to the outside of the citadel’s enormous walls. My left foot slips, and I wobble, but I only lose a heartbeat before I’m moving forward again. The fortress looms behind those thick battlements, carved into the mountain in an L-shaped formation of tall stone buildings, built to withstand fire, for obvious reasons. The walls that surround the citadel’s courtyard are ten feet thick and eight feet tall, with one opening—and I’m just. About. There.
I bite back a sob of relief as stone rises up on both sides of me.
“You think you’ll be safe in there?” Jack’s voice is harsh…and close.
Secure on both sides by the walls, I run the last ten feet, my heart pounding as adrenaline pushes my body to its max, and his footsteps charge behind me. He lunges for my pack and misses, his hand hitting my hip as we reach the edge. I hurtle forward, jumping the twelve inches off the elevated parapet down to the courtyard, where two riders wait.
Jack roars in frustration, and the sound grips my heaving chest like a vise.
Spinning, I rip a dagger from its sheath at my ribs just as Jack skids to a halt above me on the parapet, his breath choppy and his face ruddy. Murder is etched in his narrowed, glacial blue eyes as he glares down at me…and where the tip of my dagger now indents the fabric of his breeches—against his balls.
“I think. I’ll be safe. For right. Now,” I manage between ragged breaths, my muscles trembling but my hand more than steady.
“Will you?” Jack vibrates with rage, his thick blond brows slashing down over arctic blue eyes, every line of his monstrous frame leaning my way. But he doesn’t take another step.
“It is unlawful for a rider to cause another harm. While in a quadrant formation or in the supervisory. Presence of a superior-ranking cadet,” I recite from the Codex, my heartbeat still in my throat. “As it will diminish the efficacy of the wing. And given the crowd behind us, I think it’s clear to argue that it’s a formation. Article Three, Section—”
“I don’t give a shit!” He moves, but I hold my ground, and my dagger slices through the first layer of his breeches.
“I suggest you reconsider.” I adjust my stance just in case he doesn’t. “I might slip.”
“Name?” the rider next to me drawls, as if we’re the least interesting thing she’s seen today. I glance in her direction for a millisecond. She pushes the chin-length, fire-red strands of her hair behind her ear with one hand and holds the roll with the other, watching the scene play out. The three silver four-point stars embroidered on the shoulder of her cloak tell me she’s a third-year. “You’re pretty small for a rider, but it looks like you made it.”
“Violet Sorrengail,” I answer, but a hundred percent of my focus is on Jack again. The rain drips off the lowered ridge of his brow. “And before you ask, yes, I’m that Sorrengail.”
“Not surprised, with that maneuver,” the woman says, holding a pen like Mom uses over the roll.
It might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever been given.
“And what’s your name?” she asks again. Pretty sure she’s asking Jack, but I’m too busy studying my opponent to glance her way.
“Jack. Barlowe.” There’s no sinister little smile on his lips or playful taunts about how he’ll enjoy killing me now. There’s nothing but pure malice in his features, promising retribution.
A chill of apprehension lifts the hairs on my neck.
“Well, Jack,” the male rider on my right says slowly, scratching the trim lines of his dark goatee. He’s not wearing a cloak, and the rain soaks into the bevy of patches stitched into a worn leather jacket. “Cadet Sorrengail has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”
“And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” Jack growls, and the look in his eyes says he’ll do it.
“Then you get to meet the dragons early,” the redhead answers, her tone bland. “We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute.”
“What’s it going to be, Sorrengail?” the male rider asks. “You going to have Jack here start as a eunuch?”
Shit. What is it going to be? I can’t kill him, not at this angle, and slicing off his balls is only going to make him hate me more, if possible.
“Are you going to follow the rules?” I ask Jack. My head is buzzing, and my arm feels so damned heavy, but I keep my knife on target.
“Guess I don’t have a choice.” A corner of his mouth tilts into a sneer, and his posture relaxes as he raises his hands, palms out.
I lower my dagger but keep it palmed and ready as I move sideways, toward the redhead keeping roll.
Jack steps down into the courtyard, his shoulder knocking mine as he walks by, pausing to lean in close. “You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you.”
Blue dragons descend from the extraordinary Gormfaileas line. Known for their formidable size, they are the most ruthless, especially in the case of the rare Blue Daggertail, whose knifelike spikes at the tip of their tail can disembowel an enemy with one flick.
—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind
CHAPTER
THREE
If Jack wants to kill me, he needs to get in line. Besides, I have a feeling Xaden Riorson is going to beat him to it.
“Not today,” I respond to Jack, the hilt of my dagger solid in my hand, and I somehow manage to suppress a shudder as he leans over and breathes in. He’s scenting me like a fucking dog. Then he scoffs and walks off into the crowd of celebrating cadets and riders that’s gathered in the sizable courtyard of the citadel.
It’s still early, probably around nine, but already I see there aren’t as many cadets as there were candidates ahead of me in line. Based on the overwhelming presence of leather, both the second- and third-years are here as well, taking stock of the new cadets.
The rain eases into a drizzle, as if it had only come to make the hardest test of my life even harder…but I did it.
I’m alive.
I made it.
My body begins to tremble, and a throbbing pain erupts in my left knee—the one I slammed on the parapet. I take a step, and it threatens to give out on me. I need to bind it before anyone notices.
“I think you made an enemy there,” the redhead says, casually shifting the lethal crossbow she wears strapped along her shoulder. She glances at me over the scroll with a shrewd look in her hazel eyes as she looks me up and down. “I’d watch your back with that one if I were you.”
I nod. I’m going to have to watch my back and every other part of my body.
The next candidate approaches from the parapet as someone grips my shoulders from behind and spins me.
My dagger is halfway up when I realize it’s Rhiannon.
“We made it!” She grins, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“We made it,” I repeat with a forced smile. My thighs are shaking now, but I manage to sheath my dagger at my ribs. Now that we’re here, both cadets, can I trust her?
“I can’t thank you enough. There were at least three times I would have fallen off if you hadn’t helped me. You were right—those soles were slick as shit. Have you seen the people around here? I swear I just saw a second-year with pink streaks in her hair, and one guy has dragon scales tattooed up his entire biceps.”
“Conformity is for the infantry,” I say as she loops her arm through mine and tugs me along toward the crowd. My knee screams, pain radiating up to my hip and down to my foot, and I limp, my weight falling into Rhiannon’s side.
Damn it.
Where did this nausea come from? Why can’t I stop shaking? I’m going to fall any second now—there’s no way my body can remain upright with this earthquake in my legs or the whirring in my head.
“Speaking of which,” she says, glancing down. “We need to trade boots. There’s a bench—”
A tall figure in a pristine black uniform steps out of the crowd, charging toward us, and though Rhiannon manages to dodge, I stumble smack into his chest.
“Violet?” Strong hands catch my elbows to steady me, and I look up into a pair of familiar, striking brown eyes, flared wide in obvious shock.
Relief sweeps through me, and I try to smile, but it probably comes out like a distorted grimace. He seems taller than he was last summer, the beard that cuts across his jaw is new, and he’s filled out in a way that makes me blink…or maybe that’s just my vision going hazy at the edges. The beautiful, easygoing smile that’s starred in way too many of my fantasies is far from the scowl that purses his mouth, and everything about him seems a little…harder, but it works for him. The line of his chin, the set of his brow, even the muscles of his biceps are rigid under my fingers as I try to find my balance. Sometime in the last year, Dain Aetos went from attractive and cute to gorgeous.
And I’m about to be sick all over his boots.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he barks, the shock in his eyes transforming to something foreign, something deadly. This isn’t the same boy I grew up with. He’s a second-year rider now.
“Dain. It’s good to see you.” That’s an understatement, but the trembles turn to full-on shakes, and bile creeps up my throat, dizziness only making the nausea worse. My knees give out.
“Damn it, Violet,” he mutters, hauling me back to my feet. With one hand on my back and the other under my elbow, he quickly guides me away from the crowd and into an alcove in the wall, close to the first defensive turret of the citadel. It’s a shady, hidden spot with a hard wooden bench, which he sits me on, then helps me out of my rucksack.
Spit floods my mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Head between your knees,” Dain orders in a harsh tone I’m not used to from him, but I do it. He rubs circles on my lower back as I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. “It’s the adrenaline. Give it a minute and it’ll pass.” I hear approaching footsteps on the gravel. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Rhiannon. I’m Violet’s…friend.”
I stare at the gravel under my mismatched boots and will the meager contents of my stomach to stay put.
“Listen to me, Rhiannon. Violet is fine,” he commands. “And if anyone asks, then you tell them exactly what I said, that it’s just the adrenaline working out of her system. Understand?”
“It’s no one’s business what’s going on with Violet,” she retorts, her tone just as sharp as his. “So I wouldn’t say shit. Especially not when she’s the reason I made it across the parapet.”
“You’d better mean that,” he warns, the bite in his voice at odds with the ceaseless, comforting circles he makes on my back.
“I could ask you just who the hell you are,” she retorts.
“He’s one of my oldest friends.” The trembles slowly subside, and the nausea wanes, but I’m not sure if it’s from timing or my position, so I keep my head between my knees while I manage to unlace my left boot.
“Oh,” Rhiannon answers.
“And a second-year rider, cadet,” he growls.
Gravel crunches, like Rhiannon has backed up a step.
“No one can see you here, Vi, so take your time,” Dain says softly.
“Because puking my guts up after surviving the parapet and the asshole who wanted to throw me off it would be considered weak.” I rise slowly, sitting upright.
“Exactly,” he answers. “Are you hurt?” His gaze rakes over me with a desperate edge, like he needs to see every inch for himself.
“My knee is sore,” I admit in a whisper, because it’s Dain. Dain, whom I’ve known since we were five and six. Dain, whose father is one of my mother’s most trusted advisers. Dain, who held me together when Mira left for the Riders Quadrant and again when Brennan died.
He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face left and right for his inspection. “That’s all? You’re sure?” His hands run down my sides and pause at my ribs. “Are you wearing daggers?”
Rhiannon takes my boot off and sighs in relief, wiggling her toes.
I nod. “Three at my ribs and one in my boot.” Thank gods, or I’m not sure I’d be sitting here right now.
“Huh.” He drops his hands and looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like I’m a complete stranger, but then he blinks and it’s gone. “Get your boots switched. You two look ridiculous. Vi, do you trust this one?” He nods toward Rhiannon.
She could have waited for me at the security of the citadel walls and thrown me off just like Jack tried to do, but she didn’t.
I nod. I trust her as much as anyone can trust another first-year around here.
“All right.” He stands and turns toward her. There are sheaths at the sides of his leathers, too, but there are daggers in each of them, where mine are still empty. “I’m Dain Aetos, and I’m the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing.”
Squad leader? My brows jump. The highest ranks among the cadets in the quadrant are wingleader and section leader. Both positions are held by elite third-years. Second-years can rise to squad leaders, but only if they’re exceptional. Everyone else is simply a cadet before Threshing—when the dragons choose who they will bond—and a rider after. People die too often around here to hand out ranks prematurely.
“Parapet should be over in the next couple of hours, depending on how fast the candidates cross or fall. Go find the redhead with the roll—she’s usually carrying a crossbow—and tell her that Dain Aetos put both you and Violet Sorrengail into his squad. If she questions you, tell her she owes me from saving her ass at Threshing last year. I’ll bring Violet back to the courtyard shortly.”
Rhiannon glances at me, and I nod.
“Go before someone sees us,” Dain barks.
“Going,” she answers, shoving her foot into her boot and lacing it quickly as I do the same with mine.
“You crossed the parapet with an equestrian boot too big for you?” Dain asks, glaring down at me with incredulity.
“She would have died without trading mine.” I stand and wince as my knee objects and tries to buckle.
“And you’re going to die if we don’t find you a way out of here.” He offers his arm. “Take it. We need to get you to my room. You need to wrap that knee.” His eyebrows rise. “Unless you found some miracle cure I don’t know about in the last year?”
I shake my head and take his arm.
“Damn it, Violet. Damn it.” He tucks mine discreetly against his side, grabs my rucksack with his empty hand, then leads me into a tunnel at the end of the alcove in the outer wall I hadn’t even seen. Mage lights flicker on in the sconces as we pass and extinguish after we go by. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Well aware.” I let myself limp a little, since no one can see us now.
“You’re supposed to be in the Scribe Quadrant,” he seethes, leading me through the tunnel in the wall. “What the hell happened? Please tell me you did not volunteer for the Riders Quadrant.”
“What do you think happened?” I challenge as we reach a wrought-iron gate that looks like it was built to keep out a troll…or a dragon.
He curses. “Your mother.”
“My mother.” I nod. “Every Sorrengail is a rider, don’t you know?”
We make it to a set of circular steps, and Dain leads me up past the first and second floor, stopping us on the third and pushing open another gate that creaks with the sound of metal on metal.
“This is the second-year floor,” he explains quietly. “Which means—”
“I’m not supposed to be up here, obviously.” I tuck in a little closer. “Don’t worry—if someone sees us, I’ll just say that I was overcome with lust at first sight and couldn’t wait another second to get you out of your pants.”
“Ever the smart-ass.” A wry smile tugs at his lips as we start down the hall.
“I can throw in a few oh, Dain cries once we’re in your room just for believability,” I offer, and actually mean it.
He snorts as he drops my pack in front of a wooden door, then makes a twisting motion with his hand in front of the handle. A lock audibly clicks.
“You have powers,” I say.
It’s not news, of course. He’s a second-year rider, and all riders can perform lesser magics once their dragons choose to channel their power…but it’s…Dain.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his eyes and opens the door, carrying my pack as he helps me inside.
His room is simple, with a bed, dresser, desk, and wardrobe. There’s nothing personal about it other than a few books on his desk. I note with a tiny burst of satisfaction that one is the tome on the Krovlan language that I gave him before he left last summer. He’s always had a gift for languages. Even the blanket on his bed is simple, rider black, as if he might forget why he’s here while sleeping. The window is arched, and I move toward it. I can see the rest of Basgiath across the ravine through the clear glass.
It’s the same war college and yet an entire world away. There are two more candidates on the parapet, but I look away before I can feel invested just to watch them fall. There is only so much death one person can take in a day, and I’m at my fucking maximum.
“Do you have wraps in here?” He hands me the rucksack.
“Got them all from Major Gillstead,” I answer with a nod, plopping down on the edge of his expertly made bed and starting to dig through my pack. Luckily for me, Mira is an infinitely better packer than I am, and the wraps are easy to spot.
“Make yourself at home.” He grins, leaning back against the closed door and hooking one ankle over the other. “As much as I hate that you’re here, I have to say it’s more than nice to see your face, Vi.”
I look up, and our eyes meet. The tension that’s been in my chest for the last week—hell, the last six months—eases, and for a second, it’s just us. “I’ve missed you.” Maybe it’s exposing a weakness, but I don’t care. Dain knows almost everything there is to know about me anyway.
“Yeah. I’ve missed you, too,” he says quietly, his eyes softening.
My chest draws tight, and there’s an awareness between us, an almost tangible sense of…anticipation as he looks at me. Maybe after all these years, we’re finally on the same page when it comes to wanting each other. Or maybe he’s just relieved to see an old friend.
“You’d better get that leg wrapped.” He turns around to face the door. “I won’t look.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” I arch my hips and shimmy my leather pants down past my thighs and over my knees. Shit. The one on the left is swollen. If anyone else had taken that stumble, they would have ended up with a bruise, maybe even a scrape. But me? I have to fix it so my kneecap stays where it’s supposed to. It’s not just my muscles that are weak. My ligaments that hold my joints together don’t work for shit, either.
“Yeah, well, we’re not sneaking away to swim in the river, are we?” he teases. We grew up together through every post our parents had been stationed at, and no matter where we were, we always managed to find a place to swim and trees to climb.
I fasten the wrap at the top of my knee, then wind and secure the joint in the same way I’ve done since I was old enough for the healers to teach me. It’s a practiced motion that I could do in my sleep, and the familiarity of it is almost soothing, if it didn’t mean I was starting in the quadrant wounded.
As soon as I get it fastened with the little metal clasp, I stand and tug my leathers back up over my ass and button them. “All covered.”
He turns and glances over me. “You look…different.”
“It’s the leathers.” I shrug. “Why? Is different bad?” It takes a second to close my rucksack and haul it up and over my shoulders. Thank you, gods, the ache in my knee is manageable with it bound like this.
“It’s just…” He shakes his head slowly, teasing his lower lip with his teeth. “Different.”
“Why, Dain Aetos.” I grin and walk toward him, then grasp the door handle at his side. “You’ve seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you telling me it’s the leather that does it for you?”
He scoffs, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks as his hand covers mine to open the door. “Glad to see our year apart hasn’t dulled your tongue, Vi.”
“Oh,” I toss over my shoulder as we walk into the hallway, “I can do quite a few things with my tongue. You’d be impressed.” My smile is so wide that it almost hurts, and just for a second, I forget that we’re in the Riders Quadrant or that I’ve just survived the parapet.
His eyes heat. Guess he’s forgotten, too. Then again, Mira’s always made it clear that riders aren’t an inhibited bunch behind these walls. There’s not much reason to deny yourself when you might not live through tomorrow.
“We have to get you out of here,” he says, shaking his head like he needs to clear it. Then he does the hand thing again, and I hear the lock slide into place. There’s no one in the hallway, and we make it to the stairwell quickly.
“Thanks,” I say as we start descending. “My knee feels way better now.”
“I still can’t believe your mother thought putting you into the Riders Quadrant was a good idea.” I can practically feel the anger vibrating off him next to me as we walk down the stairs. There’s no banister on his side, but he doesn’t seem to mind, even though a single misstep would be the end of him.
“Me neither. She announced her decree about which quadrant I’d choose last spring, after I passed the initial entrance exam, and I immediately started working with Major Gillstead.” He’ll be so proud when he reads the rolls tomorrow and sees that I’m not on them.
“There’s a door at the bottom of this stairwell, below the main level, that leads to the passage into the Healers Quadrant farther up the ravine,” he says as we approach the first floor. “We’ll get you through that and into the Scribe Quadrant.”
“What?” I stop as my feet hit the polished stone landing at the main floor, but he continues downward.
He’s already three steps beneath me when he realizes I’m not with him. “The Scribe Quadrant,” he says slowly, turning to face me.
This angle makes me taller than he is, and I glare down at him. “I can’t go to the Scribe Quadrant, Dain.”
“I’m sorry?” His eyebrows fly up.
“She won’t stand for it.” I shake my head.
His mouth opens, then shuts, and his fists clench at his sides. “This place will kill you, Violet. You can’t stay here. Everyone will understand. You didn’t volunteer—not really.”
Anger bristles up my spine, and my gaze narrows on him. Ignoring who did or did not volunteer me, I snap, “One, I’m well aware of what my chances are here, Dain, and two, usually fifteen percent of candidates don’t make it past the parapet, and I’m still standing, so I guess I’m beating those odds already.”
He backs up another step. “I’m not saying you didn’t just kick absolute ass by getting here, Vi. But you have to leave. You’ll break the first time they put you in the sparring ring, and that’s before the dragons sense that you’re…” He shakes his head and looks away, his jaw clenching.
“I’m what?” My hackles rise. “Go ahead and say it. When they sense I’m less than the others? Is that what you mean?”
“Damn it.” He rakes his hand over his close-cropped light-brown curls. “Stop putting words in my mouth. You know what I mean. Even if you survive to Threshing, there’s no guarantee a dragon will bond you. As it was, last year we had thirty-four unbonded cadets who have just been sitting around, waiting to restart the year with this class to get a chance at bonding again, and they’re all perfectly healthy—”
“Don’t be an asshole.” My stomach falls. Just because he might be right doesn’t mean I want to hear it…or want to be called unhealthy.
“I’m trying to keep you alive!” he shouts, his voice echoing off the stone of the stairwell. “If we get you to the Scribe Quadrant right now, you can still ace their test and have a phenomenal story to tell when you’re out drinking. I take you back out there”—he points to the doorway that leads to the courtyard—“it’s out of my hands. I can’t protect you here. Not fully.”
“I’m not asking you to!” Wait…didn’t I want him to? Wasn’t that what Mira suggested? “Why would you tell Rhiannon to put me in your squad if you just wanted to sneak me out the back door?”
The vise around my chest squeezes tighter. Next to Mira, Dain is the person who knows me best on the entire damned Continent, and even he thinks I can’t hack it here.
“To make her leave so I could get you out!” He climbs two steps, shortening the distance between us, but there’s no give in the set of his shoulders. If determination had a physical form, it would be Dain Aetos right now. “Do you think I want to watch my best friend die? Do you think it’ll be fun to see what they’ll do to you, knowing you’re General Sorrengail’s daughter? Putting on leathers doesn’t make you a rider, Vi. They’re going to tear you to shreds, and if they don’t, the dragons will. In the Riders Quadrant, you either graduate or die, and you know that. Let me save you.” His entire posture droops, and the plea in his eyes shreds some of my indignation. “Please let me save you.”
“You can’t,” I whisper. “She said she’d haul me right back. I either leave here as a rider or as a name on a stone.”
“She didn’t mean it.” He shakes his head. “She can’t mean that.”
“She means it. Even Mira couldn’t talk her out of it.”
He searches my eyes and tenses, as if he sees the truth of it there. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.” I shrug, like it’s not my life we’re talking about here.
“All right.” I can see him mentally changing gears, adapting to the information. “We’ll find another way. For now, let’s go.” He takes my hand and leads me to the alcove we disappeared from. “Get out there and meet the other first-years. I’ll go back and enter from the turret doorway. They’ll figure out we know each other soon enough, but don’t give anyone ammunition.” He squeezes my hand and lets go, walking away without another word and disappearing into the tunnel.
I grip the straps of my rucksack and walk into the dappled sunlight of the courtyard. The clouds are breaking, and the drizzle is burning off as the gravel crunches beneath my feet on my way toward the riders and cadets.
The massive courtyard, which could easily fit a thousand riders, is just like the map in the archives recorded. Shaped like an angular teardrop, the rounded end is formed by a giant outer wall at least ten feet thick. Along the sides are stone halls. I know the four-story building carved into the mountain with the rounded end is for academics, and the one on the right, towering over the cliff, is the dorms, where Dain took me. The imposing rotunda linking the two buildings also serves as the entrance to the gathering hall, commons, and library behind it. I quit gawking and turn in the courtyard to face the outer wall. There’s a stone dais on the right side of the parapet, occupied by two uniformed men I recognize as the commandant and executive commandant, both in full military dress, their medals winking in the sunlight.
It takes me a few minutes to find Rhiannon in the growing crowd, talking to another girl whose jet-black hair is cut just as short as Dain’s.
“There you are!” Rhiannon’s smile is genuine and full of relief. “I was worried. Is everything…” She lifts her eyebrows.
“I’m good to go.” I nod and turn toward the other woman as Rhiannon introduces us. Her name is Tara, and she’s from the Morraine province to the north, along the coast of the Emerald Sea. She has that same air of confidence Mira does, and her eyes dance with excitement as she and Rhiannon talk about how they’ve both obsessed over dragons since childhood. I pay attention but only enough to recall details if we need to form an alliance.
An hour passes, then another, according to the Basgiath bells, which we can hear from here. Then the last of the cadets walks into the courtyard, followed by the three riders from the other turret.
Xaden is among them. It’s not just his height that makes him stand out in this crowd but the way the other riders all seem to move around him, like he’s a shark and they’re all fish giving him a wide berth. For a second, I can’t help but wonder what his signet is, the unique power from the bond with his dragon, and if that’s why even the third-years seem to scurry out of his way as he strides up to the dais with lethal grace. There are ten of them in total up there now, and from the way Commandant Panchek moves to the front, facing us—
“I think we’re about to start,” I say to Rhiannon and Tara, and they both turn to face the dais. Everyone does.
“Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek starts with a politician’s smile, gesturing to us. The guy has always talked with his hands. “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”
My chest clenches as my brain spins the calculation quickly. Almost twenty percent. Was it the rain? The wind? That’s more than average. Sixty-seven people died trying to get here.
“I’ve heard this position is just a stepping stone for him,” Tara whispers. “He wants Sorrengail’s job, then General Melgren’s.”
The commanding general of all Navarre’s forces. Melgren’s beady eyes have always made me shrivel every time we’ve met during my mother’s career.
“General Melgren’s?” Rhiannon whispers from my other side.
“He’ll never get it,” I say quietly as the commandant welcomes us to the Riders Quadrant. “Melgren’s dragon gives him the signet ability to see a battle’s outcome before it happens. There’s no beating that, and you can’t be assassinated if you know it’s coming.”
“As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!” Panchek shouts, his voice carrying over the five hundred of us that I estimate are in this courtyard. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”
Statistics say about a quarter of us will live to graduate, give or take a few on any year, and yet the Riders Quadrant is never short volunteers. Every cadet in this courtyard thinks they have what it takes to be one of the elite, the very best Navarre has to offer…a dragon rider. I can’t help but wonder for the smallest of seconds if maybe I do, too. Maybe I can do more than just survive.
“Your instructors will teach you,” Panchek promises, his hand sweeping to the line of professors standing at the doors to the academic wing. “It’s up to you how well you learn.” He swings his pointer finger at us. “Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved…” A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face. “You don’t want me involved.
“With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don’t die.” He walks off the dais with the executive commandant, leaving only the riders on the stone stage.
A brunette woman with wide shoulders and a scarred sneer stalks forward, the silver spikes on the shoulders of her uniform flashing in the sunlight. “I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.”
My shoulder is jostled as someone walks by, pushing between Rhiannon and me. Others follow suit until there are about fifty people in front of us, spaced out in formation.
“Sections and squads,” I whisper to Rhiannon, in case she didn’t grow up in a military family. “Three squads in each section and three sections in each of the four wings.”
“Thank you,” Rhiannon answers.
Dain stands in the section for Second Wing, facing me but averting his eyes.
“First Squad! Claw Section! First Wing!” Nyra calls out.
A man closer to the dais raises his hand.
“Cadets, when your name is called, take up formation behind your squad leader,” Nyra instructs.
The redhead with the crossbow and roll steps forward and begins calling names. One by one, cadets move from the crowd to the formation, and I keep count, making snap judgments based off clothing and arrogance. It looks like each squad will have about fifteen or sixteen people in it.
Jack is called into the Flame Section of First Wing.
Tara is called into the Tail Section, and soon they start on Second Wing.
I let loose a thankful sigh when the wingleader steps forward and it isn’t Xaden.
Rhiannon and I are both called to Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing. We get into formation quickly, lining up in a square. A quick glance tells me that we have a squad leader—Dain, who isn’t looking at me—a female executive squad leader, four riders who look like they might be second- or third-years, and nine first-years. One of the riders with two stars on her uniform and half-shaved, half-pink hair has a rebellion relic that winds around her forearm, from her wrist to above her elbow, where it disappears under her uniform, but I look away so she won’t catch me staring.
We’re silent as the rest of the wings are called. The sun is out in full now, beating into my leathers and scorching my skin. I told him not to keep you in that library. Mom’s words from this morning haunt me, but it’s not like I could have prepared for this. I have exactly two shades when it comes to the sun, pale and burned.
When the order sounds, we all turn to face the dais. I try to keep my gaze on the roll-keeper, but my eyes jerk right like the traitors they are, and my pulse leaps.
Xaden watches me with a cold, calculating look that feels like he’s plotting my death from where he stands as the wingleader for Fourth Wing.
I lift my chin.
He cocks his scarred eyebrow. Then he says something to Second Wing’s wingleader, and then every wingleader joins in on what’s obviously a heated discussion.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Rhiannon whispers.
“Quiet,” Dain hisses.
My spine stiffens. I can’t expect him to be my Dain here, not under these circumstances, but still, the tone is jarring.
Finally, the wingleaders turn around to face us, and the slight tilt to Xaden’s lips makes me instantly queasy.
“Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s,” Nyra orders.
Wait. What? Who is Aura Beinhaven?
Dain nods, then turns to us. “Follow me.” He says it once, then strides through formation, leaving us to scurry after him. We pass another squad on the way from…from…
The very breath freezes in my lungs.
We’re moving to Fourth Wing. Xaden’s wing.
It takes a minute, maybe two, and we take our place in the new formation. I force myself to breathe. There’s a fucking smirk on Xaden’s arrogant, handsome face.
I’m now entirely at his mercy, a subordinate in his chain of command. He can punish me however he likes for the slightest infraction, even imaginary ones.
Nyra looks at Xaden as she finishes assignments, and he nods, stepping forward and finally breaking our staring contest. I’m pretty sure he won, considering my heart is galloping like a runaway horse.
“You’re all cadets now.” Xaden’s voice carries out over the courtyard, stronger than the others. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.”
Most of the others cheer, but I keep my mouth shut.
Sixty-seven people fell or died in some other way today. Sixty-seven just like Dylan, whose parents would either collect their bodies or watch them be buried at the foot of the mountain under a simple stone. I can’t force myself to cheer for their loss.
Xaden’s eyes find mine, and my stomach clenches before he looks away. “And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you, first-years?”
More cheers.
“You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you?” Xaden shouts. “You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!”
Another round of cheers goes up with each declaration, louder and louder.
No. That’s not just cheering, it’s the sound of wings beating the air into submission.
“Oh gods, they’re beautiful,” Rhiannon whispers at my side as they come into view—a riot of dragons.
I’ve spent my life around dragons, but always from a distance. They don’t tolerate humans they haven’t chosen. But these eight? They’re flying straight for us—at speed.
Just when I think they’re about to fly overhead, they pitch vertically, whip the air with their huge semitranslucent wings, and stop, the gusts of wing-made wind so powerful that I nearly stagger backward as they land on the outer semicircular wall. Their chest scales ripple with movement, and their razor-sharp talons dig into the edge of the wall on either side. Now I understand why the walls are ten feet thick. It’s not a barrier. The edge of the fortress is a damned perch.
My mouth drops open. In my five years of living here, I’ve never seen this, but then again, I’ve never been allowed to watch what happens on Conscription Day.
A few cadets scream.
Guess everyone wants to be a dragon rider until they’re actually twenty feet away from one.
Steam blasts my face as the navy-blue one directly in front of me exhales through its wide nostrils. Its glistening blue horns rise above its head in an elegant, lethal sweep, and its wings flare momentarily before tucking in, the tip of their top joint crowned by a single fierce talon. Their tails are just as fatal, but I can’t see them at this angle or even tell which breed of dragon each is without that clue.
All are deadly.
“We’re going to have to bring the masons in again,” Dain mutters as chunks of rock crumble under the dragons’ grips, crashing to the courtyard in boulders the size of my torso.
There are three dragons in various shades of red, two shades of green—like Teine, Mira’s dragon—one brown like Mom’s, one orange, and the enormous navy one ahead of me. They’re all massive, overshadowing the structure of the citadel as they narrow their golden eyes at us in absolute judgment.
If they didn’t need us puny humans to develop signet abilities from bonding and weave the protective wards they power around Navarre, I’m pretty sure they’d eat us all and be done. But they like protecting the Vale—the valley behind Basgiath the dragons call home—from merciless gryphons and we like living, so here we are in the most unlikely of partnerships.
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, and I absolutely agree with it, because I’d like to run, too. Just thinking that I’m supposed to ride one of these is fucking ludicrous.
A cadet bolts out of Third Wing, screaming as he makes a run for the stone keep behind us. We all turn to look as he sprints for the giant arched door at the center. I can almost see the words carved into the arch from here, but I already know them by heart. A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.
Once bonded, riders can’t live without their dragons, but most dragons can live just fine after us. It’s why they choose carefully, so they’re not humiliated by picking a coward, not that a dragon would ever admit to making a mistake.
The red dragon on the left opens its vast mouth, revealing teeth as big as I am. That jaw could crush me if it wanted, like a grape. Fire erupts along its tongue, then shoots outward in a macabre blaze toward the fleeing cadet.
He’s a pile of ash on the gravel before he can even make it to the shadow of the keep.
Sixty-eight dead.
Heat from the flames blasts the side of my face as I jerk my attention forward. If anyone else runs and is likewise executed, I don’t want to see it. More screaming sounds around me. I lock my jaw as hard as I can to keep quiet.
There are two more gusts of heat, one to my left and then another to my right.
Make that seventy.
The navy dragon seems to tilt its head at me, as if its narrowed golden eyes can see straight through me to the fear fisting my stomach and the doubt curled insidiously around my heart. I bet it can even see the wrap binding my knee. It knows I’m at a disadvantage, that I’m too small to climb its foreleg and mount, too frail to ride. Dragons always know.
But I will not run. I wouldn’t be standing here if I’d quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome. I will not die today. The words repeat in my head just like they had before the parapet and on it.
I force my shoulders back and lift my chin.
The dragon blinks, which might be a sign of approval, or boredom, and looks away.
“Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” Xaden shouts, scanning the remaining rows of cadets with the same shrewd gaze of the navy-blue dragon behind him. “No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer.” The formation is silent except for a few untimely sobs from my left. “A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”
No one cheers.
Another blast of heat rushes—this time directly at my face—and every muscle in my body clenches, preparing for incineration. But it’s not flames…just steam, and it blows back Rhiannon’s braids as the dragons finish their simultaneous exhale. The breeches on the first-year ahead of me darken, the color spreading down his legs.
They want us scared. Mission accomplished.
“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Xaden points toward the navy dragon and leans forward slightly, like he’s letting us in on a secret as we lock eyes. “To them, you’re just the prey.”
The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves, and no respectable cadet would allow such a threat to the wing to continue training.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
FOUR
“Elena Sosa, Brayden Blackburn.” Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, flanked by two other scribes on the dais as we stand in silent formation in the courtyard, squinting into the early sun.
This morning, we’re all in rider black, and there’s a single silver four-pointed star on my collarbone, the mark of a first-year, and a Fourth Wing patch on my shoulder. We were issued standard uniforms yesterday, summer-weight tight-fitted tunics, pants, and accessories after Parapet was over, but not flight leathers. There’s no point handing out the thicker, more protective combat uniforms when half of us won’t be around come Threshing in October. The armored corset Mira made me isn’t regulation, but I fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around me.
After the last twenty-four hours and one night in the first-floor barracks, I’m starting to realize that this quadrant is a strange mix of we-might-die-tomorrow hedonism and brutal efficiency in the name of the same reason.
“Jace Sutherland.” Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read, and the scribes next to him shift their weight. “Dougal Luperco.”
I think we’re somewhere in the fifties, but I lost count when he read Dylan’s name a few minutes ago. This is the only memorial the names will get, the only time they’ll be spoken of in the citadel, so I try to concentrate, to commit each name to memory, but there’s just too many.
My skin is agitated from wearing the armor all night like Mira suggested, and my knee aches, but I resist the urge to bend down and adjust the wrap I managed to put on in the nonexistent privacy of my bunk in the first-year barracks before anyone else woke up.
There are a hundred and fifty-six of us in the first floor of the dormitory building, our beds positioned in four neat rows in the open space. Even though Jack Barlowe was put in the third-floor dorms, I’m not about to let any of them see my weaknesses. Not until I know who I can trust. Private rooms are like flight leathers—you don’t get one until you survive Threshing.
“Simone Casteneda.” Captain Fitzgibbons closes the scroll. “We commend their souls to Malek.” The god of death.
I blink. Guess we were closer to the end than I thought.
There’s no formal conclusion to the formation, no last moment of silence. The names on the scroll leave the dais with the scribes, and the quiet is broken as the squad leaders all turn and begin to address their squads.
“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch,” Dain says, his eyes meeting mine for the span of a heartbeat before he glances away, feigning indifference.
“He’s good at pretending he doesn’t know you,” Rhiannon whispers at my side.
“He is,” I reply just as softly. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, but I keep my expression as bland as possible as I soak in the sight of him. The sun plays in his sandy-brown hair, and when he turns his head, I see a scar peeking from his beard along his chin I’d somehow missed yesterday.
“Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go,” Dain continues as the scribes wind their way around the edge of the courtyard to my right, headed back to their quadrant. I ignore the tiny voice inside me protesting that it was supposed to be my quadrant. Lingering on what could have been isn’t going to help me survive to see tomorrow’s sunrise.
There’s a mutter of agreement from the senior cadets ahead of us. As first-years, we’re in the back two rows of the little square that makes up Second Squad.
“First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday.” Dain’s voice booms over us, and it’s hard to reconcile this stern-faced, serious leader with the funny, grinning guy I’ve always known. “Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym.”
Fuck, I’d almost forgotten that we’re sparring today. We only have the gym twice a week, so as long as I can get through today’s session unscathed, I’m in the clear for another couple of days. At least I have some time to get my feet under me before we’ll have to handle the Gauntlet—the terrifying vertical obstacle course they told us we’ll have to master when the leaves turn colors in two months.
If we can complete the final Gauntlet, we’ll walk through the natural box canyon above it that leads to the flight field for Presentation, where this year’s dragons willing to bond will get their first look at the remaining cadets. Two days after that, Threshing will occur in the valley beneath the citadel.
I glance around at my new squadmates and can’t help but wonder which of us, if any, will make it to that flight field, let alone that valley.
Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble.
“And if we’re not?” the smart-ass first-year behind me asks.
I don’t bother looking, but Rhiannon does, rolling her eyes as she turns back forward.
“Then I won’t have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning,” Dain answers with a shrug.
A second-year ahead of me snorts a laugh, the movement jangling two small hoop earrings in her left lobe, but the pink-haired one stays silent.
“Sawyer?” Dain looks at the first-year to my left.
“I’ll get them there.” The tall, wiry cadet whose light complexion is covered with a smattering of freckles answers with a tight nod. His freckled jaw ticks, and my chest pangs with sympathy. He’s one of the repeats—a cadet who didn’t bond during Threshing and now has to start the entire year over.
“Get going,” Dain orders, and our squad breaks apart around the same time the others do, transforming the courtyard from an orderly formation to a crowd of chatting cadets. The second- and third-years walk off in another direction, including Dain.
“We have about twenty minutes to get to class,” Sawyer shouts at the eight of us first-years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit and don’t be late.” He doesn’t bother waiting to confirm we’ve heard him before he heads off toward the dormitory.
“That has to be hard,” Rhiannon says as we follow the crowd toward the dorms. “Being set back and having to do this all over again.”
“Better than being dead,” the smart-ass says as he passes us on the right, his dark-brown hair flopping against the brown skin of his forehead with every step the shorter cadet takes. His name is Ridoc, if I remember correctly from the brief introductions we went through before dinner last night.
“That’s true,” I reply as we head into the bottleneck that’s formed at the door.
“I overheard a third-year say when a first-year survives Threshing unbonded, the quadrant lets them repeat the year and try again if they want,” Rhiannon adds, and I can’t help but wonder how much determination it would take to survive your first year and then be willing to repeat it just for the chance you might one day become a rider. You could just as easily die the second time around.
A bird whistles to the left, and I look over the crowd, my heart leaping because I immediately recognize the tone. Dain.
The call sounds again, and I narrow it down to somewhere near the door to the rotunda. He’s standing at the top of the wide staircase, and the second our eyes lock, he motions toward the door with a subtle nod.
“I’ll be—” I start saying to Rhiannon, but she’s already followed my line of sight.
“I’ll grab your stuff and meet you there. It’s under your bunk, right?” she asks.
“You don’t mind?”
“Your bunk is next to mine, Violet. It’s not a hassle. Go!” She gives me a conspiratorial smile and shoulder bumps me.
“Thank you!” I smile quickly, then wade across the crowd until I break free at the edge. Lucky for me, there aren’t many cadets headed into commons, which means there aren’t any eyes on me once I slip inside one of the four giant doors of the rotunda.
My lungs pull in a sharp breath. It looks like the renderings I’ve seen in the Archives, but there is no drawing, no artistic medium, that can capture just how overwhelming the space is, how exquisite every detail. The rotunda might be the most beautiful piece of architecture not only in the citadel but in all of Basgiath. The room is three stories tall, from its polished marble floors to the domed glass ceiling that filters in the soft morning light. To the left are two massive arched doors to the academic wing, echoed by the same on the right, leading to the dorms, and up a half dozen steps, there are four doorways in front of me that open into the gathering hall.
Equally spaced around the rotunda, shimmering in their various colors of red, green, brown, orange, blue, and black, stand six daunting marble pillars carved into dragons, as if they’d come crashing down from the ceiling above. There’s enough room between the snarling mouths at the base of each to fit at least four squads in the center, but it’s empty right now.
I pass by the first dragon, chiseled from dark-red marble, and a hand grips my elbow, pulling me back behind the pillar where there’s a gap between the claw and the wall.
“It’s just me.” Dain’s voice is low and quiet as he turns me to face him. Tension radiates from every line of his frame.
“I figured, since you were the one birdcalling me.” I grin, shaking my head. He’s been using that signal since we were kids living near the Krovlan border while our parents were stationed there with the Southern Wing.
His brow furrows as his gaze scans over me, no doubt looking for new injuries. “We only have a few minutes before this place is packed. How is your knee?”
“It hurts, but I’ll live.” I’ve had far worse injuries and we both know it, but there’s no use telling him to relax when he’s obviously not going to.
“No one tried to screw with you last night?” Concern creases his forehead, and I fold my arms to keep from smoothing the lines with my fingers. His worry sits on my chest like a stone.
“Would it be so bad if they did?” I tease, forcing my smile to widen.
He drops his arms to his sides and sighs so hard, the sound echoes in the rotunda. “You know that’s not what I mean, Violet.”
“No one tried to kill me last night, Dain, or even hurt me.” I lean back against the wall and take some weight off my knee. “Pretty sure we were all too tired and relieved to be alive to start slaughtering one another.” The barracks fell quiet pretty quickly after lights out. There was something to be said for the emotional exhaustion of the day.
“And you ate, right? I know they usher you out of the dorms fast when the bells chime for six.”
“I ate with the rest of the first-years, and before you even think about lecturing me, I rewrapped my knee under my covers and had my hair braided before the bells sounded. I’ve been keeping scribe hours for years, Dain. They’re up an hour earlier. It makes me want to volunteer for breakfast duty, actually.”
He glances at the tight, silver-tipped braid I’ve pinned into a bun against the darker hair near the crown of my head. “You should cut it.”
“Don’t start with me.” I shake my head.
“There’s a reason women keep it short here, Vi. The second someone gets ahold of your hair in the sparring ring—”
“My hair is the least of my concerns in the sparring ring,” I retort.
His eyes widen. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. You’re lucky I didn’t shove you into Captain Fitzgibbons’s hands this morning and beg him to take you out of here.”
I ignore the bluster of a threat. We’re wasting time, and there’s one piece of information I need from Dain. “Why was our squad moved from Second Wing to Fourth yesterday?”
He stiffens and looks away.
“Tell me.” I need to know if I’m reading into a situation that doesn’t exist.
“Fuck,” he mutters, ripping his hand over his hair. “Xaden Riorson wants you dead. It’s common knowledge among the leadership cadre after yesterday.”
Nope. Not overreacting.
“He moved the squad so he has a direct line to me. So he can do whatever he wants and no one will question a thing. I’m his revenge against my mother.” My heart doesn’t even jump at the confirmation of what I already knew. “That’s what I thought. I just needed to be sure my imagination wasn’t running away with me.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Dain steps forward and cups my face, his thumb stroking over my cheekbone in a soothing motion.
“There’s not much you can do.” I push off the wall, stepping out of his reach. “I have to get to class.” Already, there are a few voices echoing in the rotunda as cadets pass through.
His jaw works for a second, and the lines are back between his eyebrows. “Just do your best to keep a low profile, especially when we’re in Battle Brief. Not like the colors in your hair don’t give you away, but that’s the one class the entire quadrant takes. I’ll see if one of the second-years can stand guard—”
“No one is going to assassinate me during history.” I roll my eyes. “Academics are the one place I don’t have to worry. What is Xaden going to do? Pull me out of class and run me through with a sword in the middle of the hallway? Or do you honestly think he’ll stab me in the middle of Battle Brief?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s fucking ruthless, Violet. Why do you think his dragon chose him?”
“The navy-blue one who landed behind the dais yesterday?” My stomach twists. The way those golden eyes assessed me…
Dain nods. “Sgaeyl is a Blue Daggertail, and she’s…vicious.” He swallows. “Don’t get me wrong. Cath is a nasty piece of work when he gets riled—all Red Swordtails are—but even most dragons steer clear of Sgaeyl.”
I stare at Dain, at the scar that defines his jaw and the hard set of his eyes that are familiar and yet not.
“What?” he asks. The voices around us grow louder, and there are more footsteps coming and going.
“You bonded a dragon. You have powers I don’t even know about. You open doors with magic. You’re a squad leader.” I say the sentences slowly, hoping they’ll sink in, that I’ll truly grasp how much he’s changed. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around you still being…Dain.”
“I’m still me.” His posture softens, and he lifts the short sleeve of his tunic, revealing the relic of a red dragon on his shoulder. “I just have this now. And as for the powers, Cath channels a pretty significant amount of magic compared to some of the other dragons, but I’m nowhere near adept at it yet. I haven’t changed that much. As for lesser magic powered through the bond of my relic, I can do the typical stuff like open doors, crank up my speed, and power ink pens instead of using those inconvenient quills.”
“What’s your signet power?” Every rider can do lesser magic once their dragon begins channeling power to them, but the signet is the unique ability that stands out, the strongest skill that results from each unique bond between dragon and rider.
Some riders have the same signets. Fire wielding, ice wielding, and water wielding are just a few of the most common signet powers, all useful in battle.
Then there are the signets that make a rider extraordinary.
My mother can wield the power of storms.
Melgren can see the outcome of battles.
I can’t help but wonder again what Xaden’s signet is—and if he’ll use it to kill me when I least expect it.
“I can read a person’s recent memories,” Dain admits quietly. “Not like an inntinnsic reads minds or anything—I have to put my hands on the person, so I’m not a security risk. But my signet’s not common knowledge. I think they’ll use me in intelligence.” He points to the compass patch beneath his Fourth Wing one on his shoulder. Wearing that sigil indicates that a signet is too classified. I just didn’t notice it yesterday.
“No way.” I smile, taking a calming breath as I remember Xaden’s uniform didn’t have any patches on it.
He nods, an excited smile shaping his mouth. “I’m still learning, and of course I’m better at it the closer I am to Cath, but yeah. I just put my hands on someone’s temples, and I can see what they saw. It’s…incredible.”
That signet will more than set Dain apart. It will make him one of the most valuable interrogation tools we have. “And you say you haven’t changed,” I half tease.
“This place can warp almost everything about a person, Vi. It cuts away the bullshit and the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core. They want it that way. They want it to sever your previous bonds so your loyalty is to your wing. It’s one of the many reasons that first-years aren’t allowed to correspond with their family and friends, otherwise you know I would have written you. But a year doesn’t change that I still think of you as my best friend. I’m still Dain, and this time next year, you will still be Violet. We will still be us.”
“If I’m still alive,” I joke as the bells ring. “I have to get to class.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to be late to the flight field.” He motions toward the edge of the pillar. “Look, Riorson is still a wingleader. He’ll be after you, but he’ll find a way to do it within the rules of the Codex, at least when people are watching. I was…” His cheeks flush. “Really good friends with Amber Mavis—the current wingleader for Third Wing—last year, and I’m telling you, the Codex is sacred to them. Now, you go first. I’ll see you in the sparring gym.” He smiles reassuringly.
“I’ll see you.” I smile back and turn on my heel, walking around the base of the massive pillar into the semi-crowded rotunda. There’re a couple dozen cadets in here, walking from one building to another, and it takes a second to get my bearings.
I spot the academic doors between the orange-and-black pillars and start that way, blending into the crowd.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a chill races down my spine as I cross the center of the rotunda, then my steps halt. Cadets move around me, but my eyes are drawn upward, toward the top of the steps that lead to the gathering hall.
Oh shit.
Xaden Riorson is watching me with narrowed eyes, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up his massive arms that remain folded across his chest, the warning in his relic-covered arm on full display as a third-year next to him says something that he blatantly ignores.
My heart jumps and lodges in my throat. There’s maybe twenty feet between us. My fingers twitch, ready to grab one of the blades sheathed at my ribs. Is this where he’ll do it? In the middle of the rotunda? The marble floor is gray, so it shouldn’t be that hard for the staff to get the blood out.
His head tilts, and he studies me with those impossibly dark eyes, like he’s deciding where I’m most vulnerable.
I should run, right? But at least I can see him coming if I hold this position.
His attention shifts, glancing to my right, and he lifts a single brow at me.
My stomach pitches as Dain emerges from behind the pillar.
“What are you—” Dain starts as he reaches me, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Top of the steps. Fourth door,” I hiss, interrupting him.
Dain’s gaze snaps up as the crowd thins out around us, and he mutters a curse, not-so-subtly stepping closer to me. Fewer people mean fewer witnesses, but I’m not foolish enough to think Xaden won’t kill me in front of the whole quadrant if he wants.
“I already knew your parents are tight,” Xaden calls out, a cruel smile tilting his lips. “But do you two have to be so fucking obvious?”
The few cadets who are still in the rotunda turn to look at us.
“Let me guess,” Xaden continues, glancing between Dain and me. “Childhood friends? First loves, even?”
“He can’t hurt you without cause, right?” I whisper. “Without cause and calling a quorum of wingleaders because you’re a squad leader. Article Four, Section Three.”
“Correct,” Dain answers, not bothering to lower his voice. “But you’re not.”
“I expected you to do a better job of hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” Xaden moves, walking down the steps.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Run, Violet,” Dain orders me. “Now.”
I bolt.
Knowing I am in direct disagreement with General Melgren’s orders, I am officially objecting to the plan set forth in today’s briefing. It is not this general’s opinion that the children of the rebellion’s leaders should be forced to witness their parents’ executions. No child should watch their parent put to death.
—The Tyrrish Rebellion, an official brief for
King Tauri by General Lilith Sorrengail
CHAPTER
FIVE
“Welcome to your first Battle Brief,” Professor Devera says from the recessed floor of the enormous lecture hall later in the morning, a bright purple Flame Section patch on her shoulder matching her short hair perfectly. This is the only class held in the circular, tiered room that curves the entire end of the academic hall and one of only two rooms in the citadel capable of fitting every cadet. Every creaky wooden seat is full, and the senior third-years are standing against the walls behind us, but we all fit.
It’s a far cry from history last hour, where there were only three squads of first-years, but at least the first-years in our squad are all seated together. Now if I could only remember all their names.
Ridoc is easy to remember—he cracked wise-ass comments all through history. Hopefully he knows better than to try the same in here, though. Professor Devera isn’t the joking kind.
“In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation,” Professor Devera continues, her mouth tensing as she paces slowly in front of a twenty-foot-high map of the Continent mounted to the back wall that’s intricately labeled with our defensive outposts along our borders. Dozens of mage lights illuminate the space, more than making up for the lack of windows and reflecting off the longsword she keeps strapped to her back.
“And if they were, they were always third-years who’d spent time shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we’re up against. It’s not about just knowing where every wing is stationed, either.” She takes her time, making eye contact with every first-year she sees. The rank on her shoulder says captain, but I know she’ll be a major before she leaves her rotation teaching here, given the medals pinned on her chest. “You need to understand the politics of our enemies, the strategies of defending our outposts from constant attack, and have a thorough knowledge of both recent and current battles. If you cannot grasp these basic topics, then you have no business on the back of a dragon.” She arches a black brow a few shades darker than her deep-brown skin.
“No pressure,” Rhiannon mutters at my side, furiously taking notes.
“We’ll be fine,” I promise her in a whisper. “Third-years have only been sent to midland posts as reinforcements, never the front.” I’d kept my ears open around my mother enough to know that much.
“This is the only class you will have every day, because it’s the only class that will matter if you’re called into service early.” Professor Devera’s gaze sweeps from left to right and pauses on me. Her eyes flare wide for a heartbeat, but she gives an approving smile and nod before moving on. “Because this class is taught every day and relies on the most current information, you will also answer to Professor Markham, who deserves nothing but your utmost respect.”
She waves the scribe forward, and he moves to stand next to her, the cream color of his uniform contrasting with her stark black one. He leans in when she whispers something to him, and his thick eyebrows fly high as he whips his head in my direction.
There’s no approving smile when the colonel’s weary eyes find mine, only a sigh that fills my chest with heavy sorrow when I hear it. I was supposed to be his star pupil in the Scribe Quadrant, his crowning achievement before he retires. How absolutely ironic that I’m now the least likely to succeed in this one.
“It is the duty of the scribes not only to study and master the past but to relay and record the present,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his bulbous nose after finally tearing his disappointed gaze from mine. “Without accurate depictions of our front lines, reliable information with which to make strategic decisions, and—most importantly—veracious details to document our history for the good of future generations, we’re doomed, not only as a kingdom but as a society.”
Which is exactly why I’ve always wanted to be a scribe. Not that it matters now.
“First topic of the day.” Professor Devera moves toward the map and flicks her hand, bringing a mage light directly over the eastern border with the Poromiel province of Braevick. “The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders.”
Oh shit. A murmur rips through the hall, and I dip my quill into the inkpot on the desk in front of me so I can take notes. I can’t wait to channel so I can use the type of coveted pens Mom keeps on her desk. A smile curves my lips. There could definitely be perks to being a rider. There will be.
“Naturally, some information is redacted for security purposes, but what we can tell you is that the wards faltered along the top of the Esben Mountains.” Professor Devera pulls her hands apart and the light expands, illuminating the mountains that form our border with Braevick. “Allowing the drift not only to enter Navarrian territory but for their riders to channel and wield sometime around midnight.”
My stomach sinks as a murmur rises from the cadets, especially the first-years. Dragons aren’t the only animals capable of channeling powers to their riders. Gryphons from Poromiel also share the ability, but dragons are the only ones capable of powering the wards that make all other magic but their own impossible within our borders. They’re the reason Navarre’s borders are somewhat circular—their power radiates from the Vale and can only extend so far, even with squads stationed at every outpost. Without those wards, we’re fucked. It would be open season on Navarrian villages when the raiding parties from Poromiel inevitably descend. Those greedy assholes are never content with the resources they have. They always want ours, too, and until they learn to be content with our trade agreements, we have no chance of ending conscription in Navarre. No chance of experiencing peace.
But if we’re not on high alert, then they must have gotten the wards rewoven, or at least stabilized.
“Thirty-seven civilians were killed in the attack in the hour before a squad from the Eastern Wing could arrive, but the riders and dragons managed to repel the drift,” Professor Devera finishes, folding her arms over her chest. “Based on that information, what questions would you ask?” She holds up a finger. “I only want answers from first-years to start.”
My initial question would be why the hell the wards faltered, but it’s not like they’re going to answer a question like that in a room full of cadets with zero security clearance.
I study the map. The Esben Mountain Range is the highest along our eastern border with Braevick, making it the least likely place for an attack, especially since gryphons don’t tolerate altitude nearly as well as dragons, probably due to the fact that they’re half-lion, half-eagle and can’t handle the thinner air at higher altitudes.
There’s a reason we’ve been able to fend off every major assault on our territory for the last six hundred years, and we’ve successfully defended our land in this never-ending four-hundred-year-long war. Our abilities, both lesser and signet, are superior because our dragons can channel more power than gryphons. So why attack in that mountain range? What caused the wards to falter there?
“Come on, first-years, show me you have more than just good balance. Show me you have the critical-thinking skills to be here,” Professor Devera demands. “It’s more important than ever that you’re ready for what’s beyond our borders.”
“Is this the first time the wards have faltered?” a first-year a couple of rows ahead asks.
Professors Devera and Markham share a look before she turns toward the cadet. “No.”
My heart jolts into my throat and the room falls pin-drop quiet.
It’s not the first time.
The girl clears her throat. “And how…often are they faltering?”
Professor Markham’s shrewd eyes narrow on her. “That’s above your pay grade, cadet.” He turns his attention to our section. “Next relevant question to the attack we’re discussing?”
“How many casualties did the wing suffer?” a first-year down the row to my right asks.
“One injured dragon. One dead rider.”
Another murmur rises from the hall. Surviving graduation doesn’t mean we’ll survive service. Statistically, most riders die before retirement age, especially at the rate riders have been falling over the last two years.
“Why would you ask that particular question?” Professor Devera asks the cadet.
“To know how many reinforcements they’ll need,” he answers.
Professor Devera nods, turning toward Pryor, the meekest first-year in our squad, who has his hand up, but he lowers it quickly, scrunching his dark eyebrows. “Did you want to ask a question?”
“Yes.” He nods, sending a few locks of black hair into his eyes, then shakes his head. “No. Never mind.”
“So decisive,” Luca—the catty first-year in our squad I’ll do just about anything to avoid—mocks from next to him, tilting her head as cadets laugh around them. A corner of her mouth tilts up into a smirk, and she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder in a move that’s anything but casual. Like me, she’s one of the few women in the quadrant who didn’t cut her hair. I envy her confidence that it won’t be used against her, but not her attitude, and I’ve known her less than a day.
“He’s in our squad,” Aurelie—at least I think that’s her name—chastises, her no-nonsense black eyes narrowing on Luca. “Show some loyalty.”
“Please. No dragon is bonding to a guy who can’t even decide if he wants to ask a question. And did you see him at breakfast this morning? He held the entire line up because he couldn’t choose between bacon or sausage.” Luca rolls her kohl-rimmed eyes.
“If Fourth Wing is done picking at one another?” Professor Devera asks, lifting a brow.
“Ask what altitude the village is at,” I whisper to Rhiannon.
“What?” Her brow furrows.
“Just ask,” I reply, trying to keep Dain’s advice in mind. I swear I can feel him staring at the back of my neck from seven rows behind me, but I’m not going to turn and look, not when I know Xaden’s up there somewhere, too.
“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon asks.
Professor Devera’s eyebrows rise as she turns to Rhiannon. “Markham?”
“A little less than ten thousand feet,” he answers. “Why?”
Rhiannon darts a dose of side-eye at me and clears her throat. “Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons.”
“Good job,” I whisper.
“It is a little high for a planned attack,” Devera says. “Why don’t you tell me why that’s bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you’d like to ask your own questions from here on out.” She levels a stare on me that has me squirming in my seat.
Every head in the room turns in my direction. If anyone had an inkling of doubt about who I am, it’s long gone now. Awesome.
“Gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel,” I say. “It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what…an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost?” I glance at the map to be sure I’m not making a fool of myself. “That is Chakir right there, isn’t it?” Scribe’s training for the win.
“It is.” A corner of Professor Devera’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “Keep going with that line of thought.”
Wait a second. “Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?” My gaze narrows.
“I did.” She looks at me with expectation.
“Then they were already on their way,” I blurt, immediately recognizing how silly that sounds. My cheeks heat as a mumble of laughter sounds around me.
“Yeah, because that makes sense.” Jack turns around in his seat from the front row and openly laughs at me. “General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn’t know when it will happen, dumbass.”
I feel the chuckling of my classmates reverberate in my bones. I want to crawl under this ridiculous desk and disappear.
“Fuck off, Barlowe,” Rhiannon snaps.
“I’m not the one who thinks precognition is a thing,” he retorts with a sneer. “Gods help us if that one ever gets on the back of a dragon.” Another round of laughter has my neck flaming, too.
“Why do you think that, Violet—” Professor Markham winces. “Cadet Sorrengail?”
“Because there’s no logical way they get there within an hour of the attack unless they were already on their way,” I argue, shooting a glare at Jack. Fuck him and his laughter. I might be weaker than he is, but I’m a hell of a lot smarter. “It would take at least half that long to light the beacons in the range and call for help, and no full squad is sitting around just waiting to be needed. More than half those riders would have been asleep, which means they were already on their way.”
“And why would they already be on their way?” Professor Devera prods, and the light in her eyes tells me I’m right, giving me the confidence to take my train of thought a step further.
“Because they somehow knew the wards were breaking.” I lift my chin, simultaneously hoping I’m right and praying to Dunne—the goddess of war—that I’m wrong.
“That’s the most—” Jack starts.
“She’s right,” Professor Devera interrupts, and a hush falls over the room. “One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse.”
A little bubble of confidence rises in my chest, which is promptly popped by Jack’s glare, telling me he hasn’t forgotten his promise to kill me.
“Second- and third-years, take over,” Professor Devera orders. “Let’s see if you can be a little more respectful to your fellow cadets.” She arches a brow at Jack as questions begin to fire off from the riders behind us.
How many riders were deployed to the site?
What killed the lone fatality?
How long did it take to clear the village of the gryphons?
Were any left alive for questioning?
I write down every question and answer, my mind organizing the facts into what kind of report I would have filed if I’d been in the Scribe Quadrant, which information was important enough to include, and what was extraneous.
“What was the condition of the village?” a deep voice asks from the back of the lecture hall.
The hairs on my neck rise, my body recognizing the imminent threat behind me.
“Riorson?” Markham asks, shielding his eyes from the mage lights as he looks toward the top of the hall.
“The village,” Xaden restates. “Professor Devera said the damage would have been worse, but what was the actual condition? Was it burned? Destroyed? They wouldn’t demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold, so the condition of the village matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack.”
Professor Devera smiles in approval. “The buildings they’d already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived.”
“They were looking for something,” Xaden says with complete conviction. “And it wasn’t riches. That’s not a gem mining district. Which begs the question, what do we have that they want so badly?”
“Exactly. That’s the question.” Professor Devera glances around the room. “And that right there is why Riorson is a wingleader. You need more than strength and courage to be a good rider.”
“So what’s the answer?” a first-year to the left asks.
“We don’t know,” Professor Devera answers with a shrug. “It’s just another piece in the puzzle of why our constant bids for peace are rejected by the kingdom of Poromiel. What were they looking for? Why that village? Were they responsible for the collapse of the ward, or was it already faltering? Tomorrow, next week, next month, there will be another attack, and maybe we’ll get another clue. Go to history if you’re looking for answers. Those wars have already been dissected and examined. Battle Brief is for fluid situations. In this class, we want you to learn which questions to ask so all of you have a chance at coming home alive.”
Something in her tone tells me it’s not just third-years who might be called into service this year, and a chill settles in my bones.
…
“You seriously knew every answer in history and apparently every right question to ask in Battle Brief,” Rhiannon says, shaking her head as we stand on the sidelines of the sparring mat after lunch, watching Ridoc and Aurelie circle each other in their fighting leathers. They’re evenly matched in size. Ridoc is on the smaller side, and Aurelie is built just like Mira, which doesn’t surprise me because she’s a legacy on her father’s side. “You’re not even going to have to study for tests, are you?”
The rest of the first-years stand on our side, but the second- and third-years line the others. They’re definitely at an advantage here, considering they’ve already had at least a year of combat training.
“I was trained to be a scribe.” I shrug, and the vest Mira made me shimmers slightly with the movement. Other than the times the scales catch the light under the camouflaging mesh, it fits right in with the tops we’d been given from central issue yesterday. All the women are dressed similarly now, though the cuts of their leathers are chosen by preference.
The guys are mostly shirtless because they think shirts give their opponent something to grab onto. Personally, I’m not arguing with their logic, just enjoying the view…respectfully, of course, which means keeping my eyes on my own squad’s mat and off the other twenty mats in the massive gym that consumes the first floor of the academic wing. One wall is made entirely of windows and doors, all left open to let in the breeze, but it’s still stiflingly hot. Sweat trickles down my spine under my vest.
There are three squads from each wing here this afternoon, and lucky me, First Wing has sent their third squads, which include Jack Barlowe, who’s been glaring at me from two mats over since I walked in.
“Guess that means you’re not worried about academics,” Rhiannon says, her brows rising at me. She’s chosen a leather vest, too, but hers cuts in above the collarbone and secures at her neck, leaving her shoulders bare for movement.
“Stop circling each other like you’re dance partners and attack!” Professor Emetterio orders from across the mat, where Dain watches Aurelie and Ridoc’s match with our squad executive leader, Cianna. Thank God Dain’s shirt is on, because I don’t need another distraction when it’s time for my turn.
“I’m worried about this,” I tell Rhiannon, tilting my chin toward the mat.
“Really?” She shoots me a skeptical look. Her braids are twisted into a small bun at the nape of her neck. “I figured as a Sorrengail, you’d be a hand-to-hand threat.”
“Not exactly.” At my age, Mira had been training in hand-to-hand for twelve years. I have a whopping six months under my belt, which wouldn’t matter as much if I wasn’t as breakable as a porcelain teacup, but here we are.
Ridoc launches toward Aurelie, but she ducks, sweeping out her leg and tripping him. He staggers but doesn’t go down. He pivots quickly, palming a dagger in his hand.
“No blades today!” Professor Emetterio bellows from beside the mat. He’s only the fourth professor I’ve met, but he’s definitely the one who intimidates me most. Or maybe it’s just the subject he teaches that has me envisioning his compact frame as giant. “We’re just assessing!”
Ridoc grumbles and sheathes his knife just in time to deflect a right hook from Aurelie.
“The brunette packs a punch,” Rhiannon says with an appreciative smile before glancing my way.
“What about you?” I ask as Ridoc lands a jab to Aurelie’s ribs.
“Shit!” He shakes his head and backs up a step. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Aurelie holds her ribs but lifts her chin. “Who said you hurt me?”
“Pulling your punches does her a disservice,” Dain says, folding his arms. “The Cygnis on the northeast border aren’t going to give her any quarter because she’s a woman if she falls from her dragon behind enemy lines, Ridoc. They’ll kill her just the same.”
“Let’s go!” Aurelie shouts, beckoning Ridoc by curling her fingers. It’s obvious that most cadets have trained their whole lives to enter the quadrant, especially Aurelie, who slips a jab from Ridoc and twists to land a quick tap to his kidneys.
Ouch.
“I mean…damn,” Rhiannon mutters, giving Aurelie another look before turning back to me. “I’m pretty good on the mat. My village is on the Cygnisen border, so we all learned to defend ourselves fairly young. Physics and math aren’t problems, either. But history?” She shakes her head. “That class might be the death of me.”
“They don’t kill you for failing history,” I say as Ridoc charges Aurelie, taking her to the mat with enough force to make me wince. “I’m probably going to die on these mats.”
She hooks her legs around his and somehow leverages him over until she’s the one on top, landing punch after punch to the side of his face. Blood spatters the mat.
“I could probably offer some tips to survive combat training,” Sawyer says from Rhiannon’s other side, running his hand over a day’s growth of brown stubble that doesn’t quite cover his freckles. “History isn’t my strongest subject, though.”
A tooth goes flying and bile rises in my throat.
“Enough!” Professor Emetterio shouts.
Aurelie rolls off Ridoc and stands, touching her fingers to her split lip and examining the blood, then offers her hand to help him up.
He takes it.
“Cianna, take Aurelie to the healers. No reason to lose a tooth during assessment,” Emetterio orders.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Rhiannon says, locking her brown eyes with mine. “Let’s help each other out. We’ll help you with hand-to-hand if you help us with history. Sound like a deal, Sawyer?”
“Absolutely.”
“Deal.” I swallow as one of the third-years wipes down the mat with a towel. “But I think I’m getting the better end of that.”
“You haven’t seen me try to memorize dates,” Rhiannon jokes.
A couple of mats over, someone shrieks, and we all turn to look. Jack Barlowe has another first-year in a headlock. The other guy is smaller, thinner than Jack, but still has a good fifty pounds on me.
Jack yanks his arms, his hands still secure around the other man’s head.
“That guy is such an ass—” Rhiannon starts.
The sickening crack of bones breaking sounds across the gym, and the first-year goes limp in Jack’s hold.
“Sweet Malek,” I whisper as Jack drops the man to the ground. I’m starting to wonder if the god of death lives here for how often his name must be invoked. My lunch threatens to reappear, but I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, since it’s not like I can shove my head between my knees here.
“What did I say?” their instructor shouts as he charges onto the mat. “You broke his damned neck!”
“How was I supposed to know his neck was that weak?” Jack argues.
You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you. His promise from yesterday slithers through my memory.
“Eyes forward,” Emetterio orders, but his tone is kinder than it has been as we all look away from the dead first-year. “You don’t have to get used to it,” he tells us. “But you do have to function through it. You and you.” He points to Rhiannon and another first-year in our squad, a man with a stocky build, blue-black hair, and angular features. Shit, I can’t remember his name. Trevor? Thomas, maybe? There are too many new people to remember who is who at this point.
I glance at Dain, but he’s watching the pair as they take the mat.
Rhiannon makes quick work of the first-year, stunning me every time she dodges a punch and lands one of her own. She’s fast, and her hits are powerful, the kind of lethal combination that will set her apart, just like Mira.
“Do you yield?” she asks the first-year guy when she takes him to his back, her hand stopped mid-hit just above his throat.
Tanner? I’m pretty sure it’s something that starts with a T.
“No!” he shouts, hooking his legs around Rhiannon’s and slamming her to her back. But she rolls and quickly gains her feet before putting him in the same position again, this time with her boot to his neck.
“I don’t know, Tynan, you might want to yield,” Dain says with a grin. “She’s handing you your ass.”
Ah, that’s right. Tynan.
“Fuck off, Aetos!” Tynan snaps, but Rhiannon presses her boot into his throat, garbling the last word. He turns a mottled shade of red.
Yeah, Tynan has more ego than common sense.
“He yields,” Emetterio calls out, and Rhiannon steps back, offering her hand.
Tynan takes it.
“You—” Emetterio points to the pink-haired second-year with the rebellion relic. “And you.” His finger swings to me.
She’s at least a head taller than me, and if the rest of her body is as toned as her arms, then I’m pretty much fucked.
I can’t let her get her hands on me.
My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, but I nod and step onto the mat. “You’ve got this,” Rhiannon says, tapping my shoulder as she passes me.
“Sorrengail.” The pink-haired girl looks me over like I’m something she’s scraped off the side of her boot, narrowing her pale green eyes. “You really should dye your hair if you don’t want everyone to know who your mother is. You’re the only silver-haired freak in the quadrant.”
“Never said I cared if everyone knows who my mother is.” I circle the second-year on the mat. “I am proud of her service to protect our kingdom—from enemies both without and within.”
As her jaw tightens at the dig, a bubble of hope rises in my chest. Marked ones, as I’d heard some people this morning refer to those carrying rebellion relics on their arms, blame my mother for the execution of their parents. Fine. Hate me. Mom often says the minute you let emotion enter a fight, you’ve already lost. I’ve never prayed harder that my ice-in-her-veins mother was right.
“You bitch,” she seethes. “Your mother murdered my family.”
She lunges forward and swings wildly, and I quickly sidestep, spinning away with my hands up. We do that for a few more rounds, and I land a few jabs, start to think that my plan might just work.
She growls low in her throat as she misses me again, and her foot flies at my head. I easily duck, but then she drops to the ground and kicks out with her other foot, which lands square in my chest, sending me backward. I hit the mat with a thud, and she’s already above me, so damn fast.
“You can’t use your powers in here, Imogen!” Dain shouts.
Imogen is trying her best to kill me.
Her eyes are above mine, and I feel the quick slide of something hard against my ribs as she smiles at me. But her smile fades as we both look down, and I can’t help but notice a dagger being re-sheathed.
The armor just saved my life. Thank you, Mira.
Confusion mars Imogen’s face for just a second, long enough for me to send my fist into her cheek and roll out from under her.
My hand screams with pain even though I’m sure I formed the fist right, but I block it out as we both gain our feet.
“What kind of armor is that?” she asks, staring at my ribs as we circle each other.
“Mine.” I duck and dodge as she comes at me again, but her movements are a blur.
“Imogen!” Emetterio shouts. “Do it again, and I’ll—”
I swerve the wrong way this time and she catches me, taking me to the floor. The mat smacks my face, and her knee digs into my back as she pulls my right arm behind me.
“Yield!” she shouts.
I can’t. If I yield on the first day, what will the second bring? “No!” Now I’m the one lacking common sense like Tynan, and I’m far more breakable.
She pulls my arm farther, and pain consumes every thought, blackening the edges of my vision. I cry out as the ligaments stretch, shred, then pop.
“Yield, Violet!” Dain yells.
“Yield!” Imogen demands.
Gasping for breath against the weight of her on my back, I turn my face to the side as she wrenches my shoulder apart, the pain consuming me.
“She yields,” Emetterio says. “That’s enough.”
I hear it again—the macabre sound of snapping bone—but this time it’s mine.
It is my opinion that of all the signet powers riders provide, mending is the most precious, but we cannot allow ourselves to become complacent when in the company of such a signet. For menders are rare, and the wounded are not.
—Major Frederick’s Modern Guide for Healers
CHAPTER
SIX
Flames of agony engulf my upper arm and chest as Dain carries me through the lower, covered passage out of the Riders Quadrant, over the ravine, and into the Healer Quadrant. It’s basically a stone bridge, covered and sided with more stone, which pretty much makes it a suspended tunnel with a few windows, but I’m not thinking clearly enough to take it in as we rush through, his strides eating up the distance.
“Almost there,” he reassures me, his grip firm but careful on my rib cage and beneath my knees as my useless arm rests on my chest.
“Everyone saw you lose it,” I whisper, doing my best to mentally block the pain like I have countless times before. It’s usually as easy as building a mental wall around the pulsing torment in my body, then telling myself the pain only exists in that box so I can’t feel it, but it isn’t working so well this time.
“I didn’t lose it.” He kicks the door three times when we reach it.
“You shouted and carried me out of there like I mean something to you.” I focus on the scar on his jaw, the stubble on his tan skin, anything to keep from feeling the utter destruction in my shoulder.
“You do mean something to me.” He kicks again.
And now everyone knows.
The door swings open and Winifred, a healer who has been at my side too many times to mention, stands back so Dain can carry me in. “Another injury? You riders certainly are trying to fill our beds to— Oh no, Violet?” Her eyes fly wide.
“Hi, Winifred,” I manage over the pain.
“This way.” She leads us into the infirmary, a long hall of beds, half of which are full of people in rider black. Healers do not have magic, relying on traditional tinctures and medical training to heal as best they can, but menders do. Hopefully Nolon’s around tonight, since he’s been mending me for the last five years.
The signet of mending is exceptionally rare among riders. They have the power to fix, to restore, to return anything to its original state—from ripped cloth to pulverized bridges, including broken human bones. My brother, Brennan, was a mender—and would have become one of the greatest had he lived.
Dain gently lays me onto the bed Winifred brings us to, then she leans into the edge of the mattress, near my hip. Every creased line in her face is a comfort as she strokes a weathered hand across my forehead. “Helen, go get Nolon,” Winifred orders a healer in her forties walking by.
“No!” Dain barks, panic lacing his tone.
Excuse me?
The middle-aged healer glances between Dain and Winifred, clearly torn.
“Helen, this is Violet Sorrengail, and if Nolon finds out she was here and you didn’t call him, well…that’s on you,” Winifred says in a deceptively calm tenor.
“Sorrengail?” the healer repeats, her voice rising.
I try to focus on Dain through the throbbing in my shoulder, but the room is starting to spin. I want to ask him why wouldn’t he want my shoulder mended, but another wave of pain threatens to pull me into unconsciousness and all I can do is moan.
“Get Nolon or he will let his dragon eat you alive, sour face and all, Helen.” Winifred arches a silver eyebrow as she ignores Dain insisting again not to call the mender.
The woman blanches and disappears.
Dain pulls a wooden chair closer to my bed, and it scrapes the floor with a god-awful sound. “Violet, I know you’re hurting, but maybe…”
“Maybe what, Dain Aetos? You want to see her suffer?” Winifred lectures. “I told her they’d break you,” she mutters as she leans over me, her gray eyes full of worry as she assesses me. Winifred is the best healer Basgiath has, and she prepares every tonic she prescribes herself—and has seen me through more scrapes than I care to count over the years. “Would she listen to me? Absolutely not. Your mother is so damned stubborn.”
She reaches for my injured arm, and I wince as she raises it a couple of inches, prods my shoulder.
“Well, that’s certainly broken.” Winifred tsks, raising her brows at the sight of my arm. “And it looks like we need a surgeon for that shoulder. What happened?” she asks Dain.
“Sparring,” I explain in one word.
“You hush. Save your energy.” Winifred looks back at Dain. “Make yourself useful, boy, and pull the curtain around us. The fewer people who see her injured, the better.”
He jumps to his feet and quickly complies, drawing the blue fabric around us to make a small but effective room, separating us from the other riders who have been brought in.
“Drink this.” Winifred brings out a vial of amber liquid from her belt. “It will handle the pain while we get you sorted.”
“You can’t ask him to mend her,” Dain protests as she uncorks the glass.
“The pair of us have been mending her for the past five years,” she lectures, bringing the vial closer. “Don’t start telling me what I can and cannot do.”
Dain slides one hand under my back, the other under my head, helping me slightly upright so I can get the liquid down. It’s bitter like always as I swallow, but I know it will do the trick. He settles me back on the bed and turns to Winifred. “I don’t want her in pain—that’s why we’re here. But if she’s injured this severely, surely we can see if the scribes will take her as a late admission. It’s only been a day.”
As his reasoning for not wanting a mender sinks in, my anger is able to pierce through the pain long enough for me to bite out, “I’m not going to the scribes.”
Then I sigh, closing my eyes as a pleasant hum races through my veins. Soon there’s enough distance between me and the pain to think somewhat clearly as I force my eyes open again.
At least, I think it’s soon, but there’s a conversation going on I clearly haven’t been paying attention to, so it’s obviously been a few minutes.
The curtain whips back and Nolon walks in, leaning heavily on his cane. He smiles at his wife, his bright white teeth contrasting his brown skin. “You sent for me, my—” His smile falters as he sees me. “Violet?”
“Hi, Nolon.” I force my mouth to curve upward. “I’d wave, butone ofmyarms doesn’t workand theother feels realllllyheavy.” Good gods, am I slurring my words?
“Leigheas serum.” Winifred offers her husband a crooked smile.
“She’s with you, Dain?” Nolon turns an accusing look on Dain, and I feel all of fifteen years old again, being hauled in because I broke my ankle while we were climbing somewhere we shouldn’t have been.
“I’m her squad leader,” Dain replies, scooting out of Nolon’s way so the mender can get closer. “Putting her under my command was the only thing I could think of to keep her safe.”
“Not doing such a good job, are you?” Nolon’s eyes narrow.
“It was assessment day for hand-to-hand,” Dain explains. “Imogen—she’s a second-year—dislocated Violet’s shoulder and broke her arm.”
“On assessment day?” Nolon growls, cutting away the fabric of my short-sleeve shirt with his dagger. The man is eighty-four if he’s a day, and he still dresses in rider black, sheathed with all his weapons.
“Hermotherwasssss. OneofFennnnRiorson’s sepppara—sepppara—sssseparatisssts,” I explain slowly, trying to enunciate and failing. “And I’mmmmmaSorrengail, so I getit.”
“I don’t,” Nolon grumbles. “I’ve never agreed with the way they conscripted those kids to the Riders Quadrant as punishment for the sins of their parents. We have never forced conscripts into that quadrant. Ever. And for a very good reason. Most cadets don’t survive—which was likely the point, I suspect. Regardless, you certainly shouldn’t have to suffer for the honor of your mother. General Sorrengail saved Navarre by capturing the Great Betrayer.”
“So you won’t mend her, right?” Dain asks softly so he can’t be heard outside the curtain. “I’m just asking that the healers do their work and let nature take the time it needs. No magic. She doesn’t stand a chance if she goes back in there in a cast or has to defend herself while her shoulder heals from reconstruction surgery. The last one took her four months. This is our chance to get her out of the Riders Quadrant while she’s still breathing.”
“I’mnotgoingtothesibes.” So much for not slurring. “Sibes,” I try again. “SIBES.” Oh, fuck it. “Mendme.”
“I will always mend you,” Nolon promises.
“Just. This. Once.” I concentrate on every word. “If. The others. See I need. Mending. Allthetime, they’ll. Think. I’m weak.”
“Which is why we have to use this opportunity to get you out!” Panic rises in Dain’s voice, and my heart sinks. He can’t protect me from everything, and watching me break, watching me eventually die is going to ruin him. “Walking out of here and going straight to the Scribe Quadrant is your best chance at survival.”
I glare at Dain and choose my words carefully. “I’m not. Leavingtheriders. Just so Mom. Canthrowmeback. I’m. Staying.” I turn my head and the room spins as I look for Nolon. “Mend me…but justthisonce.”
“You know it’s going to hurt like hell and will still ache for a couple of weeks, right?” Nolon asks, sitting down in the chair beside my bed and staring at my shoulder.
I nod. This isn’t my first mending. When you’re as brittle as I was born, the pain of mending is only second to the pain of the original injury. Basically another Tuesday.
“Please, Vi,” Dain begs quietly. “Please switch quadrants. If not for you, then for me—because I didn’t step in fast enough. I should have stopped her. I can’t protect you.”
I wish I’d figured out his plan before taking Winifred’s potion, so I could have explained better. None of this is his fault, but he’s going to shoulder the blame just like he always does. Instead, I take a deep breath and say, “I made mychoice.”
“Get back to the quadrant, Dain,” Nolon orders without looking up. “If she was any other first-year, you would already be gone.”
Dain’s anguished gaze holds mine, and I insist, “Go. I’ll findyouat formmmmation inthe morning.” I don’t want him to see this anyway.
He swallows the defeat and nods once, then turns and walks through the separation in the curtains without another word. I sincerely hope my choice today doesn’t end up destroying my best friend later.
“Ready?” Nolon asks, his hands hovering above my shoulder.
“Bite down.” Winifred holds a strap of leather in front of my mouth, and I take it between my teeth.
“Here we go,” Nolon mutters, lifting his hands over my shoulder. His brow furrows in concentration before he makes a twisting motion.
White-hot agony erupts in my shoulder. My teeth slice into the leather as I scream, bearing down for one heartbeat, then two before blacking out.
…
The barracks are nearly full by the time I make my way back later that night, my throbbing right arm cradled in a light-blue sling that makes me an even bigger target, if that’s possible.
Slings say weak. They say breakable. They say liability to the wing. If I break this easily on the mat, what’s going to happen if I get on the back of a dragon?
The sun has long since gone down, but the hall is lit by the soft glow of mage lights as the other first-year women get ready for bed. I offer a smile to a girl who’s holding a blood-speckled cloth to her swollen lip, and she returns it with a wince.
I count three empty bunks in our row, but that doesn’t mean those cadets are dead, right? They could be in the Healer Quadrant just like I was, or maybe they’re in the bathing chambers.
“You’re here!” Rhiannon jumps off her bed, already dressed in her sleeping shorts and top, relief in her eyes and smile as she sees me.
“I’m here,” I assure her. “I’m already down one shirt, but I’m here.”
“You can get another at central issue tomorrow.” She looks like she might hug me but glances at my sling and backs up a step, sitting on the edge of her bunk as I do the same with mine, facing her. “How bad is it?”
“It’s going to hurt for the next few days, but I’ll be fine as long as I keep it immobilized. I’ll be all healed up before we start on-mat challenges.”
I have two weeks to figure out how to keep this from happening again.
“I’ll help you get ready,” she promises. “You’re the only friend I have in here, so I’d rather you didn’t die when it gets real.” A corner of her mouth lifts in a wry smile.
“I’ll try my best not to.” I grin through the throbbing ache in my shoulder and arm. The tonic has long since worn off, and it’s starting to hurt like hell. “And I’ll help you with history.” I brace my weight on my left hand, and it slides just beneath my pillow.
There’s something there.
“We’ll be unstoppable,” Rhiannon declares, her gaze tracking Tara, the dark-haired, curvy girl from Morraine, as she walks past our bunks.
I pull out a small book—no, it’s a journal—with a folded note on top that says Violet in Mira’s handwriting. One-handed, I open the note.
Violet,
I stayed long enough to read the rolls this morning, and you aren’t on them, thank gods. I can’t stay. I’m needed back with my wing, and even if I could stay, they wouldn’t let me see you anyway. I bribed a scribe to sneak this into your bunk. I hope you know how proud I am to be your sister. Brennan wrote this for me the summer before I entered the quadrant. It saved me, and it can save you, too. I added my own bits of hard-earned wisdom here and there, but mostly it’s his, and I know he’d want you to have it. He’d want you to live.
Love,
Mira.
I swallow past the knot in my throat and set the note aside.
“What is it?” Rhiannon asks.
“It’s my brother’s.” The words barely make it past my lips as I open the cover. Mother burned everything he owned after he died, as tradition dictates. It’s been ages since I’ve seen the bold strokes of his handwriting, and yet there they are. My chest tightens and a fresh wave of grief sweeps through me. “The book of Brennan,” I read along with the first page and then flip to the second.
Mira,
You’re a Sorrengail, so you will survive. Perhaps not as spectacularly as I have, but we all can’t live up to my standards, can we? All kidding aside, this is everything I’ve learned. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden. You have to live, because Violet is watching. You can’t let her see you fall.
Brennan.
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back. “It’s just his journal,” I lie, thumbing through the pages. I can hear his quippy, sarcastic tone as I skim over his words, as though he’s standing here, making light of every danger with a wink and a grin. Damn, I miss him. “He died five years ago.”
“Oh, that’s…” Rhiannon leans in, her eyes heavy with sympathy. “We don’t always burn everything, either. Sometimes it’s nice to have something, you know?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. It’s everything to have this, and yet I know Mom will toss it in the fire if she ever finds it.
Rhiannon sits back on her bed, opening her history book, and I fall back into Brennan’s history, starting on the third page.
You survived Parapet. Good. Be observant the next few days, and don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. I’ve sketched a map that shows you not only where the classrooms are but where the instructors meet, too. I know you’re nervous about challenges, but you shouldn’t be, not with that right hook of yours. The matches might seem random, but they’re not. What the instructors don’t tell you is that they decide challenges the week before, Mira. Any cadet can request a challenge, yes, but instructors will assign your matches based on weeding out the weakest. That means once the real hand-to-hand starts, the instructors already know who you’ll be up against that day. Here’s the secret—if you know where to look and can get out without being seen, you’ll know who you’re fighting so you can prepare.
I suck in a breath and devour the rest of the entry, hope blossoming in my chest. If I know who I’m fighting, then I can begin the battle before we even step on the mat. My mind spins, a plan taking shape.
Two weeks, that’s how long I have to get everything I’ll need before challenges begin, and no one knows the grounds of Basgiath like I do. It’s all here.
A slow smile spreads across my face. I know how to survive.
In the best interest of preserving peace within Navarre, no more than three cadets carrying rebellion relics may be assigned to any squad of any quadrant.
—Addendum 5.2, Basgiath War College Code of Conduct
In addition to last year’s changes, marked ones assembling in groups of three or more will now be considered an act of seditious conspiracy and is hereby a capital offense.
—Addendum 5.3, Basgiath War College Code of Conduct
CHAPTER
SEVEN
“Damn it,” I mutter as my toe catches a rock, and I stumble in the waist-high grass that grows alongside the river beneath the citadel. The moon is nice and full, illuminating my way, but it means I’m sweating to death in this cloak to keep hidden, just in case anyone else is out here wandering after curfew.
The Iakobos River rushes with summer runoff from the peaks above, and the currents are fast and deadly this time of year, especially coming out of the steep drop of the ravine. No wonder that first-year died when he fell in yesterday during our downtime. Since Parapet, our squad is the only one in the quadrant not to lose anyone, but I know that’s unlikely to last much longer in this ruthless school.
Tightening my heavy satchel over my sling, I move closer to the river, along the ancient line of oaks where I know one vine of fonilee berries will be coming into season soon. Ripe, the purple berries are tart and barely edible but, picked prematurely and left to dry, will make an excellent weapon in the growing arsenal that nine nights of sneaking out has given me. This was exactly the reason I brought the book of poisons with me.
Challenges start next week, and I need every possible advantage.
Spotting the boulder I’ve used as a landmark for the past five years, I count the trees on the riverbank. “One, two, three,” I whisper, spotting the exact oak I’ll need. Its branches spread wide and high, some even daring to reach out over the river. Lucky for me, the lowest is easily climbable, even more so with the grass oddly trampled underneath.
A twinge of pain shoots up through my shoulder as I slip my right arm out of the sling and begin to climb by moonlight and memory. The pain quickly fades to an ache, just like it has every evening while Rhiannon has been kicking my ass on the mat. Hopefully tomorrow Nolon will let me out of the annoying sling for good.
The fonilee vine looks deceptively like ivy as it winds up the trunk, but I’ve scaled this particular tree enough times to know this is the one. I’ve just never had to climb the damn thing in a cloak before. It’s a pain in my ass. The fabric catches on almost every branch as I move upward, slowly and steadily, climbing past the wide branch where I used to spend hours reading.
“Shit!” My foot slips on the bark and my heart stutters for a heartbeat while my feet find better holds. This would be so much easier during the day, but I can’t risk being caught.
Bark scrapes my palms as I climb higher. The tips of the vine leaves are white at this height, barely visible in the mottled moonlight through the canopy, but I grin as I find exactly what I’ve been searching for.
“There you are.” The purple berries are a gorgeous, unripe lavender. Perfect. Digging my fingernails into the branch above me, I manage to keep from wobbling long enough to retrieve an empty vial in my satchel and uncork it with my teeth. Then I pluck just enough berries off the vine to fill the glass and shove the stopper back in. Between these, the mushrooms I’ve already hunted tonight, and the other items I’ve collected, I should be able to make it through the next month of challenges.
I’m almost down the tree, only a handful of branches to go, when I spot movement beneath me and pause. Hopefully it’s just a deer.
But it’s not.
Two figures in black cloaks—apparently tonight’s disguise of choice—walk under the protection of the tree. The smaller one leans back against the lowest limb, removing her hood to reveal a half-shaved head of pink hair I know all too well.
Imogen, the squadmate who nearly ripped off my arm ten days ago.
My stomach tightens, then knots as the second rider slips off his own hood.
Xaden Riorson.
Oh shit.
There’s maybe fifteen feet between us and nothing—and no one—out here to stop him from killing me. Fear clenches my throat and holds tight as I white-knuckle the branches around me, debating the merits of holding my breath so he can’t hear me versus falling out of the tree if I faint from lack of oxygen.
They begin speaking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying, not with the river rushing by. Relief fills my lungs. If I can’t hear them, they can’t hear me, either, as long as I sit tight. But all it takes is for him to look up, and I’ll be toast, literally if he decides to feed me to that Blue Daggertail of his. The moonlight I was thankful for a few minutes ago has now become my biggest liability.
Slowly, carefully, quietly, I move out of the patchy moonlight to the next branch over, cloaking myself in shadow. What is he doing out here with Imogen? Are they lovers? Friends? It’s absolutely none of my business, and yet I can’t help but wonder if she’s the kind of woman he goes for—one whose beauty is only outmatched by her brutality. They fucking deserve each other.
Xaden turns away from the river, as though he’s looking for someone, and sure enough, more riders arrive, gathering under the tree. They’re all dressed in black cloaks as they shake hands. And they all have rebellion relics.
My eyes widen as I count. There are almost two dozen of them, a few third-years and a couple of seconds, but the rest are all firsts. I know the rules. Marked ones can’t gather in groups larger than three. They’re committing a capital offense simply by being together. It’s obviously a meeting of some sort, and I feel like a cat clinging to the leaf-tipped limbs of this tree while the wolves circle below.
Their gathering could be completely harmless, right? Maybe they’re homesick, like when the cadets from the Morraine province all spend a Saturday at the nearby lake just because it reminds them of the ocean they miss so much.
Or maybe marked ones are plotting to burn Basgiath to the ground and finish what their parents started.
I can sit up here and ignore them, but my complacency—my fear—could get people killed if they’re down there scheming. Telling Dain is the right thing to do, but I can’t even hear what they’re saying.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Nausea churns in my stomach. I have to get closer.
Keeping myself on the opposite side of the trunk and sticking to the shadows that wrap around me, I climb down another branch with sloth-like speed, holding my breath as I test each branch with a fraction of my weight before lowering myself. Their voices are still muffled by the river, but I can hear the loudest of them, a tall, dark-haired man with pale skin, whose shoulders take up twice the space of any first-year, standing opposite Xaden’s position and wearing the rank of a third-year.
“We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco,” he says, but I can’t make out the response.
It takes two more rungs of branches before their words are clear. My heart pounds like it’s trying to escape my ribs. I’m close enough for any one of them to see if they look hard enough—well, everyone except Xaden, since his back is turned toward me.
“Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation,” Imogen says. One little hop to the right and I could repay that callous shoulder maneuver she pulled on me with a quick kick to her head.
I just happen to value my own life more than I want revenge at the moment, so I keep my feet to myself.
“And if they find out we’re meeting?” a first-year girl with an olive complexion asks, her eyes darting around the circle.
“We’ve done this for two years and they’ve never found out,” Xaden responds, folding his arms and leaning back against the limb below my right. “They’re not going to unless one of you tells. And if you tell, I’ll know.” The threat is obvious in his tone. “Like Garrick said, we’ve already lost two first-years to their own negligence. There are only forty-one of us in the Riders Quadrant, and we don’t want to lose any of you, but we will if you don’t help yourselves. The odds are always stacked against us, and trust me, every other Navarrian in the quadrant will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail.”
There’s a muttered assent, and my breath hitches at the intensity in his voice. Damn it, I don’t want to find a single thing about Xaden Riorson admirable, and yet here he is, being all annoyingly admirable. Asshole.
Have to admit, it would be nice if a high-ranking rider from my province gave a shit if the rest of us from the province lived or died.
“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?” Xaden asks.
Four hands shoot into the air, none of which belong to the spiky-blond-haired first-year standing with his arms crossed, a head taller than most others. Liam Mairi. He’s in Second Squad, Tail Section of our wing and already the top cadet in our year. He practically ran across the parapet and destroyed every opponent on assessment day.
“Shit,” Xaden swears, and I would give anything to see his expression as he lifts a hand to his face.
The big one—Garrick—sighs. “I’ll teach them.” I recognize him now. He’s the Flame Section leader in Fourth Wing. My direct superior above Dain.
Xaden shakes his head. “You’re our best fighter—”
“You’re our best fighter,” a second-year near Xaden counters with a quick grin. He’s handsome, with tawny brown skin crowned by a cloud of black curls and a litany of patches on what I can see of his uniform under his cloak. His features are close enough to Xaden’s that they might be related. Cousins, maybe? Fen Riorson had a sister, if I remember correctly. Shit, what was the guy’s name? It’s been years since I read the records, but I think it started with a B.
“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen snarks.
Most everyone laughs, and even the first-years crack a smile.
“Fucking ruthless is more like it,” Garrick adds.
There’s a general consensus of nods, including one from Liam Mairi.
“Garrick is our best fighter, but Imogen is right up there with him, and she’s a hell of a lot more patient,” Xaden notes, which is just ludicrous considering she didn’t seem too patient while breaking my arm. “So the four of you split yourselves up between the two of them for training. A group of three won’t draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?”
“I can’t do this,” a gangly first-year says, rolling his shoulders inward and lifting his slim fingers to his face.
“What do you mean?” Xaden asks, his voice taking on a hard edge.
“I can’t do this!” The smaller one shakes his head. “The death. The fighting. Any of it!” The pitch of his voice rises with every statement. “A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day! I want to go home! Can you help me with that?”
Every head swings toward Xaden.
“No.” Xaden shrugs. “You’re not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up more of my time.”
It’s all I can do to smother my gasp, and some of the others in the group don’t bother trying. What. A. Dick.
The smaller guy looks stricken, and I can’t help but feel bad for him.
“That was a little harsh, cousin,” the second-year who looks a little like Xaden says, lifting his eyebrows.
“What do you want me to say, Bodhi?” Xaden cocks his head to the side, his voice calm and even. “I can’t save everyone, especially not someone who isn’t willing to work to save themselves.”
“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick rubs the bridge of his nose. “Way to give a pep talk.”
“If they need a fucking pep talk, then we both know they’re not flying out of the quadrant on graduation day. Let’s get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is far more valuable.” He turns his head, and I can only assume he’s looking at the panicked first-year. “In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur. This”—he gestures back toward the citadel—“isn’t some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It’s hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home…to whatever’s left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant.” He leans forward slightly. “So if you won’t get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You’re not going to make it.”
Only crickets dare to break the silence.
“Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” Xaden orders.
“Battle Brief,” a first-year I recognize says softly. Her bunk is only a row away from Rhiannon’s and mine. Shit…what’s her name? There are too many women in the hall to know everyone, but I’m certain she’s in Third Wing. “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…” She shrugs.
“That’s a tough one,” Imogen responds, turning to look at Xaden. Her profile in the moonlight is almost unrecognizable as the same person who shredded my shoulder. That Imogen is cruel, vicious even. But the way she’s looking at Xaden softens her eyes, her mouth, her whole posture as she tucks a short strand of pink hair behind her ear.
“You learn what they teach you,” Xaden says to the first-year, his voice taking a hard edge. “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to.”
My brow furrows. What the hell does he mean by that? Battle Brief is one of the classes taught by scribes to keep the quadrant up-to-date on all nonclassified troop movements and battle lines. The only things we’re asked to recite are recent events and general knowledge of what’s going on near the front lines.
“Anyone else?” Xaden asks. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all night.”
It hits me then—other than being gathered in a group of more than three, there’s nothing wrong with what they’re doing here. There’s no plot, no coup, no danger. It’s just a group of older riders counseling first-years from their province. But if Dain knew, he’d be honor bound to—
“When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?” a guy toward the back asks.
My blood turns to ice.
The murmur of assent among the group sends a jolt of terror down my spine.
“Yeah, Xaden,” Imogen says sweetly, lifting her pale green eyes to him. “When do we get to finally have our revenge?”
He turns just enough for me to see his profile and the scar that crosses his face as he narrows his eyes at Imogen. “I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.”
He’ll…handle me? My muscles thaw with the heat of indignation. I’m not some inconvenience to be handled. My short-lived admiration of Xaden is over.
“Didn’t you already learn that lesson, Imogen?” the look-alike Xaden chides from halfway down the circle. “What I hear, Aetos has you scrubbing dinner dishes for the next month for using your powers on the mat.”
Imogen’s head snaps in his direction. “Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder.”
“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents,” Garrick counters, folding his arms over his wide chest. “Not her daughter. Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish.”
“So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college—” Imogen starts.
“In case you didn’t notice, she’s in the same death sentence of a college,” Garrick retorts. “Seems like she’s already suffering the same fate.”
Am I seriously watching them debate over whether I should be punished for being Lilith Sorrengail’s daughter?
“Don’t forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail,” Xaden adds. “She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.” He pointedly looks at Imogen and the first-year who raised the question. “And I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?”
Silence reigns.
“Good. Then get back to bed and go in threes.” He motions with his head, and they slowly disperse, walking away in groups of threes just like he ordered. Xaden is the last to leave.
I draw a slow breath. Holy shit, I just might live through this.
But I have to be sure they’re gone. I don’t move a muscle, even when my thighs cramp and my fingers lock as I count to five hundred in my head, breathing as evenly as possible to soften the beats of my galloping heart.
Only when I’m sure I’m alone, when the squirrels scurry past on the ground, do I finish climbing from the tree, jumping the last four feet to the grassy floor. Zihnal must have a soft spot for me, because I’m the luckiest woman on the Continent—
A shadow lunges behind me and I open my mouth to scream, but my air supply is cut off by an elbow around my neck as I’m yanked against a hard chest.
“Scream and you die,” he whispers, and my stomach plummets as the elbow is replaced by the sharp bite of a dagger at my throat.
I freeze. I’d recognize the rough pitch of Xaden’s voice anywhere.
“Fucking Sorrengail.” His hand yanks back the hood of my cloak.
“How did you know?” My tone is outright indignant, but whatever. If he’s going to kill me, I’m not going down as some simpering little beggar. “Let me guess, you could smell my perfume. Isn’t that what always gives the heroine away in books?”
He scoffs. “I command shadows, but sure, it was your perfume that gave you away.” He lowers the knife and steps away.
I gasp. “Your signet is a shadow wielder?” No wonder he’s risen so high in rank. Shadow wielders are incredibly rare and highly coveted in battle, able to disorient entire drifts of gryphons, if not take them down, depending upon the signet’s strength.
“What, Aetos hasn’t warned you not to get caught alone in the dark with me yet?”
His voice is like rough velvet along my skin, and I shiver, then draw my own blade from the sheath at my thigh and raise it as I spin toward him, ready to defend myself to the death. “Is this how you plan to handle me?”
“Eavesdropping, were we?” He arches a black brow and sheathes his dagger like I couldn’t possibly pose a threat to him, which only serves to piss me off even more. “Now I might actually have to kill you.” There’s an undertone of truth in those mocking eyes.
This is just…bullshit.
“Then go ahead and get it over with.” I unsheathe another dagger, this one from beneath my cloak where it was strapped in at my ribs, and back up a couple of feet to give me distance to throw them—if he doesn’t rush me.
He pointedly looks at one dagger, then the other, and sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “That stance is really the best defense you can muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.”
“I’m more dangerous than you think,” I flat-out bluster.
“So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.” The corner of his mouth rises into a mocking smirk.
Fucking. Asshole.
I flip the daggers in my hand, pinching them at the tips, then flick my wrists and fire them past his head, one on each side. They land solidly in the trunk of the tree behind him.
“You missed.” He doesn’t even flinch.
“Did I?” I reach for my last two blades. “Why don’t you back up a couple of steps and test that theory?”
Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it’s gone in the next second, masked by cold, mocking indifference.
Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don’t slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears.
“Tell me again that I missed,” I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip.
“Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?” An appreciative smile curves his perfect lips as shadows dance up the trunk of the oak, taking the form of fingers. They pluck the daggers from the tree and bring them to Xaden’s waiting hands.
My breath abandons me with a sharp exhale. He has the kind of power that could end me without him having to so much as lift a finger —shadow wielding. The futility of even trying to defend myself against him is laughable.
I hate how beautiful he is, how lethal his abilities make him as he strides toward me, shadows curling around his footsteps. He’s like one of those poisonous flowers I’ve read about from the Cygnis forests to the east. His allure is a warning not to get too close, and I am definitely too close.
Switching my grip to the hilts of my daggers, I prepare for the attack.
“You should show that little trick to Jack Barlowe,” Xaden says, turning his palms upward and offering me my daggers.
“I’m sorry?” This is a trick. It has to be a trick.
He moves closer, and I lift my blade. My heart stumbles, the beat irregular as fear floods my system.
“The neck-snapping first-year who’s very publicly vowed to slaughter you,” Xaden clarifies as my blade presses against his cloak at the level of his abdomen. He reaches under my own cloak and slides one blade into the sheath at my thigh, then pulls back the side of my cloak and pauses. His gaze locks onto the length of my braid where it falls over my shoulder, and I could swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he slides the remaining dagger into one of the sheaths at my ribs. “He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”
This is…this is…bizarre. It has to be some kind of game meant to confuse me, right? And if so, he’s playing it really fucking well.
“Because the honor of my murder belongs to you?” I challenge. “You wanted me dead long before your little club chose my tree to meet under, so I imagine you’ve all but buried me in your mind by now.”
He glances at the dagger poised at his stomach. “Do you plan on telling anyone about my little club?” His eyes meet mine, and there’s nothing but cold, calculating death waiting there.
“No,” I answer truthfully, suppressing a shiver.
“Why not?” He tilts his head to the side, examining my face like I’m an oddity. “It’s illegal for the children of separatist officers to assemble in—”
“Groups larger than three. I’m well aware. I’ve lived at Basgiath longer than you.” I lift my chin.
“And you’re not going to run off to Mommy, or your precious little Dain, and tell them we’ve been assembling?” His gaze narrows on mine.
My stomach twists just like it did before I stepped out onto the parapet, like my body knows that whatever action I take next will determine my life-span. “You were helping them. I don’t see why that should be punished.” It wouldn’t be fair to him or the others. Was their little meeting illegal? Absolutely. Should they die for it? Absolutely not. And that’s exactly what will happen if I tell. Those first-years will be executed for nothing more than asking for tutoring, and the senior cadets will join them just because they helped. “I’m not going to tell.”
He looks at me like he’s trying to see through me, and ice prickles my scalp.
My hand is steady, but my nerves tremble at what the next thirty seconds might bring. He can kill me right here, toss my body into the river, and no one will know I’m gone until they find me downstream.
But I won’t let him end me without drawing his blood first, that’s for damn sure.
“Interesting,” he says softly. “We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” Then he steps away, turns, and walks off, heading back toward the staircase in the cliff that leads up to the citadel.
Wait. What?
“You’re not going to handle me?” I call after him, shock raising my brows.
“Not tonight!” he tosses over his shoulder.
I scoff. “What are you waiting for?”
“It’s no fun if you expect it,” he answers, striding into the darkness. “Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.”
“What?” I gawk after him. “You’re my wingleader!”
But he’s already disappeared into the shadows, leaving me talking to myself like a fool.
He didn’t even ask what was in my satchel.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I tuck my arm back into my sling, sighing with relief as the weight is taken off my shoulder. A fool with fonilee berries.
There is an art to poison not often discussed, and that is timing. Only a master can properly dose and administer for effective onset. One must take into account the mass of the individual as well as the method of delivery.
—Effective Uses of Wild and Cultivated Herbs
by Captain Lawrence Medina
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The women’s hall is quiet as I dress for the morning, the sun barely peeking above the horizon in the far windows. I take the dragon-scale vest from where I left it to dry on the hanger at the end of my bed and slip it on over my short-sleeve black shirt. It’s a good thing I’ve gotten pretty adept at tightening the laces behind my back, since Rhiannon isn’t in her bed.
At least one of us is getting a few much-needed orgasms. Pretty sure there’s a person or two scattered with their partners among the full bunks in here, too. The squad leaders talk a good game about enforcing curfew, but no one really cares. Well, except Dain. He cares about every rule.
Dain. My chest tightens, and I smile as I finish braiding my hair into a crown. Seeing him is the best part of my day, even the moments when he’s anything but personable in public. Even in the moments where he’s consumed with trying to save me from this place.
I grab my bag on the way out, passing by rows of empty beds that belonged to the dozen women who haven’t survived to see August, and shove open the door.
There he is.
Dain’s eyes light up as he pushes off the wall of the hallway where he’s obviously been waiting for me. “Morning.”
I can’t help the smile that curves my lips. “You don’t have to escort me to duty every morning, you know.”
“It’s the only time I get to see you when I’m not your squad leader,” he counters as we walk down the empty hallway, past the halls that will lead to our rooms if we survive Threshing. “Trust me, it’s worth getting up an hour early, though I still can’t figure out why you’d choose breakfast duty over every other assignment.”
I shrug. “I have my reasons.” Really, really, really good reasons. Though I do miss the extra hour of sleep I’d had before we chose our assignments last week.
A door on the right flies open, and Dain darts in front of me, dragging me behind him with his arm so I face-plant into his back. He smells like leather and soap and—
“Rhiannon?” he snaps.
“Sorry!” Rhiannon’s eyes widen.
I slip out of Dain’s hold and move to his side so I can see her. “I wondered where you were this morning.” A grin spreads across my face as Tara appears next to her. “Hey, Tara.”
“Hey, Violet.” She gives me a wave, then heads down the hallway, tucking her shirt into her pants.
“We have curfew for a reason, cadet,” Dain lectures, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “And you know that no one is supposed to be in the private dorms until after Threshing.”
“Maybe we were just up early,” Rhiannon counters. “You know, like you are right now.” She glances between the two of us with a mischievous smirk.
Dain rubs the bridge of his nose. “Just…get back to the dorms and pretend you slept there, will you?”
“Absolutely!” She squeezes my hand as she passes by.
“Way to go,” I whisper quickly. She’s had a thing for Tara since we got here.
“I know, right?” She backs away with a smile, then turns to push through the hall doors.
“Monitoring the sex lives of first-years was not what I had in mind when I applied to be a squad leader,” Dain mutters, and we continue toward the kitchen.
“Oh, come on. Like you weren’t a first-year yourself last year.”
He lifts his brows in thought and eventually shrugs. “Fair point. And you’re a first-year now…” His eyes slide my way as we near the arched doorways that lead to the rotunda, and his lips part like he’s going to continue, but he looks away, pivoting to open the door for me.
“Why, Dain Aetos! Are you asking me about my sex life?” I let my fingers trail along the exposed fangs of the green dragon pillar and bite back a smile as we walk by.
“No!” He shakes his head, then pauses in thought. “I mean…is there a sex life to ask about?”
We climb the steps that lead into commons, and I turn just before the door to face him. He’s two steps below me, putting us at eye level. “Since I got here?” I tap my chin with my finger and smile. “That’s none of your business. Before I got here? Still none of your business.”
“Another fair point.” His mouth curves into a grin that makes me wish it was his business, though.
I turn around before I do something utterly foolish like make it his business. We continue into commons, walking past the empty study tables and the entrance to the library. It’s nothing as awe-inspiring as the scribes’ Archives, but it has every tome I’ll need for studying here.
“Are you ready for today?” Dain asks as we near the gathering hall. “For the challenges to start this afternoon?”
My stomach knots.
“I’ll be all right,” I assure him, but he moves in front of me, halting my steps.
“I know you’ve been practicing with Rhiannon, but…” Worry lines his forehead.
“I’ve got it,” I promise, looking into his eyes so he knows I mean it. “You don’t have to worry about me.” Last night, Oren Seifert’s name was posted next to mine right where Brennan said it would be. He’s a tall blond in First Wing with tolerable knife skills but one hell of a punch.
“I always worry about you.” Dain’s hands curl into fists.
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “I can handle myself.”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
My ribs squeeze my heart like a vise.
“Then don’t watch.” I take his calloused hand in mine. “You can’t save me from this, Dain. I’m going to be challenged once a week just like every other cadet. And it’s not going to stop there. You can’t protect me from Threshing, or the Gauntlet, or Jack Barlowe—”
“You need to lay low with that one.” Dain grimaces. “Avoid that pompous ass whenever you can, Vi. Don’t give him an excuse to come after you. He’s already responsible for too many names on the death roll.”
“Then the dragons are going to love him.” They always go for the vicious ones.
Dain squeezes my hand gently. “Just steer clear of him.”
I blink. The advice is so different from Xaden’s throw-a-few-daggers-at-his-head approach.
Xaden. The knot of guilt that’s been lodged in my stomach since last week grows a fraction bigger. By code, I should tell Dain about seeing marked ones under the oak tree, but I won’t, not because I told Xaden that I wouldn’t but because keeping the secret feels like the right thing to do.
I’ve never kept a secret from Dain in my life.
“Violet? Did you hear me?” Dain asks, lifting a hand to cradle my face.
Jerking my gaze to his, I nod and repeat, “Steer clear of Barlowe.”
He drops his hand and shoves it into a pocket of his pants. “Hopefully he’ll forget all about his little vendetta against you.”
“Do most men forget when a woman holds a knife to their balls?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
“No.” He sighs. “You know, it’s not too late to sneak you down to the scribes. Fitzgibbons will take you—”
The bells ring, marking quarter past five and saving me from another session of Dain begging me to run away to the Scribe Quadrant.
“I’ll be all right. I’ll see you at formation.” I give his hand a squeeze, then walk away, leaving him as I make my way to the kitchen. I’m always the first here, and today is no exception.
I pocket the vial of dried, powdered fonilee berries from my satchel and get started as the other workers come in, sleepy-eyed and grumbly. The powder is nearly white, nearly invisible as I take my place in the serving line an hour later, and completely undetectable as I sprinkle it over Oren Seifert’s scrambled eggs when he approaches.
…
“Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from at Threshing,” Professor Kaori says, his serious, dark eyes slashing toward his nose as he studies the new recruits for a beat, then he changes the projection he’s conjured from a Green Daggertail to a Red Scorpiontail. He’s an illusionist and the only professor in the quadrant with the signet ability to project what he sees in his mind, which makes this class one of my favorites. He’s also the reason I knew exactly what Oren Seifert looked like.
Do I feel guilty about blatantly misleading a professor about why I needed to find another cadet? No. Do I think it’s cheating? Also no. I was doing exactly what Mira suggested and using my brain.
The Red Scorpiontail in the center of our circled tables is a fraction of its actual size, six feet tall at most, but it’s an exact replica of the actual firebreather waiting in the Vale for Threshing.
“Red Scorpiontails, like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper,” Professor Kaori continues, his perfectly trimmed mustache curving as he smiles at the illusion like he’s the dragon himself. We all take notes. “So if you offend him, you’re—”
“Lunch,” Ridoc says from my left, and the class laughs. Even Jack Barlowe, who hasn’t quit glaring at me since his squad took over their quarter of the room a half hour ago, snorts.
“Precisely,” Professor Kaori responds. “So what’s the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?” He glances around the room.
I know the answer, but I keep my hand to myself, heeding Dain’s advice to lay low.
“You don’t,” Rhiannon mutters next to me, and I huff a laugh under my breath.
“They prefer that you approach from the left and from the front, if possible,” a woman from one of the other squads answers.
“Excellent.” Professor Kaori nods. “For this Threshing, there are three Red Scorpiontails willing to bond.” The image changes in front of us to a different dragon.
“How many dragons are there in total?” Rhiannon asks.
“A hundred for this year,” Professor Kaori answers, changing the image again. “But some might change their minds during Presentation in about two months, depending on what they see.”
My stomach hits the floor. “That’s thirty-seven fewer than last year.” Maybe even fewer if they don’t like the look of us after we have to parade by them for their perusal two days before Threshing. Then again, there’s usually fewer cadets after that particular event anyway.
Professor Kaori’s dark eyebrows rise. “Yes, Cadet Sorrengail, it is, and twenty-six fewer than the year before that.”
Fewer dragons are choosing to bond, but the number of riders entering the quadrant has remained steady. My mind whirls. Attacks at the eastern borders are increasing, according to every Battle Brief, and yet there are fewer dragons willing to bond in order to defend Navarre.
“Will they tell you why they won’t bond?” another first-year asks.
“No, jackass,” Jack scoffs, his icy-blue gaze narrowing on the cadet. “Dragons only talk to their bonded riders, just like they only give their full name to their bonded rider. You should know that by now.”
Professor Kaori sends Jack a look that shuts the first-year’s mouth but doesn’t stop him from sneering at the other cadet. “They don’t share their reasons,” our instructor says. “And anyone who respects their life won’t ask a question they’re not willing to answer.”
“Do the numbers affect the wards?” Aurelie asks from where she sits behind me, tapping her quill against the edge of her desk. She’s never happy sitting still.
Professor Kaori’s jaw ticks twice. “We’re not sure. The number of bonded dragons has never affected the integrity of Navarre’s wards before, but I’m not about to lie to you and say that we’re not seeing increased breaches when you know from Battle Brief that we are.”
The wards are faltering at a rate that makes my stomach tense every time Professor Devera starts our daily Battle Brief. Either we’re weakening or our enemies are getting stronger. Both possibilities mean the cadets in this room are needed more than ever.
Even me.
The image changes to Sgaeyl, the navy-blue dragon bonded to Xaden.
My stomach pitches as I remember the way she looked right through me that first day.
“You won’t have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this Threshing, but you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her,” Professor Kaori says.
“So you can fucking run,” Ridoc drawls.
I nod along while others laugh.
“She’s a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should…definitely find somewhere else to be. Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. In fact, if you see any of the blues, don’t approach them. Just…”
“Run,” Ridoc repeats, raking his hand through his floppy brown hair.
“Run,” Professor Kaori agrees with a smile, the mustache above his top lip quivering slightly. “There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you’ll find them all along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense. They’re all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all.”
My breath catches. No wonder Xaden can wield shadows—shadows that can yank daggers out of trees, shadows that can probably throw those same daggers. And yet…he let me live. I shove the kernel of warmth that thought gives me far, far away.
Probably just to screw with you, a monster playing with his prey before pouncing.
“What about the black dragon?” the first-year next to Jack asks. “There’s one here, right?”
Jack’s face lights up. “I want that one.”
“Not that it’s going to matter.” Professor Kaori flicks his wrist and Sgaeyl disappears, and a massive black dragon takes her place. Even the illusion is bigger, making me crane my neck slightly to see its head. “But just to appease your curiosity, since this is the only time you’ll ever see him, here is the only other black besides General Melgren’s.”
“He’s huge,” Rhiannon says. “And is that a clubtail?”
“No. A morningstartail. He has the same bludgeoning power of a clubtail, but those spikes will eviscerate a person just as well as a daggertail.”
“Best of both worlds,” Jack calls out. “He looks like a killing machine.”
“He is,” Professor Kaori answers. “And honestly, I haven’t seen him in the last five years, so this image is more than a little outdated. But since we have him up here, what can you tell me about black dragons?”
“They’re the smartest and most discerning,” Aurelie calls out.
“They’re the rarest,” I add in. “There hasn’t been one born in the last…century.”
“Correct.” Professor Kaori spins the illusion again, and I’m met with a pair of glaring yellow eyes. “They’re also the most cunning. There’s no such thing as outsmarting a black dragon. This one is a little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged. He’s revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish rebellion. Add to it that he’s a morningstartail, and he’s one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre.”
“I bet he powers one hell of a signet. How do you approach him?” Jack asks, leaning forward in his seat. There’s pure avarice in his eyes, mirrored by his friend next to him.
That’s the last thing this kingdom needs, someone as cruel as Jack bonding to a black dragon. No thank you.
“You don’t,” Professor Kaori answers. “He hasn’t agreed to bond since his previous and only rider was killed during the uprising, and the only way you’d ever be near him is if you’re in the Vale, which you won’t be, because you’d be incinerated before you ever got through the gorge.”
The pale redhead across the circle from me shifts in her seat and tugs her sleeve down to cover her rebellion relic.
“Someone should ask him again,” Jack urges.
“It doesn’t work that way, Barlowe. Now, there is only one other black dragon, which is in service—”
“General Melgren’s,” Sawyer says. His book is closed in front of him, but I can’t blame him. I’d hardly be taking notes, either, if this was the second time I’d gone through this class. “Codagh, right?”
“Yes.” Professor Kaori nods. “The eldest of their den and a swordtail.”
“But just for curiosity’s sake.” Jack’s glacial-blue gaze doesn’t stray from the illusion of the unbonded black dragon still being projected. “What signet ability would this guy gift his rider?”
Professor Kaori closes his fist, and the illusion disappears. “There’s no telling. Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet.”
“Fine. What was his previous rider’s?” Jack asks.
“Naolin’s signet was siphoning.” Professor Kaori’s shoulders fall. “He could absorb power from various sources, other dragons, other riders, and then use it or redistribute it.”
“Badass.” Ridoc’s tone has more than a little hero worship.
“He was,” Professor Kaori agrees.
“What kills someone with that kind of signet?” Jack asks, crossing his arms over his thick chest.
Professor Kaori glances at me for a heartbeat before looking away. “He attempted to use that power to revive a fallen rider—which didn’t work, because there’s no signet capable of resurrection—and depleted himself in the process. To use a phrase you’ll become accustomed to after Threshing, he burned out and died next to that rider.”
Something in my chest shifts, a feeling that I can’t explain and yet can’t shake.
The bells ring, signaling the hour is up, and we all begin to gather our things. The squads filter out to the hallway, emptying the room, and I rise from behind my desk, shouldering my satchel as Rhiannon waits for me by the door, a puzzled expression on her face. “It was Brennan, wasn’t it?” I ask Professor Kaori.
Sadness fills his gaze as he meets mine. “Yes. He died trying to save your brother, but Brennan was too far gone.”
“Why would he do that?” I shift the weight of my satchel. “Resurrection isn’t possible. Why would he essentially kill himself when Brennan was already gone?” A stampede of grief tramples my heart, stealing my breath. Brennan never would have wanted anyone to die for him. That wasn’t in his nature.
Professor Kaori sits back against his desk, pulling at the short, dark hairs of his mustache as he stares at me. “Being a Sorrengail doesn’t do you any favors in here, does it?”
I shake my head. “There are more than a few cadets who would like to take me—and my last name—down a peg.”
He nods. “It won’t be like that once you leave. After graduation, you’ll find that being General Sorrengail’s daughter means others will do just about anything to keep you alive, even pleased, not because they love your mother but because they either fear her or want her favor.”
“Which was Naolin?”
“A little bit of both. And sometimes it’s hard for a rider with a signet that powerful to accept his limits. After all, bonding makes you a rider, but resurrecting someone from the dead? Now, that makes you a god. I somehow don’t think that Malek takes kindly to a mortal treading on his territory.”
“Thank you for answering.” I turn and start toward the door.
“Violet,” Professor Kaori calls out, and I pivot to look back. “I taught both your siblings. A signet like mine is too useful here in the classroom to let me deploy with a wing for long. Brennan was a spectacular rider and a good man. Mira is shrewd and gifted in the seat when it comes to riding.”
I nod.
“But you’re smarter than both of them.”
I blink. It’s not often I get compared to my brother and sister and somehow come out on top.
“From what I’ve seen of you helping your friend study in commons every night, it seems you might be more compassionate, too. Don’t forget that.”
“Thank you, but being smart and compassionate isn’t going to help me when it comes to Threshing.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes. “You know more about dragons than anyone else in the quadrant, probably anyone else on the Continent. They choose strength and shrewdness.”
“They choose for reasons they don’t see fit to share with us.” He pushes off his desk. “And not all strength is physical, Violet.”
I nod, because I can’t find any appropriate words for his well-intentioned flattery, and head over to meet Rhiannon at the door. The only thing I know for certain right now is that compassion isn’t going to help me on the mat after lunch.
…
I’m so nervous I could puke as I stand at the side of the wide black mat, watching Rhiannon beat the ever-loving shit out of her opponent. It’s a guy from Second Wing, and it takes almost no time for her to get him into a headlock, cutting off his air supply. It’s a move she’s tried her best to drill into me over the last couple of weeks.
“She makes it look so easy,” I say to Dain as he stands at my side, his elbow brushing mine.
“He’s going to try to kill you.”
“What?” I glance up, then follow his line of sight two mats over.
Dain’s glaring daggers at Xaden across the mat, a look of sheer boredom on his face as Rhiannon squeezes the neck of the Second Wing first-year tighter.
“Your opponent,” Dain says softly. “I overheard him and a few friends. They think you’re a liability to the wing thanks to that Barlowe kid.” His gaze shifts to Oren, who’s sizing me up like a damned plaything he’s planning on breaking.
But there’s a greenish twinge to his complexion that makes me grin.
“I’m going to be fine,” I recite, because that’s my fucking mantra. I’m stripped down to the dragon-scale vest that’s starting to feel like a second skin and my fighting leathers. All four of my daggers are sheathed, and if my plan goes correctly, I’ll have one more to add to my collection soon.
The Second Wing first-year passes out, and Rhiannon rises victorious as we clap. Then she leans over her opponent and removes the dagger at his side. “Looks like this is mine now. Enjoy your nap.” She pats him on the head, which makes me laugh.
“Not sure why you’re laughing, Sorrengail,” a sneering voice calls out from behind me.
I turn around and see Jack standing with his feet apart against the wood-planked wall about ten feet away, wearing a smile that can only be described as evil.
“Fuck off, Barlowe.” I gift him the middle finger.
“I honestly hope you win today’s challenge.” His eyes dance with a sadistic glee that makes me queasy. “It would be a shame for someone else to kill you before I get the chance. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Violets are such delicate…fragile things, you know.”
Delicate, my ass.
He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.
I unsheathe both daggers from my ribs and flick them in his direction in one smooth movement. They land right where I intended—one nearly nicking his ear and the other an inch beneath his balls.
Fear widens his eyes.
I shamelessly grin and wiggle my fingers in a wave.
“Violet,” Dain hisses as Jack maneuvers around my blades, stepping away from the wall.
“You’ll pay for that.” Jack points at me and stalks off, but the rise and fall of his shoulders is a little choppy.
I watch his back retreat, then retrieve my daggers, sheathing them at my ribs before returning to Dain’s side.
“What the hell was that?” he seethes. “I told you to lay low when it comes to him, and you…” He shakes his head at me. “You just piss him off even more?”
“Laying low wasn’t getting me anywhere,” I say with a shrug as Rhiannon’s opponent is carried off the mat. “He needs to realize I’m not a liability.” And I’ll be harder to kill than he thinks.
There’s no ignoring the prickle at my scalp, and I let my gaze shift to meet Xaden’s.
My heart does that damn stuttering thing again, as if he’d sent shadows straight through my ribs to squeeze the organ. He lifts his scarred brow, and I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he leaves, walking over to observe the Fourth Wing cadets at the next mat.
“Badass,” Rhiannon says as she moves to my other side. “I thought Jack was going to shit himself.”
I smother a smile.
“Stop encouraging her,” Dain chastises.
“Sorrengail.” Professor Emetterio glances at his notebook and raises one bushy black brow before continuing. “Seifert.”
Swallowing back the panic that threatens to creep up my throat, I step onto the mat opposite Oren, who’s definitely looking green now.
Right on time.
I’ve prepared the best I can, wrapping my ankles and my knees just in case he goes for the legs.
“Don’t take this personally,” he says as we start to circle, both our hands raised. “But you’ll only be a hazard to your wing.”
He charges at me, but his footwork is sluggish and I spin away, landing a punch to his kidney before bouncing back on my heels and palming a dagger.
“I’m no more a hazard than you are,” I accuse.
His chest heaves once and sweat dots his forehead, but he shakes it off, blinking rapidly as he reaches for his own knife. “My sister is a healer. I’ve heard your bones snap like twigs.”
“Why don’t you come find out?” I force a smile and wait for him to charge again, because that’s what he does. I’ve had three sessions to watch him from a few mats over. He’s a bull, all power and no grace.
His entire body rolls like he’s going to vomit, and he covers his mouth with his empty hand, breathing deeply before standing straight again. I should attack, but instead I wait. And then he charges, his blade held high in a striking position.
My heart pounds as I wait the torturous heartbeats it takes for him to reach me, my brain somehow convincing my body to hold my ground until the last possible second. He swings his knife downward, and I dodge to the left, nicking his side with my blade in the process, then turn and deliver a kick to his back, sending him sprawling.
Now.
He falls to the mat, and I take immediate advantage, digging a knee into his spine just like Imogen had with me and putting my blade to his throat. “Yield.” Who needs strength when you have speed and steel?
“No!” he shouts, but his body undulates under mine, and he retches, bringing up everything he’s eaten since breakfast and splattering it across the mat to the side of us.
So fucking gross.
“Oh my gods,” Rhiannon calls out, disgust dripping from her tone.
“Yield,” I demand again, but he’s heaving in earnest now and I have to pull my knife away so I don’t accidentally slit his throat.
“He yields,” Professor Emetterio declares, his face contorted in revulsion.
I sheathe my blade and climb off him, dodging the puddles of sick. Then I take the dagger Oren dropped a few feet back as he continues to vomit. The knife is heavier and longer than my others, but it’s mine now, and I earned it. I sheathe it in an empty place at my left thigh.
“You won!” Rhiannon says, clasping me in a hug as I walk off the mat.
“He’s sick,” I say with a shrug.
“I’ll take being lucky over being good any day,” Rhiannon counters.
“I have to find someone to get this cleaned up,” Dain says, his own complexion turning peaked.
I won.
…
Timing is the hardest thing about my plan.
I win the next week when a stocky girl from First Wing can’t concentrate long enough to throw a decent punch thanks to a few leighorrel mushrooms and their hallucinogenic properties that somehow wind up in her lunch. She gets in a good kick to my knee, but it’s nothing a few days in a wrap won’t heal.
I win the week after that when a tall guy from Third Wing stumbles because his large feet temporarily lose all feeling, courtesy of the zihna root that grows on one outcropping near the ravine. My timing is off a little, though, and he lands a few good punches to my face, leaving me with a split lip and a bruise that colors my cheek for the next eleven days, but at least he doesn’t break my jaw.
I win again the next week when a buxom cadet’s vision turns blurry mid-match, on account of the tarsilla leaves that found their way into her tea. She’s fast, tossing me to the mat and delivering some overwhelmingly painful kicks to my abdomen that leave colorful contusions and one distinct boot print on my ribs. I almost broke down and went to see Nolon after that one, but I gritted my teeth and wrapped my ribs, determined not to give the others a reason to weed me out like Jack or any marked ones wanted.
I earn my fifth dagger, this one with a pretty ruby in the hilt, the last challenge in August when I take a particularly sweaty guy with a gap between his front teeth to the mat. The bark of the carmine tree that finds its way into his waterskin makes him sluggish and ill. The effects are a little too similar to the fonilee berries, and it’s just a shame that the entire Third Squad, Claw Section of Third Wing is suffering the same stomach upset. Must be something viral, at least that’s what I say when he finally yields to my headlock after dislocating my thumb and nearly breaking my nose.
Come early September, there’s a spring in my step as I walk onto the mat. I’ve taken down five opponents without killing any of them, something a quarter of our year can’t say after almost twenty more names have been added to the death roll the last month for the first-years alone.
I roll my sore shoulders and wait for my opponent.
But Rayma Corrie from Third Wing doesn’t step forward this week like she’s supposed to.
“Sorry, Violet,” Professor Emetterio says, scratching his short black beard. “You were supposed to challenge Rayma, but she’s been taken to the healers because she can’t seem to walk in a straight line.”
Peels of the walwyn fruit will do that when ingested raw…say, like when they’re mixed into the icing of your morning pastry.
“That’s”—shit—“too bad.” I wince. You served it to her too early. “Should I just…” I start, already backing up to get off the mat.
“I’m happy to step in.” That voice. That tone. That prickle of ice along my scalp…
Oh no. Hell no. No. No. No.
“You sure?” Professor Emetterio asks, glancing over his shoulder.
“Absolutely.”
My stomach hits the floor.
And Xaden walks onto the mat.
I will not die today.
—Violet Sorrengail’s personal addendum
to the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
NINE
I’m so completely screwed.
Xaden steps forward—all six-foot-everything of him—dressed in midnight fighting leathers and a tight-fitted short-sleeve shirt that only seems to make the shimmering, dark rebellion relics on his skin seem like an even bigger warning, which I know is ridiculous but somehow true.
My heartbeat kicks up to a full gallop, as if my body knows the truth my mind hasn’t quite accepted yet. I’m about to have my ass kicked…or worse.
“You are all in for a treat,” Professor Emetterio says, clapping his hands. “Xaden’s one of the best fighters we have. Watch and learn.”
“Of course you are,” I mutter, my stomach twisting like I’m the one who’s been snacking on walwyn fruit peels.
A corner of Xaden’s mouth rises in a smirk, and the gold flecks in his eyes seem to dance. The sadistic ass is enjoying this.
My knees, ankles, and wrist are wrapped, the white cloth protecting my healing thumb a startling contrast against my black leathers.
“A little out of her league, don’t you think?” Dain argues from the side of the mat, tension radiating from every word.
“Relax, Aetos.” Xaden looks over my shoulder, his gaze hardening toward where I know Dain is standing, where he always stands when I’m on the mat. The look Xaden gives him makes me realize he’s been taking it easy on me in the glaring department. “She’ll be in one piece when I’m finished teaching her.”
“I hardly think it’s fair—” Dain’s voice rises.
“No one asked you to think, squad leader,” Xaden fires back as he moves to the side, discarding every weapon on his body—and there’s a lot of them—and handing them to Imogen.
The bitter, illogical taste of jealousy fills my mouth, but there’s no time to examine that particular oddity, not when there’re only seconds before he’s in front of me again.
“You don’t think you’ll need those?” I ask, palming my own blades. His chest is massive, with wide shoulders and heavily muscled arms alongside. A target this big should be easy to hit.
“Nope. Not when you brought enough for the both of us.” A wicked smile curves his mouth as he stretches out his hand and curls his fingers in a come-hither motion. “Let’s go.”
My heart beats faster than the wings of a hummingbird as I take a fighting stance and wait for him to strike. This mat is only twenty feet in either direction, and yet my entire world narrows to its confines and the danger within.
He’s not in my squad. He can kill me without punishment.
I fling a dagger straight at his ridiculously well-sculpted chest.
He fucking catches it and clucks his tongue. “Already seen that move.”
Holy shit is he fast.
I have to be faster. It’s the single advantage I have—that’s my only thought as I move forward in a swipe-and-kick combo Rhiannon’s drilled into me over the past six weeks. He artfully dodges my blade and then captures my leg. The earth spins and I slam onto my back, the sudden impact driving the air from my lungs.
But he doesn’t go for the kill. Instead, he drops the dagger he’s caught and kicks it off the mat, and a second later, when air squeaks into my lungs, I lunge up with the next blade, going for his thigh.
He blocks my strike with his forearm, then grips my wrist with his opposite hand and plucks the knife out of my hand, leaning down so his face is only inches from mine. “Going for blood today, are we, Violence?” he whispers. Metal hits the mat again and he kicks it past my head and out of my reach.
He’s not taking my daggers to use against me; he’s disarming me just to prove he can. My blood boils.
“My name is Violet,” I seethe.
“I think my version fits you better.” He releases my wrist and stands, offering me a hand. “We’re not done yet.”
My chest heaves, still recovering from the way he’s knocked the wind out of me, and I take the offering. He tugs me to my feet, then twists my arm behind my back and yanks me against his hard chest, pinning our joined hands before I have a chance to get my balance.
“Damn it!” I snap.
There’s a tug at my thigh and another of my daggers is pressed to my throat as his chest rests against the back of my head. His forearm is locked across my ribs, and he might as well be a statue for all the give there is in his frame. There’s no use slamming my head back—he’s so tall that I’d only annoy him.
“Don’t trust a single person who faces you on this mat,” he warns in a hiss, his breath warm against the shell of my ear, and even though we’re surrounded by people, I realize he’s quiet for a reason. This lesson is just for me.
“Even someone who owes me a favor?” I counter, my voice just as low. My shoulder starts to protest the unnatural angle, but I don’t move. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
He drops the third dagger he’s taken from me and kicks it forward—to where Dain stands, the other two already in his hand. There’s murder in his eyes as he glares at Xaden.
“I’m the one who decides when to grant that favor. Not you.” Xaden releases my hand and steps back.
I whirl, punching for his throat, and he knocks my hand aside.
“Good,” he says with a smile, deflecting my next blow without so much as a hitch to his breath. “Going for the throat is your best option, as long as it’s exposed.”
Fury makes me kick out again in the same pattern, muscle memory taking over, and he captures that leg again, this time snatching the dagger sheathed there and dropping it to the mat before he lets me go, cocking a disappointed eyebrow at me. “I expect you to learn from your mistakes.” He kicks it away.
I only have five left, all sheathed at my ribs.
Gripping one and putting my hands up defensively, I begin to circle him, and to my absolute annoyance, he doesn’t even bother facing me. He just stands there in the center of the mat, his boots planted and his arms loose as I move around him.
“You going to prance or are you going to strike?”
Fuck him.
I punch forward, but he dips and my knife sails over his shoulder, missing him by six inches. My stomach drops as he grips my arm, yanking me forward and flipping me around the side of his body. I’m airborne for a heartbeat before I smack into the mat, my ribs taking the impact.
He cranks my arm into a submission hold and white-hot pain shoots down the limb as I cry out, dropping the dagger, but he’s not done. No, his knee is in my ribs and, though he holds my arm captive with one hand, the other plucks a dagger from its sheath and flings it toward Dain’s feet before taking another and holding it to the tender area where my jaw meets my neck.
Then he leans closer. “Taking out your enemy before the battle is really smart; I’ll give that to you,” he whispers, his warm breath brushing the shell of my ear.
Oh gods. He knows what I’ve been doing. The pain in my arm is nothing compared to the nausea churning in my stomach at the thought of what he might do with that knowledge.
“Problem is, if you aren’t testing yourself in here”—he scrapes the dagger down my neck, but there’s no warm trickle of blood, so I know he hasn’t cut me—“then you’re not going to get any better.”
“You’d rather I die, no doubt,” I fire back, the side of my face pressed into the mat. This isn’t just painful, it’s humiliating.
“And be denied the pleasure of your company?” he mocks.
“I fucking hate you.” The words are past my lips before I can shut my mouth.
“That doesn’t make you special.”
The pressure releases from my chest and arm as he gets on his feet, kicking both daggers toward Dain.
Two more. I only have two more, and now my indignation and anger far outweigh my fear.
Ignoring Xaden’s outstretched hand, I gain my feet and his lips curve into an approving smile. “She can be taught.”
“She’s a quick learner,” I retort.
“That remains to be seen.” He backs up two steps, putting a little space between us before crooking his fingers at me again.
“You’ve made your damn point,” I snap loud enough that I hear Imogen gasp.
“Trust me, I’ve barely gotten started.” He folds his arms and leans back on his heels, clearly waiting for me to move.
I don’t think. I just act, going low and kicking out the backs of his knees.
He goes down like a tree, the sound more than satisfying, and I pounce, trying for a headlock. Doesn’t matter how big someone is—they still need air. Catching his throat in the crook of my elbow, I squeeze.
Instead of going for my arms, he twists, grabbing ahold of the backs of my thighs so I lose my leverage and our bodies careen into a roll. He comes out on top.
Of course he does.
His forearm rests against my throat, not cutting off air but definitely capable of it, and his hips have mine pinned, my legs useless on either side of his as he lies heavily between my thighs. He’s unmovable.
Everything around us fades as my world narrows to the arrogant glint in his gaze. He’s all I can see, all I can feel.
And I can’t let him win.
I slip one of my last daggers free and go for his shoulder.
He seizes my wrist and pins it above my head.
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
Heat rushes up my neck and flames lick my cheeks as he lowers his face so his lips are only inches away from mine. I can make out every speck of gold in his onyx eyes, every bump and ridge of his scar.
Beautiful. Fucking. Asshole.
My breath catches and my body warms, the traitorous bitch. You are not attracted to toxic men, I remind myself, and yet, here I am, getting all attracted. I have been since the first second I saw him, if I feel like being honest.
He pushes his fingers into my fist, forcing it open, then sends the blade skittering across the mat before letting go of my wrist.
“Get your dagger,” he orders.
“What?” My eyes fly wide. He has me defenseless and in the kill position already.
“Get. Your. Dagger,” he repeats, taking my hand in his and retrieving the last blade I have. His fingers curl over mine, clasping the hilt.
Fire races along my skin at the feel of his fingers lacing with mine.
Toxic. Dangerous. Wants to kill you. Nope, doesn’t matter. My pulse still skitters like a teenager.
“You’re tiny.” He says it like an insult.
“Well aware.” My eyes narrow.
“So stop going for bigger moves that expose you.” He drags the tip of the dagger down his side. “A rib shot would have worked just fine.” Then he guides our hands around his back, making himself vulnerable. “Kidneys are a good fit from this angle, too.”
I swallow, refusing to think of other things that are a good fit at this angle.
He leads our hands to his waist, his gaze never leaving mine. “Chances are, if your opponent is in armor, it’s weak here. Those are three easy places you could have struck before your opponent would have had time to stop you.”
They’re also fatal wounds, and I’ve avoided those at all costs.
“Do you hear me?”
I nod.
“Good. Because you can’t poison every enemy you come across,” he whispers, and I blanche. “You’re not going to have time to offer tea to some Braevi gryphon rider when they come at you.”
“How did you know?” I finally ask. My muscles lock, including my thighs, which just happen to still be bracketing his hips.
His eyes darken. “Oh, Violence, you’re good, but I’ve known better poison masters. The trick is to not make it quite so obvious.”
My lips part, and I bite back a retort that I was careful not to be obvious.
“I think she’s been taught enough for the day,” Dain barks, reminding me that we’re far from alone. No, we’re a damned spectacle.
“He always that overprotective?” Xaden grumbles, pressing up from the mat a few inches.
“He cares about me.” I glare at him.
“He’s holding you back. Don’t worry. Your little poisoning secret is safe with me.” Xaden arches a brow as if to remind me that I’m the keeper of one of his secrets, too. Then he guides our hands back to my ribs and slides the ruby-hilted blade back into its sheath.
The move is unnervingly…hot.
“You’re not going to disarm me?” I challenge as he releases his grip and pushes up more, removing his weight from my body. My ribs expand as I take my first full breath.
“Nope. Defenseless women have never been my type. We’re done for today.” He stands, then walks away without another word, taking his weapons from Imogen as I roll to my knees. Every part of my body aches, but I manage to stand.
There’s pure relief in Dain’s eyes when I reach his side to retrieve the daggers Xaden took from me. “You all right?”
I nod, my fingers trembling as I rearm myself. He’s had every chance, and every reason, to kill me, and now he’s let me walk away twice. What kind of game is he playing?
“Aetos,” Xaden calls out from across the mat.
Dain’s head snaps up and his jaw locks.
“She could use a little less protection and a little more instruction.” Xaden stares Dain down until he nods.
Professor Emetterio calls the next challenge.
…
“I’m just surprised he let you live,” Dain says later that night in his room as his thumbs dig into the muscle between my neck and shoulder.
It hurts so deliciously, it was well worth the pain of sneaking up here.
“I hardly think he’d command respect by snapping my neck on the mat.” His blankets are soft against my belly and chest as I lay on his bed, bare from the waist up except for the constricting band around my breasts and ribs. “Besides, that’s not his way.”
Dain’s hands pause on my skin. “Because you know what his way is?”
The guilt of keeping Xaden’s secret makes my stomach drop. “He told me he didn’t see a reason to kill me himself when the parapet would do it,” I answer truthfully. “And let’s face it, he’s had plenty of chances to take me out if he really wanted.”
“Hmm.” Dain hums in that thoughtful tone of his, continuing to work out my stiff and aching muscles as he leans over from the side of his bed. Rhiannon drilled me for another two hours after dinner, and I was barely able to move by the end of it.
Guess I wasn’t the only one Xaden scared this afternoon.
“Do you think he could be plotting against Navarre and still have bonded Sgaeyl?” I ask, my cheek against his blanket.
“I did at first.” His hands move down my spine, pressing into the knots that made lifting my arms almost impossible that last half hour of training tonight. “But then I bonded Cath, and I realized that dragons would do anything to protect the Vale and their sacred hatching grounds. There’s no way any dragon would have bonded Riorson or any of the separatists if they weren’t honest about protecting Navarre.”
“But would a dragon even know if you were lying?” I turn my head so I can see his face.
“Yeah.” He grins. “Cath would know because he’s in my head. It’s impossible to hide something like that from your dragon.”
“Is he always in your head?” I know it’s against the rules to ask—almost everything about bonds are off-limits for discussion, given how secretive dragons are, but it’s Dain.
“Yeah,” he answers, his smile softening. “I can block him out if I need to, and they’ll teach you that after Threshing—” His expression falls.
“What is it?” I sit up, sliding one of his pillows across my chest and leaning back against the headboard.
“I talked to Colonel Markham this evening.” He walks over and pulls his chair out from his desk and takes a seat, then rests his head in his hands.
“Did something happen?” Fear races down my spine. “Is it Mira’s wing?”
“No!” Dain’s head snaps up, and there’s so much misery in his eyes that I swing my feet off the bed. “It’s nothing like that. I told him…that I think Riorson wants to kill you.”
I blink, sitting fully back onto the bed. “Oh. Well, that’s not really news, is it? Everyone who’s read a history of the rebellion can put two and two together, Dain.”
“Yeah, well, I told him about Barlowe, too, and Seifert.” He rubs his hand over his hair. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way Seifert shoved you into the wall before formation this morning.” He lifts his brows at me.
“He’s just pissed that I took his dagger at that first challenge.” I squeeze the pillow tighter.
“And Rhiannon told me you found crushed flowers on your bed last week?” He stares me down.
I shrug. “They were just dead flowers.”
“They were mutilated violets.” His mouth tightens and I go to him, resting my hands on his head.
“It’s not like they came with a death note or anything,” I tease, stroking his soft brown hair.
He looks up at me, the mage lights making his eyes a little brighter above his trim beard. “They’re threats.”
I shrug. “Every cadet gets threatened.”
“Every cadet doesn’t have to wrap their knees every day,” he fires back.
“The injured ones do.” My brow furrows, annoyance taking root in my chest. “Why would you tell Markham about it anyway? He’s a scribe, and there’s nothing he would do even if he could.”
“He said he’d still take you,” Dain blurts, his hands flying to my hips, holding me in place when I try to step away. “I asked him if he’d allow you into the Scribe Quadrant for your own safety, and he said yes. They’d put you with the first-years. It’s not like you’d have to wait until next Conscription Day or anything.”
“You what?” I twist, breaking my hold, and back away from my best friend.
“I saw a way to get you out of danger, and I took it.” He stands.
“You went behind my back because you think I’m not cutting it.” The truth of the words tightens around my chest like a vise, cutting off my air instead of holding me together, leaving me weak and breathless. Dain knows me better than anyone, and if he still thinks I can’t do this after I’ve made it this far…
Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Instead, I tuck my chin and grab my dragon-scale vest, pull it over my head, then wrench the laces together at the small of my back and tie them.
Dain sighs. “I never said I don’t think you can cut it, Violet.”
“You say it every day!” I snap. “You say it when you walk me from formation to class, which I know makes you late for flight line. You say it when you yell at your wingleader when he takes me to the mat—”
“He had no right to—”
“He’s my wingleader!” I shrug my tunic over my head. “He has the right to do whatever he wants—including execute me.”
“And that’s why you need to get the hell out of here!” Dain laces his fingers behind his neck and begins to pace. “I’ve been watching, Vi. He’s just toying with you, like a cat plays with a mouse before the kill.”
“I’ve held my own so far.” My satchel is heavy with books as I settle it over my shoulder. “I’ve won every challenge—”
“Except today when he wiped the floor with you time and again.” He grasps my shoulders. “Or did you miss the part where he took every weapon so you knew exactly how easy it is to defeat you?”
I raise my chin and glare at him. “I was there, and I’ve survived almost two months in this place, which is more than I can say for a fourth of my year!”
“Do you know what happens at Threshing?” he asks, his tone dropping.
“Are you calling me ignorant?” Rage bubbles in my veins.
“It’s not just about bonding,” he continues. “They throw every first-year into the training grounds, the ones you’ve never been to, and then the second- and third-years are supposed to watch as you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from.”
“I know how it works.” My jaw clenches.
“Yeah, well, while the riders are watching, the first-years are taking out their vendettas and eliminating any…liabilities to the wing.”
“I’m not a damned liability.” My chest tightens again, because deep down I know, on the physical level, that I am.
“Not to me,” he whispers, a hand rising to cradle my cheek. “But they don’t know you the way I do, Vi. And while the first-years like Barlowe and Seifert are hunting you, we’ll have to watch. I’ll have to watch, Violet.” The break in his voice takes the anger right out of me. “We are not allowed to help you. To save you.”
“Dain—”
“And when they gather the bodies for the roll, no one’s going to document how that cadet died. You’re just as likely to fall under Barlowe’s knife as a dragon’s talon.”
I breathe through the jolt of fear.
“Markham says that he’ll put you through the first year without telling your mother. By the time she finds out, you’ll already be inducted as a scribe. There’s nothing she can do after that.” He lifts his other hand so he’s holding my face between both palms, tipping it up toward his. “Please. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.”
My heart stutters, and I sway, his reasoning tugging me toward exactly what he’s suggesting. But you’ve made it this far, a part of me whispers.
“I can’t lose you, Violet,” he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. “I just…can’t.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is my way out, and yet, I don’t want to take it.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it,” he begs. “We still have four weeks until Threshing. Just…think about it.” The hope in his tone and the tender way he holds me cuts through my defenses.
“I’ll think about it.”
Don’t underestimate the challenge of the Gauntlet, Mira. It’s designed to test your balance, strength, and agility. The times don’t matter for shit, only that you make it to the top. Reach for the ropes when you have to. Coming in last is better than coming in dead.
—Page forty-six, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
TEN
I look up, and up, and up, fear coiling in my stomach like a snake ready to strike.
“Well, that’s…” Rhiannon swallows, her head tilted just as far back as mine as we stare at the menacing obstacle course that’s carved into the front of a ridgeline so steep, it might as well be a cliff. The zigzagging death trap of a trail rises above us, climbing in five distinct switchbacks of 180-degree turns, each increasing in difficulty on the way to the top of the bluff that divides the citadel from the flight field and the Vale.
“Amazing.” Aurelie sighs.
Rhiannon and I turn, both staring at her like she must have hit her head.
“You think that hellscape looks amazing?” Rhiannon asks.
“I’ve been waiting years for this!” Aurelie grins, her normally serious black eyes dancing in the morning sun as she rubs her hands together, shifting from one toned leg to the other in glee. “My dad—he was a rider until he retired last year—used to set up obstacle courses like this all the time so we could practice, and Chase, my brother, said it’s the best part of being here before Threshing. It’s a real adrenaline rush.”
“He’s with the Southern Wing, right?” I ask, focusing on the obstacle course running up the side of a fucking cliff. It looks more like a death trap than an adrenaline rush, but sure, we can go with that. Positive thinking for the win, right?
“Yep. Pretty much desk duty for all the action they see near the Krovlan border.” She shrugs and points about two-thirds up the course. “He said to watch out for those giant posts jutting from the side of the cliff. They spin, and you can get crushed between them if you’re not fast enough.”
“Oh, good, I was wondering when it might get difficult,” Rhiannon mutters.
“Thanks, Aurelie.” I locate the series of nearly touching, three-foot-wide logs that jut out from the rocky terrain like a set of round steps rising from the ground to the switchback above it and nod. Go fast. Got it. You could have included that tidbit, Brennan.
The obstacle course is the embodiment of my worst nightmare. For the first time since Dain begged me to leave last week, I consider Markham’s offer. There are no death courses in the Scribe Quadrant, that’s for certain.
But you’ve already made it this far. Ahh, there she is, the little voice that’s been riding my shoulder lately, daring to give me hope that I might actually survive Presentation.
“Still not sure why they call it the Gauntlet,” Ridoc says from my right, blowing into his cupped hands to ward off the morning chill. The sun hasn’t touched this little crevice, but it’s shining above the last quarter of the course.
“To ensure dragons keep coming to Threshing by weeding out the weaklings.” Tynan sneers from Ridoc’s other side, folding his arms over his chest as he casts a pointed look at me.
I shoot him a glare and then shake it off. He’s been pissy ever since Rhiannon handed his ass to him on the mat at assessment.
“Knock it the fuck off,” Ridoc snaps, earning the entire squad’s attention.
My eyebrows lift. I’ve never seen Ridoc lose his temper or use anything but humor to defuse a situation before.
“What’s your problem?” Tynan shoves a strand of thick, dark hair from his eyes and pivots like he’s going to stare some intimidation into Ridoc, but it doesn’t really work out, seeing as Ridoc is twice as wide and half a foot taller.
“My problem? You think because you made friends with Barlowe and Siefert that you have the right to be a dick to your own squadmate?” Ridoc challenges.
“Exactly. Squadmate.” Tynan gestures toward the obstacle course. “Our times aren’t just ranked individually, Ridoc. We’re scored as a squad, too, which is how the order for Presentation is decided. Do you really think any dragon wants to bond a cadet who walks in after every other squad in the processional?”
Fine, he has a point. It’s a shitty one, but it’s there.
“They’re not timing us for Presentation today, asshole.” Ridoc takes a step forward.
“Stop.” Sawyer shuffles between the two, shoving Tynan’s chest hard enough to make him stagger back into the girl behind him. “Take it from someone who made it through Presentation last year: your time doesn’t mean anything. The last cadet to walk in last year bonded just fine, and some of the cadets in the first squad onto the field were passed over.”
“Little bitter about that, aren’t you?” Tynan smirks.
Sawyer ignores the barb. “Besides, it’s not called the Gauntlet because it weeds out cadets.”
“It’s called the Gauntlet because this is the cliff that guards the Vale,” Professor Emetterio says, walking up behind our squad, his shaved head glinting in the growing sunlight. “Plus, actual gauntlets—armored gloves made of metal—are slippery as hell, and the name stuck about twenty years ago.” He cocks a brow at Tynan and Sawyer. “Are you two done arguing? Because all nine of you have exactly an hour to get to the top before it’s another squad’s chance to practice, and from what I’ve seen of your agility on the mat, you’re going to need every second.”
There’s a grumble of assent in our little group.
“As you know, hand-to-hand challenges are on hold for the next two and a half weeks before Presentation so you can focus here.” Professor Emetterio flips a page on the little notebook he carries. “Sawyer, you’re going to show them how it’s done, since you already have the lay of the land. Then Pryor, Trina, Tynan, Rhiannon, Ridoc, Violet, Aurelie, and Luca.” A smile curves the harsh line of his mouth as he finishes calling out every name in our squad, and we file into order. “You’re the only squad to remain intact since Parapet. That’s incredible. Your squad leader must be very proud. Wait here for a second.” He walks past us, waving at someone high up on the cliff.
No doubt that someone has a watch.
“Aetos is especially proud of Sorrengail.” Tynan gifts me with a mocking sneer once our instructor is out of hearing range.
I see red. “Look, if you want to talk shit about me, that’s one thing, but leave Dain out of it.”
“Tynan,” Sawyer warns, shaking his head.
“Like it doesn’t bother any of you that our squad leader is fucking one of us?” Tynan throws out his hands.
“I’m not—” I start, indignation getting the best of me before I can take a deep breath. “Honestly, it’s none of your godsdamned business who I’m sleeping with, Tynan.” Though if I’m going to get accused, can’t I have some of the perks? If I know Dain, he’s hung up on the whole fraternization-is-discouraged-within-the-chain-of-command thing like this asshole. But surely Dain would actually make a move if he really wanted to, right?
“It is if it means you get preferential treatment!” Luca adds in.
“For fuck’s sake,” Rhiannon mumbles, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Luca, Tynan, shut up. They’re not sleeping together. They’ve been friends since they were kids, or do you not know enough about our own leadership to know his dad is her mom’s aide?”
Tynan’s eyes widen, like he’s actually surprised. “Really?”
“Really.” I shake my head and study the course.
“Shit. I’m…sorry. Barlowe said—”
“And that’s your first mistake,” Ridoc interjects. “Listening to that sadistic ass is going to get you killed. And you’re lucky Aetos isn’t here.”
True. Dain would more than take exception to Tynan’s assumptions and probably assign him cleanup duty for a month. Good thing he’s on the flight field this time of day.
Xaden would just beat the shit out of him.
I blink, shoving that comparison and any other thought of Xaden Riorson far out of my head.
“Here we go!” Professor Emetterio walks to the head of our line. “You’ll get your time at the top of the course, if you make it, but remember, you’ll still have nine practice sessions before we rank you for Presentation in two and a half weeks, which will determine if the dragons find you worthy at Threshing.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to let first-years start practicing this thing right after Parapet?” Rhiannon asks. “You know, to give us a little more time so we don’t die?”
“No,” Professor Emetterio replies. “The timing is part of the challenge. Any words of wisdom, Sawyer?”
Sawyer blows out a slow breath, his gaze following the treacherous course. “There are ropes every six feet that run from the top of the sheer cliffside to the bottom,” he says. “So if you start to fall, reach out and grab a rope. It’ll cost you thirty seconds, but death costs you more.”
Awesome.
“I mean, there’s a perfectly good set of steps over there.” Ridoc points to the steep staircase carved into the cliff beside the wide switchbacks of the Gauntlet.
“Stairs are for reaching the flight field on the top of the ridgeline after Presentation,” Professor Emetterio says, then lifts his hands toward the course and flicks his wrist, pointing at various obstacles.
The fifteen-foot log at the start of the uphill climb begins to spin. The pillars on the third ascent shake. The giant wheel at the first switchback starts its counterclockwise rotation, and those little posts Aurelie mentioned? They all twist in opposite directions.
“Every one of the five ascents on this course is designed to mimic the challenges you’ll face in battle.” Professor Emetterio turns to look at us, his face just as stern as it is during our usual combat training. “From the balance you must keep on the back of your dragon, to the strength you’ll need to hold your seat during maneuvers, to”—he gestures upward, toward the last obstacle that looks like a ninety-degree ramp from this angle—“the stamina you’ll need to fight on the ground, then still be able to mount your dragon at a second’s notice.”
The posts knock a chunk of granite loose, and the rock tumbles down the course, smacking every obstacle in its path until it crashes twenty feet in front of us. If there was ever a metaphor for my life, well…that’s it.
“Whoa,” Trina whispers, her brown eyes wide as she stares at the pulverized rock. I’m the smallest of our squad, but Trina is the quietest, the most reserved. I can count on both hands the number of times she’s spoken to me since Parapet. If she didn’t have friends in First Wing, I’d worry, but she doesn’t have to open up to us to survive the quadrant.
“You all right?” I ask her in a whisper.
She swallows and nods, one of her auburn ringlet curls bouncing against her forehead.
“What if we can’t make it up?” Luca asks from my right, securing her long hair in a loose braid, her usual haughtiness not so in-your-face today. “What’s the alternative route?”
“There’s no alternative. If you don’t make it, you can’t get to Presentation, can you? Take your position, Sawyer,” Professor Emetterio orders, and Sawyer moves to the beginning of the course. “After he makes it past the final obstacle, so everyone can learn from this cadet completing the course, the rest of you will start every sixty seconds. And…go!”
Sawyer is off like a shot. He easily runs the fifteen feet across the single log spinning parallel with the cliff face and then the raised pillars, but it takes him three rotations inside the wheel before he jumps through the lone opening, but other than that, I don’t see a single misstep in the first ascent. Not. One.
He turns and rushes toward a series of giant hanging balls that makes up the second ascent, jumping and hugging one after another. His feet back on the ground, he turns again and heads up the third ascent, which is divided into two sections. The first part has giant metal rods hanging parallel to the cliff wall, and he easily swings arm over arm, using his body’s weight and momentum to swing the bar forward and reach the next bar hanging half a foot higher than the previous as he climbs the side of the cliff. From the last bar, he jumps onto a series of shaking pillars that make up the second half of this ascent before finally leaping back onto the gravel path.
By the time he reaches the fourth ascent, the spinning logs Aurelie’s brother warned us about, Sawyer’s made it all look like child’s play, and I start to feel a bubble of hope that maybe the course isn’t as difficult as it looks from the ground.
But then he faces a giant chimney formation rising high above him at a twenty-degree angle and pauses.
“You got this!” Rhiannon yells from my side.
As though he heard, he sprints toward the leaning chimney and flings himself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with his body, then starts hopping up the conduit until he reaches the end and drops down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.
My breath catches in my throat as Sawyer sprints toward the ramp, using his speed and momentum to carry him two-thirds of the way up the ramp. Just before he starts to fall, he reaches up with one arm and grasps the lip of the ramp and hauls himself over the edge.
Rhiannon and I scream and cheer for him. He made it. In an almost flawless approach.
“Perfect technique!” Professor Emetterio calls out. “That’s exactly what you should all be doing.”
“Perfect, and yet he was still passed over at Threshing,” Luca snarks. “Guess the dragons have some sense of taste.”
“Give it a rest, Luca,” Rhi says.
How could someone as smart and athletic as Sawyer not bond? And if he didn’t, what the hell kind of hope is there for the rest of us?
“I’m too short for the ramp,” I whisper to Rhi.
She glances over at me, and then back to the obstacle. “You’re wicked fast. If you get your speed up, I bet the momentum will take you to the top.”
Pryor—the shy cadet from the Krovlan border region—struggles on the swinging steel rods in the third ascent due to some rather predictable hesitation on his part, but he makes it just as Trina nearly falls at the shaking pillars, reaching for a rope. I can only make out the flash of red from her hair when she starts the rotating stair steps, but I hear her scream all the way to my toes as that particular rope sways near the ground.
“You can do it!” Sawyer shouts down from the top.
“They go in opposite directions!” Aurelie calls up.
“Tynan, start,” Professor Emetterio orders, watching his pocket watch and not the course.
My heart thuds in my ears when Trina makes it past the steps, and the drumming doesn’t let up as Rhiannon is called to start. She passes the first ascent with the grace I’ve come to expect from her before coming to a halt.
Tynan hangs from the second of five buoy balls on the second ascent, right where the ground drops out. If he falls, he’s got a minuscule chance of hitting the single spinning log from the first ascent and overwhelming odds of dropping thirty feet to the ground below.
“You have to keep moving, Tynan!” I shout, though it’s doubtful he can hear me from here. He might be a gullible ass, but he’s still my squadmate.
He shrieks, his arms wrapped around the swinging ball. It’s impossible for him to reach his hands completely around—that’s the point, and he’s slipping.
“He’s going to screw her time,” Aurelie says, blowing out a bored sigh.
“Good thing this is only practice, then,” Ridoc says, then bellows up at Tynan. “What’s the matter, Tynan? Scared of heights? Who’s the liability now?”
“Stop.” I elbow Ridoc in the side. He’s not quite as lean now. The last seven weeks have put some muscle on him. “Just because he’s a dick doesn’t mean you have to be.”
“But he’s giving me so much material to work with,” Ridoc replies, a corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk as he backs away, heading toward the starting position.
“Swing to the next one!” Trina suggests from the top of the course.
“I can’t!” Tynan’s shriek could break glass as it echoes down the mountain, and it makes my chest tighten.
“Ridoc, start!” Professor Emetterio commands.
Ridoc charges over the log.
“Rhi!” I shout up. “The rope is between the first and second!”
She nods down at me, then jumps for the first buoy ball, clasping it up top, near where the chains hold it to the iron rail above, and swinging her weight around the side.
It’s an utterly inspired approach, one that might just work for me.
Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I move to the starting position. Oh, look, it is possible for my heart to beat faster. The damned thing practically flutters as I wipe my clammy palms on my leather pants.
Rhiannon gets the rope into Tynan’s hand, but instead of using it to swing to the next ball, he climbs…down.
My jaw practically unhinges as he descends. Definitely didn’t see that one coming.
“Violet, begin!” Emetterio orders.
Be with me, Zihnal. I haven’t spent nearly enough time at temple for the god of luck to care much about what happens to me right now, but it’s worth a shot.
I bolt up the first part of the ascent, coming to the spinning log within seconds. My stomach feels like it’s being stirred by this balance beam from hell. “It’s just balance. You can balance,” I mumble and start across. “Quick feet. Quick feet. Quick feet,” I repeat all the way across, jumping off the end to land on the first of four granite columns, each one higher than the last.
There are about three feet between them, but I manage to leap from one pillar to the next without skidding off the ends. And this is the easy part. A knot of fear works its way up my throat.
I jump into the rotating wheel and run, leaping over the only opening as it flies by once, then watching it come around a second time. Timing. This one is all about timing.
The opportunity comes and I seize it, racing through the opening and turning back onto the gravel path of the second ascent. The buoy balls are just ahead, but I’m going to fall on my ass if I don’t calm down and get my palms to stop sweating.
Feathertail dragons are the breed we know the least about, I recite in my mind, needing every ounce of my lung capacity as I spring from the edge of the path onto the first ball, grasping it up top like Rhiannon did. The immediate strain on my shoulders makes me tense every muscle to keep the joints from dislocating.
Stay calm. Stay calm.
Throwing my weight, I force the ball to rotate, swinging me toward the next one. This is because feathertails reportedly abhor violence and are not suitable for bonding.
I repeat motions, grasping from one ball to the next, keeping my eyes on the chains and nothing else.
Though this scholar cannot be certain, as one has never left the Vale within my lifetime. I continue reciting from memory as I reach the fifth and final ball. With one last swing, I throw myself sideways, releasing the ball and landing on the shoulder-wide gravel path without rolling an ankle.
It’s all momentum for the next ascent.
“Green dragons,” I mutter under my breath, “known for their keen intellect, descend from the honorable Uaineloidsig line, and continue to be the most rational of dragonkind, making them the perfect siege weapons, especially in the case of clubtails.” I finish as I line my body up with the first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward.
“Are you…studying?” Aurelie calls up from where she leaps onto the first ball below.
“Calms me down,” I shoot back in quick explanation. There’s no time to be embarrassed here—that can wait for later.
There are three iron rails in front of me, each lined up like a battering ram toward the next. “The Scribe Quadrant is looking pretty good right now,” I grumble under my breath, then launch myself toward the first. At least the texture gives me something to keep hold of as I work my way hand over hand. The ache in my shoulders grows into a throbbing pain when I reach the end of the first rail, swinging my feet to work up the momentum for the next.
The first clang of iron as the rails meet makes my fingers slip, and I gasp as terror claws its way out of my stomach. Orange dragons, coming in various shades of apricot to carrot, are the most—I throw myself to the next rail—unpredictable of dragonkind and therefore always a risk. I move across the rail with the same hand-over-hand motion, ignoring the outright protests of my shoulders. Descending from the Fhaicorain line—
My right hand loses purchase and my weight swings me into the face of the steep mountainside, my cheek slamming into the rock. A high-pitched ringing erupts in my ears and my vision darkens at the edges.
“Violet!” Rhiannon shouts from the top.
“Next to you! The rope is next to you!” Aurelie calls up.
Iron scrapes my fingertips as my left hand slips, but I spot the rope and take hold, bracing my feet on the knot beneath me and clinging tight until the ringing fades in my head. I have to swing over or climb down.
I’ve survived seven weeks in this damned quadrant, and this course isn’t going to beat me today.
Pushing off the edge, I swing out for the rail and make it, immediately starting the hand over hand to get me to the next one and then the next, until I finally let go, landing on the first shaking iron pillar. My brain is rattled as the thing shudders violently, and I leap to the next, barely gaining a foothold before jumping to the gravel path at the end of the ascent.
Aurelie is right behind me, landing with a grin. “This is the best!”
“You clearly need to see the healers. You must have hit your head if you think this is fun.” My breaths are choppy gasps, but I can’t help but smile at her obvious joy.
“Just run straight across this one,” she says as we reach the twisting staircase posts jutting straight from the side of the cliff face.
Each three-foot-wide timber rotates from its base in one of the steepest sections of the course. I quickly calculate if you fall off one of the posts, you’d probably drop at least thirty or forty feet onto the rocky terrain below. I swallow down the terror trying to crawl up my throat and focus on the possibility my agility and lightness will give me an edge on this particular obstacle.
She continues. “Trust me. If you pause, it’ll roll you right off.”
I nod and bounce on my feet, dredging up whatever courage I have left. Then I run. My feet are quick, making contact with each post only long enough to push off for the next, and within a few heartbeats, I’m on the other side.
“Yes!” I shout, throwing my fist up in celebration as I get out of the way for Aurelie.
“Go, Violet!” she shouts. “Here I come!” Her footwork is more agile than mine as she springs from spinning post to post.
A roar sounds from overhead, and I jerk my gaze up just in time to see the underbelly of a Green Daggertail as it flies directly over us, headed back to the Vale.
I’m never going to get used to that.
Aurelie cries out and my head snaps toward hers just in time to see her wobble and slip on the fifth post. The air freezes in my lungs as she careens forward, her belly hitting the next-to-last spinning log as if in slow motion.
“Aurelie!” I scream, lunging for her, my fingertips skimming the seventh post.
Our eyes meet, shock and terror filling her wide black eyes as the post rolls her away from me and she falls. Halfway down the cliff.
…
The sun burns my eyes as we stand in morning formation.
“Calvin Atwater,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads, his voice solemn like always.
First Squad, Claw Section, Fourth Wing. He sits two rows behind me in Battle Brief. He sat.
There’s nothing special about this morning. Our first trial on the Gauntlet has made the roll longer, but it’s just another list on just another day…except it’s not. The exceptional cruelty of this ritual has never hit me this hard before. It’s not like the first day anymore. I know more than half of the names as they’re called. My vision blurs. “Newland Jahvon,” he continues.
Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing. He had breakfast duty with me.
We have to be in the twenties by now. How can this be all there is? We say their names once and then go on as if they never existed?
Rhiannon shifts her weight at my side, and she abruptly sniffles, the motion jerking her shoulders once.
“Aurelie Donans.”
A single tear escapes and I bat it away, ripping open one of the scabs along my cheek. A trickle of blood follows as the next name is called, but I let that one stain me.
…
“You’re sure about this?” Dain asks the next night, two worried lines between his brows as he clasps my shoulders.
“If her parents aren’t coming to bury her body, then I should be the one to handle her things. I’m the last person she saw,” I explain, rolling my shoulders to adjust the weight of Aurelie’s pack.
Every Basgiath parent has the same option when their cadet is killed. They can retrieve the body and personal effects for burial or burning or the school will put their body under a stone and burn their effects themselves. Aurelie’s parents have chosen door number two.
“And you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks, palming my neck.
I shake my head. “I know where the burn pit is.”
He mutters a curse. “I should have been there.”
“You couldn’t have done anything, Dain,” I say softly, covering his hand with mine so our fingers lightly lace. “None of us could have. She didn’t even have time to reach for the rope,” I whisper. I’ve replayed that moment over and over in my head, coming to the same conclusion each time.
“I never got the chance to ask you if you made it all the way up,” he says.
I shake my head. “I got caught at the chimney formation and had to use a rope to get back down. I’m too short to span the distance, but I’m not thinking about that tonight. I’ll figure something out before the official timed Gauntlet on Presentation day.”
I’ll have to. They don’t allow cadets to climb back down on the final day. You either complete the Gauntlet—or you fall to your death.
“All right. Let me know if you need me.” He lets me go.
I nod and make every excuse to get out of the dormitory hallway. The weight of Aurelie’s pack is staggering. She was strong enough to carry so much over the parapet, and yet she fell.
And I’m somehow still standing.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m carrying her with me as I climb the stairs of the academic tower’s turret, past the Battle Brief room and up to the stone roof, going by a few other cadets on their way down. The burn pit is nothing more than an extra-wide iron barrel, whose only purpose is to incinerate, and the flames burn bright against the night sky as I stumble out onto the roof, my lungs straining for oxygen.
A couple of months ago, I couldn’t have carried a pack this heavy.
There’s no one else up here as I slip the bag from my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my fingers digging into the wide strap of the pack as I fling it up and over the metal edge of the bin.
The flames catch and whoosh as it becomes more fuel for the fire, just another tribute to Malek, the god of death.
Instead of walking back down the stairs, I make my way to the edge of the turret. It’s a cloudy night, but I can make out the shadows of three dragons as they approach from the west and even see the ridge where the Gauntlet lays, waiting to claim its next victim.
It won’t be me.
But why? Because I’ll conquer it? Or because I’ll give in to Dain’s request and hide in the Scribe Quadrant? My entire being repels against the second option, which makes me question everything as I stand here, letting minutes tick by before the bells sound for curfew. I climb back down the stairs without a solid answer as to why.
I walk through the courtyard, empty but for a couple who can’t decide if they’d rather kiss or walk near the dais, and I avert my gaze, heading for the alcove where Dain and I first sat after Parapet.
It’s almost been two months, and I’m still here. Still waking every morning to the sunrise. Doesn’t that mean something? Isn’t there a chance, no matter how small, that I might just be enough to make it through Threshing? That I might just belong here?
The door that leads to the tunnel we took to cross the ridgeline to the Gauntlet this morning opens along the courtyard wall, just left of the academic building, and my brow furrows. Who would be returning this late?
Sitting back against the wall, I let the darkness conceal me as Xaden, Garrick, and Bodhi—Xaden’s cousin—pass under a mage light, headed in my direction.
Three dragons. They were out…doing what? There were no training ops that I know of tonight, not that I’m privy to everything third-years do.
“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low as they pass by me, their boots crunching on the gravel.
“We’re doing everything we can,” Garrick hisses.
My scalp prickles and Xaden stops mid-step ten feet away, the set of his shoulders rigid.
Shit.
He knows I’m here.
Instead of the usual fear that spikes in his presence, only anger rises in my chest. If he wants to kill me, then fine. I’m over waiting for it to happen. Over walking through the halls in fear.
“What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, immediately looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction, toward the couple who definitely decided making out is more important than getting into the dorms by curfew.
“Go on. I’ll meet you inside,” Xaden says.
“You sure?” Bodhi’s forehead puckers, and his gaze sweeps over the courtyard.
“Go,” Xaden orders, standing completely still until the other two walk into the barracks, turning left toward the stairwell that will take them to the second- and third-year floors. Only when they’re gone does he turn and face the exact spot where I’m sitting.
“I know you know I’m here.” I force myself to stand and move toward him so he doesn’t think I’m hiding or worse—scared of him. “And please don’t prattle on about commanding the dark. I’m not in the mood tonight.”
“No questions about where I’ve been?” He folds his arms across his chest and studies me in the moonlight. His scar looks even more menacing in this light, but I can’t seem to find the energy to be scared.
“I honestly don’t care.” I shrug, the movement making the throb in my shoulders intensify. Awesome, just in time to practice on the Gauntlet tomorrow.
He cocks his head to the side. “You really don’t, do you?”
“Nope. It’s not like I’m not out after curfew myself.” A heavy sigh blows through my lips.
“What are you doing out after curfew, first-year?”
“Debating running away,” I retort. “How about you? Feel like sharing?” I ask mockingly, knowing he’s not about to answer me.
“The same.”
Sarcastic ass.
“Look, are you going to kill me or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.” I lift a hand to my shoulder and roll it, pressing in on the sore muscles, but it doesn’t help the ache.
“Haven’t decided yet,” he answers, like I’ve just inquired about his dinner preferences, but his gaze narrows on my cheek.
“Well, could you?” I mutter. “It would definitely help me make my plans for the week.” Markham or Emetterio. Scribe or rider.
“Am I affecting your schedule, Violence?” There’s a definite smirk on those lips.
“I just need to know what my chances are here.” My hands curl into fists.
The ass has the nerve to smile. “That’s the oddest way I’ve ever been hit on—”
“Not my chances with you, you conceited prick!” Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I move past him, but he catches my wrist, his grip light but his hold firm.
His fingertips on my pulse make it skitter.
“Chances at what?” he asks, tugging me just close enough that my shoulder brushes his biceps.
“Nothing.” He wouldn’t understand. He’s a damned wingleader, which means he’s excelled at everything in the quadrant, even somehow managing to get past his own last name.
“Chances at what?” he repeats. “Do not make me ask three times.” His ominous tone is at odds with his gentle grasp, and shit, does he have to smell so good? Like mint and leather and something I can’t quite identify, something that borders between citrus and floral.
“At living through all of this! I can’t make it up the damned Gauntlet.” I half-heartedly tug at my wrist, but he doesn’t let go.
“I see.” He’s so infuriatingly calm, and I can’t even get a grip on one of my emotions.
“No, you don’t. You’re probably celebrating because I’ll fall to my death and you won’t have to go to the trouble of killing me.”
“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Violence. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”
My gaze swings up to clash with his, but his face is unreadable, cloaked in shadow, go figure.
“Sorry to be a hassle.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “You know the problem with this place?” I tug my arm back again, but he holds fast. “Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?” My eyes narrow on him.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” My stomach flutters as his thumb brushes my pulse and he releases my wrist.
I answer before I can think better of it. “Hope.”
“Hope?” He tips his head closer to mine, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me right.
“Hope.” I nod. “Someone like you would never get it, but I knew coming here was a death sentence. It didn’t matter that I’ve been trained my entire life to enter the Scribe Quadrant; when General Sorrengail gives an order, you can’t exactly ignore it.” Gods, why am I running off at the mouth to this man? What’s the worst he’ll do? Kill you?
“Sure you can.” He shrugs. “You just might not like the consequences.”
I roll my eyes, and to my utter embarrassment, instead of pulling away now that I’m free, I lean in just a little, like I can siphon off some of his strength. He certainly has enough to spare.
“I knew what the odds were, and I came anyway, concentrating on that tiny percentage of a chance that I would live. And then I make it almost two months and I get…” I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “Hopeful.” The word tastes sour.
“Ah. And then you lose a squadmate, and you can’t quite get up the chimney, and you give up. I’m starting to see. It’s not a flattering picture, but if you want to run off to the Scribe Quadrant—”
I gasp, fear punching a hole in my stomach. “How do you know about that?” If he knows…if he tells, Dain is in danger.
A wicked smile curves Xaden’s perfect lips. “I know everything that goes on here.” Darkness swirls around us. “Shadows, remember? They hear everything, see everything, conceal everything.” The rest of the world disappears. He could do anything to me in here and no one would be the wiser.
“My mother would definitely reward you if you told her about Dain’s plan,” I say softly.
“She’d definitely reward you for telling her about my little…what did you call it? Club.”
“I’m not going to tell her.” The words sound defensive.
“I know. It’s why you’re still alive.” He holds my gaze locked with his. “Here’s the thing, Sorrengail. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”
“So I’m supposed to what? Not hope that I live? Just plan for death?”
“You’re supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways to not die.” He shakes his head. “I can barely count the number of people in this quadrant who want you dead, either as revenge against your mother or because you’re just really good at pissing people off, but you’re still here, defying the odds.” Shadows wrap around me, and I swear I feel a caress along the side of my wounded cheek. “It’s been rather surprising to watch, actually.”
“Happy to be your entertainment. I’m going to bed.” Spinning on my heel, I head toward the entrance to the barracks, but he’s right behind me, close enough that the door would slam in his face if he wasn’t so unnaturally fast at catching it.
“Maybe if you stopped sulking in your self-pity, you’d see that you have everything you need to scale the Gauntlet,” he calls after me, his voice echoing down the hallway.
“My self-what?” I turn around, my jaw dropping.
“People die,” he says slowly, his jaw ticking before he drags in a deep breath. “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die. You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”
“I’m too short to span the distance!” I hiss, uncaring that anyone could hear us.
“The right way isn’t the only way. Figure it out.” Then he turns and walks away.
Fuck. Him.
It is a grave offense against Malek to keep the belongings of a dead loved one. They belong in the beyond with the god of death and the departed. In the absence of a proper temple, any fire will do. He who does not burn for Malek will be burned by Malek.
—Major Rorilee’s Guide to Appeasing the Gods,
Second Edition
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The next practice sessions of the Gauntlet are no more successful than my first, but at least we don’t lose another squadmate. Tynan has quit running his mouth, since he can’t seem to make it up fully, either.
The buoy balls are his downfall.
The chimney is mine.
By the ninth—and next-to-last—session, I’m ready to set the entire obstacle course on fire. The section of the course that’s my downfall is meant to simulate the strength and agility it takes to mount a dragon, and it’s becoming clear that my size is going to fuck me.
“Maybe you can climb up onto my shoulders and then…” Rhiannon shakes her head as we study the crevice that’s become my nemesis.
“Then I’m still stuck halfway up,” I answer, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t touch another cadet on the route.” Sawyer folds his arms beside me, the tip of his nose now bright red from the high sun.
“Are you here to squash hopes and dreams, or do you have a suggestion?” Rhiannon retorts. “Because Presentation is tomorrow, so if you’ve got any bright ideas, now is the time.”
If I’m going to run to the Scribe Quadrant, then tonight is the night. My heart clenches against the thought. It’s the logical choice. The safe choice.
There are only two thoughts stopping me.
One, there’s no guarantee my mother won’t find out. Just because Markham would keep quiet doesn’t mean the instructors there will.
But most importantly, if I go, if I hide…I’ll never know if I’m good enough to make it here. And while I might not survive if I stay, I’m not sure I can live with myself if I leave.
…
“Doria Merrill,” Captain Fitzgibbons says from the dais. Every one of his features is crystal clear, not only because the sun is behind the shade of the clouds but because I’m closer. Our formation gets tighter with every cadet who falls.
According to Brennan and statistics, today will be one of the deadliest for first-years.
It’s Presentation Day, and in order to get to the flight field, we’ll have to climb the Gauntlet first. Everything about the Riders Quadrant is designed to weed out the weak, and today is no exception.
“Kamryn Dyre.” Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read from the roll.
I flinch. His seat was across from mine in Dragonkind.
“Arvel Pelipa.”
Imogen and Quinn—both second-years—suck in a breath ahead of me. First-years aren’t the only ones at risk; we’re just the most likely to die.
“Michel Iverem.” Captain Fitzgibbons closes the roll. “We commend their souls to Malek.” And with that final word, formation breaks.
“Second- and third-years, unless you’re on Gauntlet duty, head to class. First-years, it’s time to show us what you’ve got.” Dain forces a smile and skips right over me as he looks at our squad.
“Good luck today.” Imogen tucks an errant strand of pink hair behind her ear and aims a sickly-sweet smile right at me. “Hopefully you won’t fall…short.”
“See you later,” I reply, lifting my chin.
She stares at me with complete loathing for a second, then walks off with Quinn and Cianna, our executive officer, her shoulder-length blond curls bouncing.
“Best of luck.” Heaton—the thickest third-year in our squad, with red flames cut and dyed into their hair—taps their heart, right over two of their patches, and offers us all a genuine but flat-lipped smile before heading to class.
As I stare at their retreating back, I wonder what the circular patch on their upper right arm with water and floating spheres means. I know the triangular patch to the left of that one, with the longsword, means they’re not to be messed with on the mat. Since Dain told me about the patch denoting his top secret signet, I’ve been paying close attention to the patches other cadets have sewn into their uniforms. Most wear them like badges of honor, but I recognize them for what they really are—intelligence that I might one day need to defeat them.
“I didn’t realize Heaton actually knew how to speak.” Two lines appear between Ridoc’s brows.
“Maybe they figure they should at least say hi before we’re potentially roasted today,” Rhiannon says.
“Back into formation,” Dain orders.
“Are you going with us?” I ask.
He nods, still not looking at me.
The eight of us fall into two lines of four, the same as the other squads around us.
“Awkward,” Rhiannon whispers from my side. “He seems kind of pissed at you.”
I glance up over Trina’s slim shoulders as the breeze whips at the braid I’ve woven like a crown. It’s working a few of Trina’s ringlet curls loose, too. “He wants something I can’t give him.”
Her eyebrows rise.
I roll my eyes. “Not like…that.”
“I wouldn’t care if it was like that,” she replies under her breath. “He’s hot. He has that whole boy-next-door-who-can-still-kick-your-ass vibe going for him.”
I fight a smile because she’s right. He so does.
“We’re the biggest squad,” Ridoc notes behind us as the squads farthest left—from First Wing—file out through the western gate in the courtyard.
“What are we down to?” Tynan asks. “Hundred and eighty?”
“Hundred and seventy-one,” Dain answers. Squads from Second Wing begin to move, led by their wingleader, which means Xaden is somewhere ahead of us.
My nerves are reserved for the obstacle course, but I can’t help but wonder which way his scales will tip today.
“For a hundred dragons? But what will we…” Trina asks, nerves cutting off her words.
“Stop letting fear leach into your voice,” Luca snaps from behind Rhiannon. “If the dragons think you’re a coward, you’ll be nothing but a name tomorrow.”
“She says,” Ridoc narrates, “inducing more fear.”
“Shut up,” Luca fires back. “You know it’s true.”
“Just portray confidence, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I lean forward so our squadmates behind us can’t hear me as Third Wing begins to march for the gate.
“Thanks,” Trina whispers in reply.
Dain’s narrowed gaze finally locks on mine, but at least he doesn’t call me a liar. There’s enough accusation in his eyes that I might as well be tried and convicted of it, though.
“Nervous, Rhi?” I ask, knowing we’re about to be called next.
“For you?” she asks. “Not at all. We’ve got this.”
“Oh, I meant about the history test tomorrow,” I tease. “There’s nothing going on today to panic about.”
“Now that you mention it, the whole Treaty of Arif might just be the death of me.” She grins.
“Ahh, the agreement between Navarre and Krovla for mutually shared airspace for both dragons and gryphons over a narrow strip of the Esben Mountains, between Sumerton and Draithus,” I recall, nodding.
“Your memory is terrifying.” She shoots me a smile.
But my memory isn’t going to get me up the Gauntlet.
“Fourth Wing!” Xaden calls out from somewhere in the distance. I don’t even need to see to know that it’s him who gave the order and not his executive officer. “Move out!”
We file off, Flame Section, then Claw, and finally Tail.
There’s a bit of a bottleneck at the gate, but then we’re through, walking into the mage-lit dimness of the tunnel that we take every morning to reach the Gauntlet. Shadows blanket the edges of the rocky floor along our path.
What are the limits of Xaden’s power anyway? Could he use shadows to choke out every squad in here? Would he need to rest or recharge after? Does such a vast power come with any sort of checks or balances?
Dain falls back so he walks between Rhiannon and me. “Change your mind.” It’s barely a whisper.
“No.” I sound way more confident than I feel.
“Change. Your. Mind.” His hand finds mine, concealed by our tight formation as we descend through the passage. “Please.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “Any more than you would leave Cath and run to the scribes yourself.”
“That’s different.” His hand squeezes mine, and I can feel the tension in his fingers, his arm. “I’m a rider.”
“Well, maybe I am, too,” I whisper as light appears ahead. I didn’t believe it before, not when I couldn’t leave because my mother wouldn’t let me, but now I have a choice. And I choose to stay.
“Don’t be—” He cuts himself off and drops my hand. “I don’t want to bury you, Vi.”
“It’s inevitable that one of us will have to bury the other.” It’s not macabre, just fact.
“You know what I mean.”
The light grows into an archway that’s ten feet high, leading us to the base of the Gauntlet.
“Please don’t do this,” Dain begs, not bothering to lower his voice this time as we emerge into the mottled sunlight.
The view is spectacular as always. We’re still high on the mountain, thousands of feet above the valley, and the greenery seems to stretch endlessly to the south, with random clusters of squat trees among colorful slopes of wildflowers. My gaze turns to the Gauntlet carved into the face of the cliff, and I can’t help but follow each obstacle higher and higher until I’m staring at the top of the ridgeline that the maps I’ve studied show leads into a box canyon—the flight field. I bite my lip as I stare at the break in the tree line.
Normally, only riders are allowed on the flight field—except for Presentation.
“I don’t know if I can watch,” Dain says, drawing my attention back to his strong face. His perfectly trimmed beard brackets full lips drawn tight into a frown.
“Then close your eyes.” I have a plan—a shitty one, but it’s worth a try.
“What changed between Parapet and now?” Dain asks again, a wealth of emotions in his eyes that I can’t begin to interpret. Well, except the fear. That doesn’t need any interpretation.
“Me.”
…
An hour later, my feet fly over the spinning posts of the staircase, and I jump to the safety of the gravel path. Third ascent complete. Two more to go. And I haven’t touched a single rope.
I swear I can feel Dain staring from the bottom of the course, where Tynan and Luca have yet to start their climb, but I don’t look down. There’s no time for what he thinks will be one last look, and I can’t afford the delay of comforting him when there are still two obstacles ahead of me.
Which means there’s one I haven’t even had the chance to practice—the nearly vertical ramp at the end.
“You can do it!” Rhiannon yells from the top as I reach the chimney structure.
“Or you can do us all a favor and fall!” another voice yells. Jack, no doubt. At least it’s only been our squad at practice sessions, but every first-year can watch now, either from the base of the course or the edges of the cliff above.
I look up at the hollow column I’m supposed to climb, then dart back a few feet along the path.
“What are you doing?” Rhiannon shouts as I grab one of the ropes and drag it horizontally across the surface of the cliff, sending pebbles into free fall.
It’s heavy as hell and protests the stretch, but I manage to get the bottom portion onto the chimney structure. Pulling the rope as tight as it can go, I plant one foot on the side of the shaft and give the rope a tug, then send up a prayer to Zihnal that this is going to work.
“Can she do that?” someone snaps.
I’m doing it now.
Then I lift my other foot and begin to climb up the chimney, using only the right side, walking up stone and leveraging my weight with the rope, hand over hand. The line slips about halfway up as the rope scrapes over a large boulder, but I quickly take up the slack and keep climbing. My heart thunders in my ears, but it’s my hands that are killing me. It feels like flames are eating my palms, and I grit my teeth so I don’t cry out.
There it is. The top.
The rope barely cuts the corner of the structure now, and I use what’s left of my upper-body strength to pull myself up, scrambling to my hands and knees on the path.
“Hell yes!” Ridoc yells, hooting from the top. “That’s our girl!”
“Get up!” Rhiannon shouts. “One more!”
My chest heaves and my lungs ache, but I make it to my feet. I’m on the last ascent, the final path to the flight field, and standing in front of me is a ramp made of wood that juts out ten feet from the cliff wall, then curves upward like the inside of a bowl, the highest point level with the cliff top ten feet above.
The obstacle is meant to test a cadet’s ability to scale a dragon’s foreleg and reach its saddle. And I’m too short.
But Xaden’s words that the right way wasn’t the only way have played over and over in my head all night long. By the time the sun rose and chased away the darkness, I had a plan.
I only hope I can actually pull it off.
I unsheathe my largest dagger from home and wipe away the sweat on my forehead with the back of my dirty palm. Then I forget the agony in my hands, the throbbing of my shoulders, and the twinge in my knee from landing wrong after the pillars. I block out all the pain, lock it behind a wall like I’ve done my entire life, and focus on the ramp as though my life depends on making it.
There’s no rope here. There’s only one way I’m getting over this.
Sheer fucking will.
And so I charge, using my speed to my advantage.
There’s a drumlike sound as my feet beat against the ramp and the incline sharpens. Just because I haven’t personally conquered this obstacle doesn’t mean I haven’t watched my squadmates take it over and over again. I throw my body forward and momentum carries me upward, running up the side of the ramp.
I wait until I feel the precious shift, the moment gravity reclaims my body almost two feet from the top, and I swing my arm up and slam my dagger into the slick, soft wood of the ramp—and use it to fling myself the last foot upward.
A primal scream rips from my throat as my shoulder cries in protest just as my fingers graze the lip of the edge. I throw my elbow over the top to gain more leverage and pull myself up and over, using the handle of my dagger as a final step before lurching onto the top of the cliff.
Not done yet.
On my stomach, I turn to face the ramp, then reach over the side and yank my dagger free, sheathing it at my ribs before I stagger to my feet. I made it. Relief sucks the adrenaline straight out of my body.
Rhiannon’s arms sweep around me, taking my weight as I gasp for air. Ridoc hugs my back, squeezing me like I’m the filling of a sandwich as he hollers in happiness. I’d protest, but right now they’re all that’s keeping me upright.
“She can’t do that!” someone shouts.
“Yeah, well, she just did!” Ridoc tosses over his shoulder, loosening his grip on me.
My knees shake, but they hold as I suck in breath after breath.
“You made it!” Rhiannon takes my face in her hands, tears filling her brown eyes. “You made it!”
“Luck.” I draw in another breath and beg my galloping heart to slow. “And. Adrenaline.”
“Cheating!”
I turn toward the voice. It’s Amber Mavis, the strawberry-blond wingleader from Third Wing who was Dain’s close friend last year, and there’s nothing but fury on her face as she charges toward Xaden, who’s only a couple of feet away with the roll, recording times with a stopwatch and looking rather bored with it all.
“Back the hell up, Mavis,” Garrick threatens, the sun flashing off the two swords the curly-haired section leader keeps strapped to his back as he puts his body between Amber and Xaden.
“The cheater clearly used foreign materials not once but twice,” Amber yells. “It’s not to be tolerated! We live by the rules or we die by them!”
No wonder she and Dain are so close—they’re both in love with the Codex.
“I don’t take kindly to calling anyone in my section a cheater,” Garrick warns, his massive shoulders blocking her from view as he turns. “And my wingleader will handle any rule-breaking in his own wing.” He moves to the side, and I’m met with Amber’s glaring blue eyes.
“Sorrengail?” Xaden asks, arching an eyebrow in obvious challenge, a pen poised over the book. I notice not for the first time that other than his Fourth Wing and wingleader emblems, he doesn’t wear the patches others are so fond of displaying.
“I expect the thirty-second penalty for using the rope,” I answer, my breaths steadying.
“And the knife?” Amber’s gaze narrows. “She’s disqualified.” When Xaden doesn’t answer, she turns that glare on him. “Surely she’s out! You can’t tolerate lawlessness within your own wing, Riorson!”
But Xaden’s gaze never leaves mine as he silently waits for me to respond.
“A rider may only bring to the quadrant the items they can carry—” I start.
“Are you quoting the Codex to me?” Amber shouts.
“—and they shall not be separated from those items no matter what they may be,” I continue. “For once carried across the parapet, they are considered part of their person. Article Three, Section Six, Addendum B.”
Her blue eyes flare wide as I glance at her. “That addendum was written to make thievery an executional offense.”
“Correct.” I nod, looking between her and the onyx eyes that see straight through me. “But in doing so, it gave any item carried across the parapet the status of being a part of the rider.” I unsheathe the chipped and battered blade with a sharp bite of pain in my palms. “This isn’t a challenge blade. It’s one I carried across and therefore considered part of myself.”
His eyes flare, and I don’t miss the hint of a smirk on that infuriatingly decadent mouth of his. It should be against the Codex to look that good and be so ruthless.
“The right way isn’t the only way.” I use his own words against him.
Xaden holds my gaze. “She has you, Amber.”
“On a technicality!”
“She still has you.” He turns slightly and delivers a look that I never want directed at me.
“You think like a scribe,” she barks at me.
It’s intended as an insult, but I just nod. “I know.”
She marches off, and I sheathe the dagger again, letting my hands fall to my sides and closing my eyes as relief shucks the weight from my shoulders. I did it. I passed another test.
“Sorrengail,” Xaden says, and my eyes fly open. “You’re leaking.” His gaze drops pointedly to my hands.
Where blood is dripping from my fingertips.
Pain erupts, pushing past my mental dam like a raging river at the sight of the mess I’ve made of my palms. I’ve shredded them.
“Do something about it,” he orders.
I nod and back away, joining my squad. Rhiannon helps me cut off the sleeves of my shirt to bandage my hands, and I cheer our last two squadmates up the cliff.
We all make it.
Presentation Day is unlike any other. The air is ripe with possibilities, and possibly the stench of sulfur from a dragon who has been offended. Never look a red in the eye. Never back down from a green. If you show trepidation to a brown…well, just don’t.
—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind
CHAPTER
TWELVE
There are 169 of us by the time the morning is done and, even with my penalty for the rope, we’ve placed eleventh out of the thirty-six squads for Presentation—the piss-inducing parade of cadets before this year’s dragons willing to bond.
Anxiety seizes my legs at the thought of walking so close to dragons determined to weed out the weak before Threshing, and I suddenly wish we’d placed last.
The fastest up the Gauntlet was Liam Mairi, of course, earning him the Gauntlet patch. Pretty sure that guy doesn’t know how to take second place, but I wasn’t the slowest, and that’s good enough for me.
The box canyon that makes up the training field is spectacular in the afternoon sun, with miles of autumn-colored meadows and peaks rising on three sides of us as we wait at the narrowest part, the entrance to the valley. At the end, I can make out the line of the waterfall that might be just a trickle of a creek now but will rush at runoff season.
The leaves of the trees are all turning gold, as though someone has brought in a paintbrush with only one color and streaked it across the landscape.
And then there are the dragons.
Averaging twenty-five feet tall, they’re in a formation of their own, lined up several feet back from the path—close enough to pass judgment on us as we walk by.
“Let’s go, Second Squad, you’re up next,” Garrick says, beckoning us with a wave that makes the rebellion relic on his bared forearm gleam.
Dain and the other squad leaders stayed behind. I’m not sure if he’ll be thrilled I made it up the Gauntlet or disappointed that I bent the rules. But I’ve never felt more thrilled.
“Into formation,” Garrick orders, his tone all business, which doesn’t surprise me given that his leadership style is more mission first, niceties last. Go figure he seems to be so close to Xaden. Unlike Xaden, though, the right side of his uniform has a neat line of patches proclaiming him Flame’s section leader as well as more than five patches advertising his skill with a multitude of weapons.
We comply, and Rhiannon and I end up near the back this time.
There’s a sound like rushing wind in the distance that stops as quickly as it starts, and I know someone else has been found lacking.
Garrick’s hazel eyes skim over us. “Hopefully Aetos has done his job, so you know that it’s a straight walk down the meadow. I’d recommend staying at least seven feet apart—”
“In case one of us gets torched,” Ridoc mutters from ahead.
“Correct, Ridoc. Cluster if you want, just know if a dragon finds disfavor with one of you, it’s likely to burn the whole lot to weed one out,” Garrick warns, holding our gazes for a beat. “Also, remember you’re not here to approach them, and if you do, you won’t be making it back to the dormitory tonight.”
“Can I ask a question?” Luca says from the front row.
Garrick nods, but the ticking of his jaw says he’s annoyed. I can’t blame him. Luca annoys the shit out of me, too. It’s her constant need to tear everyone down that makes most of us keep our distance.
“Third Squad, Tail Section of Fourth Wing already went through, and I talked to some of the cadets…”
“That’s not a question.” He lifts his brows.
Yep, he’s annoyed.
“Right. It’s just that they said there’s a feathertail?” Her voice pitches upward.
“A f-feathertail?” Tynan sputters from directly in front of me. “Who the hell would ever want to bond a feathertail?”
I roll my eyes, and Rhiannon shakes her head.
“Professor Kaori never told us there would be a feathertail,” Sawyer says. “I know because I memorized every single dragon he showed us. All hundred of them.”
“Well, guess there’s a hundred and one now,” Garrick replies, looking at us as if we’re children he’d like to be rid of before glancing back over his shoulder at the entrance to the valley. “Relax. Feathertails don’t bond. I can’t even remember the last time one has been seen outside the Vale. It’s probably just curious. You’re up. Stay on the path. You walk up, you wait for the entire squad, you walk back down. It really doesn’t get any easier than this from here on out, kids, so if you can’t follow those simple instructions, then you deserve whatever happens in there.” He turns and heads over to a path before the canyon wall where the dragons are perched.
We follow, breaking away from the crowd of first-years. The breeze bites at my bare shoulders from where we ripped my sleeves for bandages, but we got the blood flow stopped at my hands.
“They’re all yours,” Garrick says to the quadrant’s senior wingleader, a woman I’ve seen a few times in Battle Brief murmuring to Xaden. Her uniform still has her signature spikes on the shoulders, but this time they’re gold and look sharp as hell—like she wanted to throw in a little extra badass today.
She nods and dismisses him. “Single file.”
We all shuffle into a line. Rhiannon is at my back and Tynan just ahead of me, which means I’ll be treated to his commentary the whole time, no doubt. Awesome.
“Talk,” the senior wingleader says, folding her arms across her chest.
“Nice day for a Presentation,” Ridoc jokes.
“Not to me.” The senior wingleader narrows her gaze on Ridoc, then motions to the line of cadets before her. “Talk to your nearby squadmates while you’re on the path, as it will help the dragons get a sense of who you are and how well you play with others. There’s a correlation between bonded cadets and level of chatter.”
And now I want to switch places.
“Feel free to look at the dragons, especially if they’re showing off their tails, but I would abstain from eye contact if you value your life. If you come across a scorch mark, just make sure nothing’s currently on fire before continuing along.” She pauses long enough for that bit of advice to sink in, then adds, “See you after your stroll.”
With a sweep of her hand, the senior wingleader steps to the side, revealing the dirt path that leads through the center of the valley, and up ahead, sitting so perfectly still that they might be gargoyles, are the hundred and one dragons who have decided to bond this year.
The line starts, and we give one another the suggested seven feet before following.
I’m hyperaware of every step as I walk down the path. The trail is hard beneath my boots, and there’s a definite lingering odor of sulfur.
We pass a trio of red dragons first. Their talons are almost half my size.
“I can’t even see their tails!” Tynan shouts from in front of me. “How are we supposed to know what breed they are?”
I keep my eyes locked at the level of their massive, muscled shoulders as we walk by. “We’re not supposed to know what breed they are,” I respond.
“Fuck that,” he says over his shoulder. “I need to figure out which one I’m going to approach during Threshing.”
“Pretty sure this little walk is so they can decide,” I retort.
“Hopefully one of them will decide you don’t get to make it to Threshing,” Rhiannon says, her voice quiet so it barely reaches me.
I laugh as we approach a set of browns, both slightly smaller than my mother’s Aimsir, but not by much.
“They’re a little bigger than I thought they would be,” Rhiannon says, her voice rising. “Not that I didn’t see the ones at Parapet, but…”
I look over my shoulder to see her wide gaze flickering between the path and the dragons. She’s nervous.
“So do you know if you’re having a niece or nephew?” I ask, continuing to walk forward past a handful of oranges.
“What?” she answers.
“I’ve heard some of the healers can make pretty good guesses once a woman is further along in her pregnancy.”
“Oh. No,” she says. “No clue. Though I’m kind of hoping she’ll have a girl. I guess I’ll find out once we finish the year and can write our families.”
“That’s a bullshit rule,” I say over my shoulder, lowering my gaze immediately when I accidentally make eye contact with one of the oranges. Breathe normally. Swallow the fear. Fear and weakness will get me killed, and since I’m already bleeding, the odds aren’t exactly in my favor here.
“You don’t think it encourages loyalty to the wing?” Rhiannon asks.
“I think I’m just as loyal to my sister whether I’ve had a letter from her or not,” I counter. “There are bonds that can’t be broken.”
“I’d be loyal to your sister, too,” Tynan says, turning around and grinning as he walks backward. “She’s one hell of a rider, and that ass. I saw her right before Parapet and damn, Violet. She’s hot.”
We pass by another set of reds, then a single brown and a pair of greens.
“Turn around.” I make the spinning motion with my finger. “Mira would eat you for breakfast, Tynan.”
“I’m just wondering how one of you got all the good traits and the other looks like she got the leftovers.” His gaze skims down my body.
Full-body-shudder gross.
“You’re an asshole.” I flip him the middle finger.
“Just saying, maybe I’ll write a letter of my own once we get privileges.” He turns and continues walking.
“A nephew would be good,” Rhiannon says, like the conversation was never interrupted. “Boys aren’t too bad.”
“My brother was awesome, but he and Dain are my only experience with growing up around little boys.” We pass more dragons, and my breathing starts to settle. The smell of sulfur disappears, or maybe I’ve just grown accustomed to it. They’re close enough to torch us, the half dozen singe marks testify to that, but I can’t hear them breathing or feel it, either. “Though I think Dain was probably a little more rule-abiding than most kids. He likes order and pretty much detests anything that doesn’t fit neatly into his plan. He’s probably going to give me shit about how I got up the Gauntlet, just like Amber Mavis did.”
We pass the halfway mark and continue.
Is the way the dragons stare at us scary as hell? Absolutely, but they want to be here the same as we do, so at least I hope they’ll be judicious with their firepower.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the rope plan? Or the dagger?” Rhiannon asks, hurt pitching her tone. “You can trust me, you know.”
“I didn’t think of it until yesterday,” I answer, taking the time to look over my shoulder so I can see her. “And if it didn’t work, I didn’t want you to be an accomplice. You have a real future here, and I refuse to bring you down with me if I didn’t make it.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“I know. But it’s just what friends do, Rhi.” I shrug as we walk by a trio of browns, the soft crunch of our boots on the dark gravel path the only sound for a few minutes.
“You keeping any other secrets up there?” Rhiannon eventually asks.
Guilt settles in my stomach when I think of Xaden and his meeting with the other marked ones. “I think it’s impossible to know everything there is to know about someone.” I feel like shit but keep from lying, at least.
She snorts a laugh. “If that wasn’t skirting the question. How about this? Promise me that if you need help, you’ll let me give it to you.”
A smile spreads across my face despite the terrifying greens we’re walking by. “How about this,” I toss over my shoulder. “I promise that if I need help you’re capable of giving, I’ll ask, but only”—I hold up my forefinger—“if you promise the same.”
“Deal.” She smiles wide.
“You guys done bonding back there?” Tynan sneers. “Because we’re almost to the end of the line, if you haven’t noticed.” He pauses in the middle of the path, his gaze swinging right. “And I still can’t figure out which one I’m going to choose.”
“With arrogance like that, I’m sure any dragon would feel lucky to share your mind for the rest of your life.” I pity whatever dragon—if any—chooses him.
The rest of the squad is gathered ahead of us, facing our direction at the end of the path, but all their attention is focused to the right.
We pass the last brown dragon, and I inhale sharply.
“What the hell?” Tynan stares.
“Keep walking,” I order, but my gaze is transfixed.
Standing at the end of the line is a small golden dragon. Sunlight reflects off its scales and horns as it stands to its full height, flicking a feathered tail around the side of its body. The feathertail.
My jaw drops as I take in the sharp teeth and quick, darting movements of its head as it studies us. At its full height, it’s probably only a few feet taller than I am, like a perfect miniature of the brown next to it.
I walk straight into Tynan’s back and startle. We’ve reached the end of the path, where the rest of the squad has been waiting.
“Get off me, Sorrengail,” Tynan hisses and shoves me back. “Who the hell would bond that thing?”
My chest tightens. “They can hear you,” I remind him.
“It’s fucking yellow.” Luca points right at the dragon, disgust curling her lip. “So not only is it obviously too small to carry a rider in battle, but it’s not even powerful enough to be a real color.”
“Maybe it’s a mistake,” Sawyer says quietly. “Maybe it’s a baby orange.”
“It’s full grown,” Rhiannon argues. “There’s no way the other dragons allow a baby to bond. No human alive has ever seen a baby.”
“It’s a mistake all right.” Tynan looks at the golden one and scoffs. “You should totally bond it, Sorrengail. You’re both freakishly weak. It’s a match made in heaven.”
“It looks powerful enough to burn you to death,” I counter, heat flushing my cheeks. He called me weak, and not just in front of our squad but in front of them.
Sawyer lunges between us, grabbing Tynan’s collar. “Don’t ever say that about a squadmate, especially not in front of unbonded dragons.”
“Let him go—he’s just saying what we’re all thinking,” Luca mutters.
I turn slowly to stare at her, my mouth slightly agape. Is this what happens to us the second we’re out of hearing range of any superior cadet? We turn on one another.
“What?” She gestures to my hair. “Half your hair is silver and you’re…petite,” she finishes with a fake smile. “Golden and…small. You match.”
Trina puts her hand on Sawyer’s arm. “Don’t make a mistake in front of them. We don’t know what they’ll do,” she whispers. And now we’re grouped up.
I shuffle backward a little as Sawyer drops Tynan’s collar.
“Someone should kill it before it bonds,” Tynan sputters, and for the first time in my life, I actually want to kick someone while they’re down…and keep kicking until they stay down. “It’s just going to get its rider killed, and it’s not like we get a choice if it wants to bond us.”
“You’re just picking up on that now, are you?” Ridoc shakes his head.
“We should go back,” Pryor says, his gaze darting around the group. “I mean…if you think we should. We don’t have to, of course.”
“For once in your life,” Tynan says, pushing past Pryor to start down the path, “make a damn decision, Pryor.”
We take off one by one, leaving the suggested space between us. Rhiannon goes before me this time and Ridoc follows behind, with Luca bringing up the rear.
“They’re pretty incredible, aren’t they?” Ridoc says, and the wonder in his voice makes me smile.
“They are,” I agree.
“They’re honestly a little underwhelming after seeing that blue at Parapet.” Luca’s voice carries all the way to Rhiannon, who turns around with an incredulous look.
“Like this isn’t stressful enough without you insulting them?” Rhi asks.
I need to defuse this quickly. “I mean, it could be worse. We could be walking past a line of wyvern, right?”
“Oh please, Violet, do give us one of your nervous-babble story times,” Luca says sarcastically. “Let me guess. Wyvern are some elite squad of gryphon riders created because of something we did at a battle only you can manage to remember with your scribe brain.”
“You don’t know what a wyvern is?” Rhi asks, then begins walking again. “Didn’t your parents tell you bedtime stories, Luca?”
“Do enlighten me,” Luca drawls.
I roll my eyes, continuing along the path. “They’re folklore,” I say over my shoulder. “Kind of like dragons but bigger, with two feet instead of four, a mane of razor-sharp feathers streaking down their necks, and a taste for humans. Unlike dragons, who think we’re a little gamey.”
“My mom used to love telling my sister Raegan and me that we’d be plucked right off the front porch by one if we talked back, and their eerie-eyed venin riders would take us prisoner if we took treats we weren’t allowed to have,” Rhi says, flashing a grin at me, and I can’t help but notice that her step is lighter.
Mine is, too. I notice each dragon as we pass, but my heartbeat steadies. “My dad used to read to me those fables every night,” I tell her. “And I seriously asked him one time if Mom was going to turn into a venin because she could channel.”
Rhiannon chuckles as we walk by a set of glaring reds. “Did he tell you people supposedly only turn into venin if they channel directly from the source?”
“He did, but it was after my mom had a really long night while we were stationed near the eastern border, and her eyes were bloodshot red, so I freaked out and started shrieking.” I can’t help but smile at the memory. “She took my book of fables away for a month because the outpost guards all came running, and I was hiding behind my brother, who couldn’t stop laughing, and, well…it was a mess.” I keep my eyes front and center as a large orange sniffs the air when I pass.
Rhiannon’s shoulders shake with laughter. “I wish we’d had a book like that. I seriously think Mom just altered the stories to scare us whenever we stepped out of line.”
“That sounds like some border-village nonsense.” Luca scoffs. “Venin? Wyvern? Anyone with a modicum of education knows that our wards stop all magic that isn’t channeled directly from dragons.”
“They’re stories, Luca,” Rhi says over her shoulder, and I can’t help but notice how much ground we’ve covered. “Pryor, you can walk a little faster if you want up there.”
“Maybe we should slow down and take our time?” Pryor suggests from ahead of Rhiannon, rubbing his palms along the sides of his uniform. “Or I guess we can go faster if we want to get out of here.”
A red steps out of line, putting one claw forward toward us, and my stomach drops to the ground from the weight of the dread filling my entire body. “No, no, no,” I whisper, freezing in place, but it’s too late.
The red opens its mouth, exposing sharp, glistening fangs, and fire erupts along the sides of its tongue, streaming through the air and into the path ahead of Rhiannon.
She yells in shock.
Heat blasts the front of my face.
Then it’s over.
The scent of sulfur and burned grass…burned…something fills my lungs, and I see a charred patch of ground in front of Rhiannon that hadn’t been there before.
“Are you all right, Rhi?” I call forward.
She nods, but the movement is hurried and jerky. “Pryor is… He’s…”
Pryor’s dead. My mouth waters like I’m going to vomit, but I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth until the feeling passes.
“Keep walking!” Sawyer shouts from farther down the path.
“It’s all right, Rhi. You just have to…” She just has to what? Walk over his corpse? Is there a corpse?
“Fire’s out,” Rhiannon says over her shoulder.
I nod, because there’s nothing I can say to reassure her.
Holy shit are we insignificant.
She walks forward and I follow, maneuvering around the pile of ash that used to be Pryor.
“Oh my gods, the smell,” Luca complains.
“Could you please have some level of decency?” I snap, turning around to level a glare at her, but Ridoc’s face makes me pause.
His eyes are as wide as saucers, and his mouth hangs open. “Violet.”
It’s a whisper, and I wonder briefly if I heard him as much as I saw the word forming on his lips.
“Vi—”
A warm huff of steam blows against the back of my neck. My heart thunders, the beat increasing erratically as I take what might be my last breath and turn toward the line of dragons.
The golden eyes of not one but two greens meet mine, consuming my field of vision.
Oh. Fuck.
To approach a green dragon, lower your eyes in supplication and wait for their approval. That’s what I read, right?
I drop my gaze as one chuffs another breath at me. It’s hot and appallingly wet, but I’m not dead yet, so that’s a plus.
The one on the right chortles deep in its throat. Wait, is that the sound of approval I’m looking for? Shit, I wish I’d asked Mira.
Mira. She’s going to be devastated when she reads the rolls.
I lift my head and suck in a sharp breath. They’re even closer. The one on the left nudges my hands with its giant nose, but I somehow stand my ground, rocking back on my heels to keep from falling over.
Greens are the most reasonable.
“I cut my hands climbing the obstacle course.” I lift my palms, like they can see through the black fabric binding my wounds.
The one on the right sets its nose right at my breasts and chuffs again.
What. The. Hell.
It inhales, making that noise in its throat, and the other shoves its nose into my ribs, making me raise my arms just in case they feel like taking a little nibble.
“Violet!” Rhiannon whisper-shouts.
“I’m all right!” I call back, then wince, hoping I didn’t just seal my fate by screaming in their ears.
Another chuff. Another chortle, like they’re talking to each other as they sniff me.
The one under my arm moves its nostrils to my back and sniffs again.
Realization hits and I choke out a tight, surreal laugh. “You smell Teine, don’t you?” I ask quietly.
They both draw back, just far enough for me to look them in their golden eyes, but they keep their jaws shut, giving me the courage to keep talking.
“I’m Mira’s sister, Violet.” Slowly lowering my arms, I run my hands over my snot-covered vest and the armor carefully sewn into it. “She collected Teine’s scales after he shed them last year and had them shrunk down so she could sew them into the vest to help keep me safe.”
The one on the right blinks.
The one on the left sticks its nose in again, sniffing loudly.
“The scales have saved me a few times,” I whisper. “But no one else knows they’re in there. Just Mira and Teine.”
They both blink at me, and I lower my gaze, bowing my head because it feels like the thing to do. Professor Kaori taught us every way to approach a dragon and exactly zero ways to disengage one.
Step by step, they retreat until I see them take up their places in line in my peripherals, and I finally raise my head.
Taking several deep breaths, I try to lock my muscles to keep from trembling.
“Violet.” Rhiannon is only a few feet away, a look of terror in her eyes. She must have been right behind their heads.
“I’m fine.” I force a smile and nod. “I have dragon-scale armor under the vest,” I whisper. “They smell my sister’s dragon.” If she wants trust, there it is. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” she whispers. “You’re all right?”
“Other than having a few years of my life shaved off.” I laugh. The sound is shaky, bordering on hysteria.
“Let’s get out of here.” She swallows, her gaze darting toward the line of dragons.
“Good idea.”
She turns and walks back to her place, and once there’s fifteen feet between us, I follow.
“I think I just shat myself,” Ridoc says, and my laughter only pitches higher as we move through the field.
“Honestly, I thought they were going to eat you,” Luca remarks.
“Me too,” I admit.
“I wouldn’t have blamed them,” she continues.
“You’re insufferable,” Ridoc calls back.
I focus on the path and keep walking.
“What? She’s obviously our weakest link after Pryor, and I don’t blame them for snuffing him out,” she argues. “He could never make a decision, and no one wants someone like that as their rider—”
A blast of heat singes my back and I halt.
Don’t be Ridoc. Don’t be—
“Guess the dragons think she’s insufferable, too,” Ridoc mutters.
Our squad is down to six first-years.
There is nothing quite as humbling, or as awe-inspiring, as witnessing Threshing…for those who live through it anyway.
—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
October first is always Threshing.
Monday, Wednesday, or Sunday, it doesn’t matter where it falls on any given year. On the first of October, the first-year cadets of the Riders Quadrant enter the bowl-shaped forested valley to the southwest of the citadel and pray they come out alive.
I will not die today.
I didn’t bother eating this morning, and I pity Ridoc, who’s currently heaving up the contents of his stomach against a tree to my right.
A sword is strapped to Rhiannon’s back, the hilt jostling against her spine as she bounces, stretching her arms across her chest one at a time.
“Remember to listen here,” Professor Kaori says from in front of the 147 of us here, tapping his chest. “If a dragon has already selected you, they’ll be calling.” He thumps his chest again. “So pay attention to not just your surroundings but your feelings, and go with them.” He grimaces. “And if your feelings are telling you to go in the other direction…listen to that, too.”
“Which one are you going for?” Rhiannon asks quietly.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head but can’t ditch the feeling of absolute failure in my chest. At this point, Mira knew she wanted to seek out Teine.
“You memorized the cards, right?” she asks, lifting her brows. “So you know what’s out there?”
“Yes. I just don’t feel connected to any of them.” Which is better than feeling connected to a dragon another rider has their eye on. I have no desire to fight to the death today. “Dain tried talking me into a brown.”
“Dain lost his vote when he tried talking you into leaving,” she counters.
There’s a lot of truth to that. I’ve only talked to him once in the past two days since Presentation, and he tried to get me to run within the first five minutes. We’ve only seen professors this morning, but I know the second- and third-year riders are scattered throughout this valley in order to observe. “What about you?”
She grins. “I’m thinking about that green. The one closest to me when they got all up close and personal with you.”
“Well, it didn’t eat you, so that’s a promising start.” I smile despite the fear racing through my veins.
“I think so, too.” She links her arm with mine, and I focus back on what Professor Kaori is telling us.
“If you go in groups, you’re more likely to be incinerated than bonded,” Professor Kaori argues with someone near the center of the valley. “The scribes have run the statistics. You’re better off on your own.”
“And what if we aren’t chosen by dinner?” a man with a short beard to my left asks.
Looking past him, I catch Jack Barlowe running a finger across his neck at me. So original. Then Oren and Tynan flank his sides.
So much for squad loyalty. It’s everyone for themselves today.
“If you’re not chosen by nightfall, there’s a problem,” Professor Kaori responds, his thick mustache turned down at the ends. “You’ll be brought out by a professor or senior leadership, so don’t give up and think we’ve forgotten about you.” He checks his pocket watch. “Remember to spread out and use every foot of this valley to your advantage. It’s nine, which means they should be flying in any minute now. The only other words I have for you are ‘good luck.’” He nods, sweeping his gaze over the crowd of us with such intensity that I know he’ll be able to re-create this moment in a projection.
Then he leaves, marching up the hill to our right and disappearing into the trees.
My mind whirls. It’s time. I’ll either leave this forest as a rider…or likely never leave.
“Be careful.” Rhiannon pulls me into a hug, her braids swinging over my shoulder as she tightens her arms around me.
“You too.” I squeeze her back and am immediately swept into another pair of arms.
“Don’t die,” Ridoc orders.
That’s our only goal as what’s left of our squad separates, each heading in our own direction like we’ve been flung apart by centrifugal motion, at the mercy of a spinning wheel.
…
Guessing by the position of the sun, it’s been at least a couple of hours since the dragons flew overhead, landing in the valley in a succession that sounded like thunder and making the earth shake.
I’ve come across two greens, a brown, four oranges, and—
My heart stumbles and my feet freeze to the forest floor as a red steps into my field of vision, its head just under the canopy of enormous trees.
This is not my dragon. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.
I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound as its head sweeps right, then left, and my gaze plummets to the ground as I bow my head.
For the last hour or so, I’ve seen dragons launch into the air with a cadet—now a rider—on their back, but I’ve also seen more than a couple of plumes of smoke, and I have no desire to be one of those.
The dragon huffs a breath, then continues along its path, its clubtail flicking upward and catching one of the lower-hanging branches. The limb falls to the ground with a monstrous crash, and only after the footsteps recede do I finally raise my head.
I’ve now come across every color of dragon, and none of them has spoken to me or given me the sense of connection we’re reportedly supposed to feel.
My stomach sinks. What if I’m one of the cadets who’s destined to never become a rider? One who’s thrown back time and again to restart first year until eventually something puts me on the death roll? Has this all been for nothing?
The thought is too heavy to carry.
Maybe if I could just see the valley, then I’d get a feeling like Professor Kaori was talking about.
I spot the nearest climbable tree and get to work, scaling branch after branch. Pain radiates from my hands, but I don’t let it distract me. The bark catching the wraps that still cover my palms… Now that’s an annoyance that makes me pause every few feet and pull the cloth free of the bark.
Pretty sure the higher branches aren’t going to support my weight, so I stop about three-quarters to the top and survey the immediate area.
There are a few greens in plain sight to my left, standing out against the fall foliage. Oddly enough, this is the one time of year when oranges, browns, and reds have the highest chance of blending in. I watch the trees for movement and spot a couple more directly south, but there’s no pull, no aching need to head in that direction, which probably means those aren’t mine, either.
Relief hits me embarrassingly hard when I count at least half a dozen first-years wandering aimlessly. I shouldn’t be so happy that they haven’t found their dragons, either, but at least I’m not the only one, which gives me hope.
There’s a clearing to the north, and my eyes narrow as a flash, like a mirror, catches the sun.
Or like a golden dragon.
Guess the little feathertail is still out here appeasing its curiosity. But I’m apparently not going to find my dragon up a tree, so I climb down carefully and as quietly as possible. My feet hit the ground just before voices approach, and I tuck myself against the trunk to hide from being seen.
We’re not supposed to be in groups.
“I’m telling you, I think I saw it headed this way.” It’s a cocky voice I immediately recognize as Tynan.
“You’d better be right, because if we just hiked all the way the fuck over here just to find nothing, I’m going to run you through.” My stomach twists. It’s Jack. No one else’s voice has that physical effect on me, not even Xaden’s.
“You sure we shouldn’t be spending our time looking for our own dragons instead of hunting the freak down?” Recognition tickles the edges of my mind, but I lean out from my hiding place just to be sure. Yep, it’s Oren.
I dart back behind the cover of the tree as the trio passes, each strapped with a deadly sword. There are nine daggers tucked against my body in various places, so it’s not like I’m unarmed, but I feel tragically disadvantaged by my inability to wield a sword effectively. They’re just too damned heavy.
Wait…what did they say they were doing? Hunting?
“It’s not like our dragons are going to bond other riders,” Jack snaps. “They’ll wait for us. This has to be done. That scrawny one is going to get someone killed. We have to take it out.”
Nausea swirls in my stomach, and my fingernails bite into my palms. They’re going to try and kill the little golden one.
“If we get caught, we’re fucked,” Oren comments.
That’s an understatement. I can’t imagine dragons would take kindly to killing one of their own, but they seem to be focused on culling the weak from the herd in our species, so it’s not a stretch to imagine they do the same with their own.
“Then you’d better shut your mouth so no one hears us,” Tynan counters, his voice rising in that mocking tone that makes me want to punch him in the face.
“It’s for the best,” Jack argues, his tone dropping. “It’s unrideable, a certified freak, and you know feathertails are useless in combat. They refuse to fight.” His voice fades as they walk farther away, headed north.
Toward the clearing.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath even though the assholes are out of hearing range by now. No one knows anything about feathertails, so I don’t know where Jack is getting his information, but I don’t have time to focus on his assumptions right now.
I have no way of contacting Professor Kaori, and there hasn’t even been a hint that the senior riders are watching us, so I can’t count on them to stop this madness, either. The golden dragon should be able to breathe fire, but what if it can’t?
There’s a chance they won’t find it, but… Shit, I can’t even convince myself of that one. They’re headed the right way and that dragon is pretty much a shiny beacon. They’ll find it.
My shoulders sag and I sigh at the sky, blowing out a frustrated breath.
I can’t just stand here and do nothing.
You can get there first and warn it.
Solid plan, and way better than option two, where I’d be forced to take on three armed men with at least a combined two hundred pounds on me.
I keep my footsteps silent and race across the forest floor at a slightly different angle than Jack’s little posse, thankful I grew up playing hide-and-seek with Dain in the woods. This is one area of expertise I can confidently claim.
They’ve got a head start on me, and the clearing is closer than I realized, so I kick up my speed, my gaze darting between the leaf-covered path I’ve chosen and where I think—scratch that, where I know they are toward the left. I can make out their lumbering shapes in the distance.
I hear a pop, and the ground falls out from under me, then rushes for my face. My hands fly out to brace myself a second before I slam into the forest floor. I bite into my lower lip to keep from crying out as my ankle screams. Popping isn’t good. It’s never good.
Glancing back, I curse at the fallen branch, hidden by fall foliage, that’s just wrecked my ankle. Shit.
Block the pain. Block it. But there’s no mental trick to keep the shooting agony from turning my stomach as I drag myself to my knees and rise carefully, keeping my weight on my left ankle.
There’s nothing to do but limp the final dozen feet to the clearing, gritting my teeth the whole way. The tinge of satisfaction that I beat Jack here is almost enough to make me smile.
The meadow is big enough for ten dragons, ringed by several large trees, but the golden one stands alone in the center, like it’s trying to get a suntan. It’s just as beautiful as I remember, but unless it can breathe fire, it’s a sitting duck.
“You have to get out of here!” I hiss from the cover of the trees, knowing it should be able to hear me. “They’re going to kill you if you don’t leave!”
Its head pivots toward me, then tilts at an angle that makes my own neck hurt.
“Yes!” I whisper loudly. “You! Goldie!”
It blinks its golden eyes and swishes its tail.
You have to be fucking kidding me.
“Go! Run! Fly!” I shoo at it, then remember it’s a godsdamned dragon, capable of shredding me with its claws alone, and drop my hands. This is not going well. It’s going the opposite of well.
The trees rustle from the south, and Jack steps into the clearing, his sword swaying in his right hand. A step later, he’s flanked by Oren and Tynan, both their weapons drawn.
“Shit,” I mutter, my chest tightening. This is now officially going horribly.
The golden dragon’s head snaps in their direction, a low growl rumbling in its chest.
“We’ll make it painless,” Jack promises, like that makes the murder acceptable.
“Scorch them,” I whisper-shout, my heart pounding as they draw closer. But the dragon doesn’t, and somehow, I’m certain in the marrow of my bones that it can’t. Other than its teeth, it’s defenseless against three trained warriors.
It’s going to die just because it’s smaller, weaker than the other dragons…just like me. My throat closes.
The dragon backs up, its growl growing louder as it bares its teeth.
Stomach pitching, I have that Parapet feeling again—whatever I do next has overwhelming odds of ending my life.
And yet, I’m still going to do it because this is wrong.
“You can’t do this!” I take the first step into the shin-high grass and Jack’s attention swings my way. My ankle has a heartbeat of its own, and agony streaks up my spine, chattering my teeth as I force my weight onto my ruined joint so they won’t see me limping. They can’t know I’m hurt, or they’ll just attack faster.
One at a time, I stand a chance of holding them off long enough for the dragon to escape, but together…
Don’t think about it.
“Oh, look!” Jack grins, pointing his sword my way. “We can take out both the weakest links at the same time!” He looks at his friends and laughs, pausing their advance.
Each step hurts worse than the last, but I make it to the center of the clearing, putting myself between Jack’s group and the golden dragon.
“Been waiting a long time for this, Sorrengail.” He walks forward slowly.
“If you can fly, now would be a good time,” I shout over my shoulder at the small dragon, drawing two daggers from the sheaths at my ribs.
The dragon chuffs. So helpful.
“You can’t kill a dragon,” I try reasoning, shaking my head at the trio, fear lacing my veins with adrenaline.
“Sure we can.” Jack shrugs, but Oren looks a little uncertain, so I pin my gaze on him as they spread out slightly about a dozen feet away, setting up the perfect formation for an attack.
“You can’t,” I say directly to Oren. “It goes against everything we believe in!”
He flinches. Jack doesn’t.
“Letting something so weak, so incapable of fighting, live is against our beliefs!” Jack shouts, and I know he’s not just talking about the dragon.
“You’re going to have to get through me, then.” My heart thunders against my ribs as I raise my daggers, flipping one to pinch the tip so I’m ready to throw and measuring the twenty or so feet separating me from my attackers.
“I don’t really consider that a problem,” Jack snarls.
They all lift their swords, and I draw a deep breath, readying myself to fight. This isn’t the mat. There are no instructors. No yielding. Nothing to stop them slaughtering me…slaughtering us.
“I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions,” a voice—his voice—demands from across the field to my right.
My scalp prickles as each of our heads swivel in his direction.
Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is Sgaeyl, his terrifying navy-blue daggertail.
In the six centuries of recorded history of dragon and rider, there have been hundreds of known cases where a dragon simply cannot emotionally recover from the loss of their bonded rider. This happens when the bond is particularly strong and, in three documented cases, has even caused the untimely death of the dragon.
—Navarre, an Unedited History by Colonel Lewis Markham
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Xaden. For the first time, the sight of him fills my chest with hope. He won’t let this happen. He might hate me, but he’s a wingleader. He can’t just watch them kill a dragon.
But I know the rules probably better than anyone else in this quadrant.
He has to. Bile rises in my throat, and I tilt my chin to quell the burning. What Xaden wants, which is always debatable, doesn’t matter here. He can only observe, not interfere.
I’m going to have an audience for my death. Fantastic.
So much for hope.
“And if we don’t want to rethink our actions?” Jack shouts.
Xaden looks toward me, and I swear I can see his jaw clench, even from this far away.
Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities. Xaden’s words come back to me with alarming clarity, and I rip my gaze from his and concentrate on the three probabilities in front of me.
“There’s nothing you can do, right? Wingleader?” Jack bellows.
Guess he knows the rules, too.
“It’s not me you should worry about today,” Xaden responds and Sgaeyl tilts her head, nothing but menace in her eyes when I glance over.
“You really going to do this?” I ask Tynan. “Attack a squadmate?”
“Squads don’t mean shit today,” he seethes, menace curling his lips into a sinister smile.
“So I guess that’s a no on the flying?” I toss over my shoulder again, and the golden dragon chuffs low in its throat in response. “Great. Well, if you can back me up with those claws, I’d really appreciate it.”
It chuffs twice, and I spare a glance down at its claws.
Or should I say…paws.
“Oh, fucking hell. You don’t have any claws?”
I turn back to the three men just as Jack roars a battle cry and sprints toward me. I don’t hesitate. I whip my blade across the rapidly closing space between us, and the dagger finds its mark in the shoulder of his sword arm. His sword falls as he hits his knees, crying out this time in pain.
Good.
But Oren and Tynan have charged at the same time, and they’re almost on me. I fling my second dagger at Tynan and catch him in the thigh, slowing but not stopping him.
Oren swings for my neck and I duck, unsheathing another blade and slicing him along the ribs just like I did during our challenge. My ankle isn’t going to let me kick, or even land a decent punch, so it’s up to my blades.
He recovers quickly and pivots with the sword, catching me at my stomach in a clean slice that would eviscerate me if not for Mira’s armor. Instead, the blade skims the scales, sliding right off me.
“What the hell?” Oren’s eyes fly wide.
“She’s destroyed my shoulder!” Jack cries, stumbling to his feet and distracting the others. “I can’t move it!” He clutches the joint, and I grin.
“That’s the thing about having weak joints,” I say, palming another blade. “You know exactly where to strike.”
“Kill her!” Jack orders, still clutching his shoulder as he backs away a few steps, then turns and runs in the opposite direction, disappearing into the tree line in no time.
Fucking coward.
Tynan jabs with his sword and I spin away, white-hot pain stealing my sight for a heartbeat before I swipe backward, plunging my dagger into his side, then pivoting, shoving my elbow up into Oren’s chin as he attacks, rattling his head.
“You fucking bitch!” Tynan screams, pressing his palm against his oozing side.
“Such an original”—I take advantage of Oren’s dazed expression and slice open his hip—“insult!”
The move costs me, and a scream rips from my throat as Tynan’s sword cuts into my upper right arm, along the direction of the bone.
The armor keeps it from penetrating my ribs, but I know I’ll have a hell of a bruise tomorrow as I wrench myself away, blood flowing freely as I peel myself off the sword.
“Behind you!” Xaden shouts.
I pivot to see Oren’s sword held high, ready to separate my head from my shoulders, but the golden dragon snaps its jaw and Oren stumbles to the side with terror-filled eyes, as if he’s just now realized that it has teeth.
I sidestep and knock the handle of my blade against the base of his skull.
He crumples, unconscious, and I don’t wait to see him fall before turning back toward Tynan, who has his bloodied sword ready.
“You can’t interfere!” Tynan shouts at Xaden, but I don’t dare look away from my opponent long enough to see how the wingleader reacts.
“No, but I can narrate,” Xaden retorts.
He’s obviously on my side here, which confuses the hell out of me, since more than anything, I’m certain he wants me dead. But maybe it’s not my life he’s protecting but the golden dragon’s.
I chance a quick glance. Yeah, Sgaeyl looks pissed. Her head undulates in a serpentine motion—a clear sign of agitation—and those narrowed golden eyes of hers are focused on Tynan, who is now trying to circle me like we’re on the mat, but I won’t let him get between me and the little golden dragon.
“Your arm is shot, Sorrengail,” Tynan hisses, his face pale and sweaty.
“I’m used to functioning in pain, asshole. Are you?” I raise the dagger in my right hand just to prove that I can despite the blood that runs down my arm and drips from the tip of my blade, saturating the wrap across my palm. My gaze drops meaningfully to his side. “I know exactly where I sliced into you. If you don’t get to a healer soon, you’ll bleed out internally.”
Rage contorts his features, and he moves to strike.
I try to flick my knife at him, but it slips from my blood-soaked hand and lands with a thud in the grass several feet away.
And I know my bravado won’t be enough to save me now.
My arm is shot. My leg is shot. But at least I made Jack Barlowe run away before I died.
As a last thought, that’s not a bad one.
Just as Tynan reaches up to two-hand his sword, preparing for a killing blow, I catch a glimpse of movement to my right. It’s Xaden. And rules be damned, he steps forward as though he intends to stop Tynan from killing me.
I barely have a moment to register surprise that Xaden would ever save me, for any reason, when a gust of wind slams into my back, and I stumble forward onto my destroyed ankle, flinging my arms out to keep my balance and grimacing at the shooting pain.
Tynan’s mouth hangs open and he staggers backward, his head tilting so far back it’s nearly perpendicular to his torso. Shade envelops us both as he continues to back away.
Chest heaving, my lungs desperate for air, I chance a look over my shoulder to see why Tynan’s retreating.
And my heart lurches into my throat.
Standing with the golden one tucked under an enormous, scarred black wing is the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen in my life—the unbonded black dragon Professor Kaori showed us in class. I don’t even come close to reaching its ankle.
A growl resonates through its chest, vibrating the ground around me as it lowers its gigantic head, baring dripping teeth.
Fear ripples through every cell in my body as its hot breath blows over me.
“Step aside, Silver One,” a deep, gruff, definitely male voice orders.
I blink. Wait. What? Did he just speak to me?
“Yes. You. Move.” There’s zero room for argument in his tone, and I limp to the side, nearly stumbling over Oren’s unconscious body as Tynan breaks into a screaming run, fleeing for the trees.
The black dragon’s eyes narrow to glare at Tynan and he opens his mouth wide a second before fire shoots across the field, blasting heat against the side of my face and incinerating everything in its path…including Tynan.
Flames crackle at the edges of the blackened path, and I turn slowly to face the dragon, wondering if I’m about to be next.
His giant golden eyes study me, but I hold my ground, tilting my chin upward.
“You should end the enemy at your feet.”
My eyebrows jerk upward. His mouth didn’t move. He spoke to me, but…his mouth didn’t move. Oh shit. Because he’s in my head. “I can’t kill an unconscious man.” I shake my head, though whether it’s in protest at his suggestion or a result of my confusion is up for debate.
“He would kill you if given the same chance.”
I glance down at Oren, still unconscious in the grass beside my feet. It’s not like I can argue that astute assessment. “Well, that’s a statement on his character. Not mine.”
The dragon only blinks in response, and I can’t quite tell if that’s a good thing or not.
There’s a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye, then a whoosh of air as Xaden and Sgaeyl take off, leaving me here with the giant black dragon and the little golden one. Guess Xaden’s momentary concern for my life is over.
The dragon’s giant nostrils flare. “You’re bleeding. Stop it.”
My arm.
“It’s not that simple when you’ve been run through with a—” I shake my head again. Am I seriously arguing with a dragon? This is so fucking surreal. “You know what? That’s a great idea.” I manage to cut off what remains of my right shirtsleeve and wrap it around the wound, holding one end of the fabric with my teeth as I tie it tight to apply pressure and slow the bleeding. “There. Better?”
“It will do.” He tilts his head at me. “Your hands are bound, too. Do you bleed often?”
“I try not to.”
He scoffs. “Let’s go, Violet Sorrengail.” He lifts his head, and the golden dragon peeks out from under his wing.
“How do you know my name?” I gawk up at him.
“And to think, I’d almost forgotten just how loquacious humans are.” He sighs, the gust of his breath rattling the trees. “Get on my back.”
Oh. Shit. He’s choosing…me.
“Get on your back?” I repeat like a fucking parrot. “Have you seen you? Do you have any idea how huge you are?” I’d need a damned ladder to get up there.
The look he gives me can only be described as annoyance. “One does not live a century without being well aware of the space one takes up. Now get on.”
The golden one moves out from under the shelter of the big one’s wing. It’s tiny compared to the monstrosity before me, and apparently completely defenseless with the exception of those teeth, like a playful puppy. “I can’t just leave it,” I say. “What if Oren wakes up or Jack comes back?”
The black dragon chuffs.
The golden one bends down, flexing its legs, and then launches into the sky, its golden wings catching the sun as it flies off, skimming the tops of the trees.
So it can fly. That would have been nice to know twenty minutes ago.
“Get. On,” the black dragon growls, shaking the ground and trees at the edge of the field.
“You don’t want me,” I argue. “I’m—”
“I’m not going to tell you again.”
Point taken.
Fear grasps my throat like a fist, and I hobble over to his leg. This isn’t like climbing a tree. There are no handholds, no easy path, just a series of hard-as-stone scales that don’t exactly give me a foothold. My ankle and arm aren’t doing me any favors, either. How the hell am I going to get up there? I raise my left arm and suck in a breath before placing my hand on his front leg.
The scales are larger and thicker than my hand and surprisingly warm to the touch. They layer into the next above them in an intricate pattern that leaves no space to grab hold.
“You are a rider, are you not?”
“That seems up for debate at the moment.” My heart thunders. Is he going to cook me alive for being too slow?
A low, frustrated grumble sounds in his chest, and then he shocks me to the core as he stretches forward, his front leg becoming a ramp. Dragons never supplicate for anyone, and yet here he is, bowing to make it easier for me to climb on. It’s steep but manageable.
I don’t hesitate, crawling up his front leg on my hands and knees to balance my weight and spare my ankle, but the strain on my arm has me gasping by the time I climb over his shoulder and reach his back, dodging the pointed spikes that ripple down most of his neck like a mane.
Holy shit. I’m on the back of a dragon.
“Sit.”
I see the seat—the smooth, scaly divot, just in front of his wings—and sit, bending my knees like Professor Kaori taught us. Then I grab ahold of the thick ridges of scales we call the pommel, where his neck meets his shoulders. Everything about him is bigger than any model we practiced on. My body isn’t built to stay on any dragon, let alone one of his size. There’s no way I’ll be able to stay seated. This is about to be the first and last ride of my life.
“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line.” He stands to his full height, bringing me eye level with the canopy of trees around the clearing, and I squeeze a little tighter with my thighs. “But I’m not going to assume that you’ll be able to remember that once we reach the field, so Tairn will do until I inevitably have to remind you.”
I inhale swiftly, but there’s no time to process his name—his history—before he bends slightly and launches us into the sky.
It feels like I imagine a stone does after being flung from a catapult, except it takes every ounce of strength I have to stay on this particular stone.
“Holy shit!” The ground falls away as we soar, Tairn’s enormous wings beating the air into submission and pitching upward.
My body lifts off his back, and I dig in with my hands, trying to keep anchored, but the wind, the angle, it’s all too much, and my grip falters.
My hands slip.
“Fuck!” Scrambling for purchase, my hands rake down Tairn’s back as I skid past his wings, rapidly approaching the sharp scales of his morningstar tail. “No, no, NO!”
He banks left and whatever hope I had of getting a handhold tumbles right off with me.
I’m in free fall.
Just because you survive Threshing doesn’t mean you’ll survive the ride to the flight field. Being chosen isn’t the only test, and if you can’t hold your seat, then you’ll fly straight into the ground.
—Page fifty, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Terror clogs my throat and stutters my heart. Air rushes past me as I plummet toward the mountainous terrain beneath, and the sun catches the scales of the golden one far beneath me.
I’m going to die. That’s the only possible outcome.
Vises clamp around my ribs and over my shoulders, stopping my descent, and my body jerks with whiplash as I’m yanked upward again.
“You’re making us look bad. Stop it.”
I’m clasped in Tairn’s claws. He’s actually…caught me instead of finding me unworthy and letting me fall to my death. “It’s not like it’s easy to stay on your back when you’re doing acrobatics!” I shout up.
He glances down at me, and I swear the ridge above his eye arches. “Simple flight is hardly acrobatics.”
“There is absolutely nothing simple about you!” I wrap my arms around the knuckles of his claws, noting that his sharp talons are draped harmlessly around the sides of my body. He’s huge, but he’s also careful as he flies us along the mountain.
He’s one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre. Professor Kaori’s lesson. What else had he said? The only unbonded black dragon hadn’t agreed to bond this year. He hadn’t even been seen in the last five years. His rider died in the Tyrrish rebellion.
Tairn swings me upward and then releases me, sending me flying high above him, and I flail. My stomach drops at the height of his toss, and then I fall for two heartbeats before Tairn rushes up, catching me on his back between his wings.
“Now get in the seat and actually hold on this time, or no one is going to believe that I’ve actually chosen you,” he growls.
“I still can’t believe you’ve chosen me!” I have half a mind to tell him that getting back to the seat isn’t as easy as he’s implying, but he levels out and his wings catch the air in a gentle glide, cutting the wind resistance. Inch by inch, I crawl up his back until I reach the seat and settle in again. I hold on to his ridges so hard, my hands cramp.
“You’re going to have to strengthen your legs. Didn’t you practice?”
Indignation ripples up my spine. “Of course I practiced!”
“There’s no need to shout. I can hear you just fine. The entire mountain can probably hear you.”
Was everyone’s dragon a curmudgeon? Or just mine?
My eyes widen. I have…a dragon. And not just any dragon. I have Tairneanach.
“Grip harder with your knees. I can barely feel you back there.”
“I’m trying.” I push my knees in and the muscles of my thighs tremble as he banks left, softer this time than last, his angle not quite as steep as he changes course in a wide arc, taking us back toward Basgiath. “I’m just…not as strong as other riders.”
“I know exactly who and what you are, Violet Sorrengail.”
My legs shake until they lock, the muscles freezing in place as though bands have been wrapped around them, but there’s no pain. I glance over my shoulder and see his morningstar tail, what feels like miles behind us.
He’s doing this. He’s holding me in place.
Guilt settles in my stomach. I should have focused more on strength training for my legs. I should have spent more time preparing myself for this. He shouldn’t have to spend his energy on keeping his rider seated. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think I’d make it this far.”
A loud sigh resonates through my mind. “I didn’t think I would, either, so we have that in common.”
I sit higher in the seat and look out over the landscape, wind ripping tears from the corners of my eyes. No wonder most riders choose to wear goggles. There are at least a dozen dragons in the air, each putting their rider through a trial of dips and turns. Reds, oranges, greens, browns, the sky is speckled with color.
My heart lurches as I see a rider fall from the back of a Red Swordtail and, unlike Tairn, the dragon doesn’t dip to catch the first-year. I look away before the body hits the ground.
It’s not anyone you know. That’s what I tell myself. Rhiannon, Ridoc, Trina, Sawyer… They’re all probably safely bonded and already waiting at the field.
“We’re going to have to put on a show.”
“Awesome.” The idea is anything but.
“You will not fall. I will not allow it.” The bands around my legs extend to my hands, and I feel the pulse of invisible energy. “You will trust me.”
Not a question. An order.
“Let’s get it over with.” I can’t move my legs, my fingers, my hands, so there’s nothing I can do but sit back and hope I enjoy whatever hell he’s about to put me through.
His wings give a mighty beat, and we lurch upward in what feels like a ninety-degree climb, leaving my stomach back at the lower altitude. He crests the top of the snow-dusted peaks, and we hang there for a breath of a second before he twists, diving back down at the same terrifying angle.
It’s the most horrifying and yet exhilarating moment of my life.
Until he twists again, sending us into a spiral.
My body is wrenched this way and that as he completes turn after turn, pulling us out of the dive only to bank so hard, I swear the land becomes the sky, then repeats it all until my face splits into a grin.
There is nothing like this.
“I think we made our point.” He pulls us level, then banks right, starting up the valley that leads to the box canyon of the training fields. The sun is close to setting behind the peaks, but there’s plenty of light to see the golden dragon up ahead, hovering as though it’s waiting. Maybe it didn’t choose a rider, but it will live to decide again next year, and that’s all that matters.
Or maybe it will see that we humans aren’t so great after all.
“Why did you choose me?” I have to know, because as soon as we land, there are going to be questions.
“Because you saved her.” Tairn’s head inclines toward the golden as we approach, and she follows after us. Our speed slows.
“But…” I shake my head. “Dragons value strength and cunning and…ferocity in their riders.” None of which defines me.
“Please, do tell me more about what I should value.” Sarcasm drips from his tone as we pass over the Gauntlet and crest the narrow entrance to the training fields.
I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of so many dragons. There are hundreds gathered along the rocky edges of the mountain slopes behind the bleachers that were erected overnight. Spectators. And at the bottom of the valley, in the same field I’d walked only a couple of days before, are two lines of dragons facing each other.
“They are divided between those still in the quadrant who chose in years past and those who chose today,” Tairn tells me. “We are the seventy-first bond to enter the fields.”
Mom will be here, on the dais in front of the bleachers, and maybe I’ll get more than a cursory glance, but her attention will mostly be on the seventy or so newly bonded pairs.
A ferocious roar of celebration goes up among the dragons as we fly in, every head swinging our way, and I know it’s in deference to Tairn. So is the parting of the dragons at the very center of the field, making room for Tairn to land. He releases the bands holding me in my seat, then hovers over the grass for a few wing beats, and I see the golden dragon flying furiously to catch up.
How ironic. Tairn is the most celebrated dragon in the Vale, and I’m the most unlikely rider in the quadrant.
“You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning.”
I gulp at the compliment, brushing it off. I was trained as a scribe, not a rider.
“You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength. Since you apparently need to know before we land.”
My throat tightens from his words, emotion forming a knot I have to swallow past.
Oh. Shit. I hadn’t spoken those words. I’d thought them.
He can read my thoughts.
“See? Smartest of your year.”
So much for privacy.
“You’ll never be alone again.”
“That sounds more like a threat than a comfort,” I think. Of course I knew that dragons maintain a mental bond with their riders, but the extent of it is more than a little daunting.
Tairn scoffs in reply.
The golden dragon reaches us, her wings beating twice as fast as Tairn’s, and we land in the dead center of the field. The impact jars me slightly, but I sit up tall in the seat and even let go of the pommel ridges.
“See, I can hang on just fine when you’re not moving.”
Tairn tucks his wings up and looks over his shoulder at me with an expression that’s the closest thing to a dragon rolling his eyes that I’ve ever seen. “You need to dismount before I rethink my selection, then tell the roll-keeper—”
“I know what to do.” I pull in a shaky breath. “I just didn’t think I’d be alive to do it.” Surveying both options for dismount, I move right to shelter my ankle as long as possible. There are no healers allowed in the flight field, only riders, but hopefully someone thought to pack a medical kit, because I’m going to need stitches and a splint.
I scoot over the scales of Tairn’s shoulder and, before I can lament the distance I’m about to have to jump on the wreckage of my ankle, Tairn shifts slightly, angling his front leg.
There’s a sound from the slopes that reminds me of muttering…if dragons mutter.
“They do and they are. Ignore it.” Again, there’s no room for argument in his tone.
“Thanks,” I whisper, then slide down on my butt like he’s a bumpy piece of lethal playground equipment, taking the brunt of the impact with my left leg when I hit the ground.
“That’s one way to do it.”
I can’t stop the smile on my face or the joy that stings my eyes at the sight of other first-years standing in front of their dragons. I’m alive, and I’m no longer a cadet. I’m a rider.
The first step hurts like hell, but I pivot toward the golden one, who is tucked in tight next to Tairn, surveying me with bright eyes as she flicks her feathertail.
“I’m glad you made it.” “Glad” isn’t even the right word. Thrilled, relieved, grateful. “But maybe you should fly off the next time someone suggests you save yourself, eh?”
She blinks. “Maybe I was saving you.” Her voice is higher, sweeter in my mind.
My lips part, and the muscles in my face go slack with shock. “Didn’t anyone tell you that you’re not supposed to speak to humans who aren’t your rider? Don’t go getting yourself in trouble, Goldie,” I whisper. “From what I hear, dragons are pretty strict about breaking that rule.”
She simply sits, tucking her wings in, and tilts her head at me in that should-be-impossible angle that almost makes me laugh.
“Holy hell!” the rider of the red dragon to my right exclaims, and I turn toward him. He’s a first-year from Claw Section, Fourth Wing, but I don’t remember his name. “Is that…” He openly stares with fear-wide eyes at Tairn.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling wider. “He is.”
My ankle throbs, aches, and generally feels like it’s going to come apart at any second as I limp across the wide field, heading for the small formation directly ahead of me. Behind me, wind sporadically gusts as more dragons land and their riders dismount to have their names recorded, but it’s softer and softer as the line spreads farther down the field.
Dusk falls, and a series of mage lights illuminates the crowd in the bleachers and on the dais. In the very center, right above where the redhead from Parapet is recording roll, sits my mother, dressed in all her military finery, medals and all, lest anyone forget exactly who she is. Though there is an assortment of generals on the dais, each representing their wing, there’s only one more highly decorated than Lilith Sorrengail.
And Melgren, the commanding general of all Navarrian forces, has his beady eyes on Tairn in open assessment. His focus flicks toward me, and I suppress a shudder. There’s nothing but cold calculation in those eyes.
Mom rises as I approach the roll-keeper at the base of the dais, who’s recording bonded pairs before motioning the next rider forward to maintain secrecy of a dragon’s full name.
Professor Kaori jumps off the six-foot platform to my left and stares open-mouthed at Tairn, his gaze sweeping over the massive black dragon, memorizing every single detail.
“Is that really—” Commandant Panchek starts, hovering at the edge of the dais with more than a dozen other uniformed, high-ranking officers, all gaping.
“Don’t say it,” Mom hisses, her eyes on Tairn, not me. “Not until she does.”
Because only a rider and the roll-keeper know a dragon’s full name and she’s not certain I’m really his. That’s exactly what she’s implying. Like I’d be able to hijack Tairn. Anger simmers in my veins, overtaking the pain coursing through my body as I move forward in the line so there’s only one other rider ahead of me.
Mom forced me into the Riders Quadrant. She didn’t care if I lived or died as I crossed the parapet. The only thing she cares about now is how my flaws might mar her sterling reputation or how my bonding might further her own agenda.
And now she’s staring at my dragon without even bothering to look down and see if I’m all right.
Fuck. Her.
It’s everything I expected and yet still so disappointing.
The rider ahead finishes, moving out of the way, and the roll-keeper looks up, glancing wide-eyed at Tairn before lowering her shocked gaze to mine and beckoning me forward.
“Violet Sorrengail,” she says as she writes in the Book of Riders. “Nice to see that you made it.” She offers me a quick, shaky smile. “For the record, please tell me the name of the dragon who chose you.”
I lift my chin. “Tairneanach.”
“Pronunciation could use some work.” Tairn’s voice rumbles through my head.
“Hey, at least I remembered,” I think back in his general direction, wondering if he’ll hear me across the field.
“At least I didn’t let you fall to your death.” He sounds utterly bored, but he definitely heard me.
The woman grins, shaking her head as she writes down his name. “I can’t believe he bonded. Violet, he’s a legend.”
I open my mouth to agree—
“Andarnaurram.” The sweet, high voice of the golden fills my mind. “Andarna for short.”
I feel the blood rush from my face, and the edges of my vision sway as I pivot on my good ankle, staring back across the field at where the golden dragon—Andarna—now stands between Tairn’s front legs. “Excuse me?”
“Violet, are you all right?” the redhead asks, and everyone around me, above me, leans in.
“Tell her,” the golden insists.
“Tairn. What am I supposed to—” I think at him.
“Tell the roll-keeper her name,” Tairn echoes.
“Violet?” the roll-keeper repeats. “Do you need a mender?”
I turn back to the woman and clear my throat. “And Andarnaurram,” I whisper.
Her eyes fly wide. “Both dragons?” she squawks.
I nod.
And all hell breaks loose.
Though this officer considers himself to be an expert on all matters dragonkind, there is a great deal we don’t know about the way dragons govern themselves. There is a clear hierarchy among the most powerful, and deference is paid to elders, but I have not been able to discern how it is they make laws for themselves or at what point a dragon decided to bond only one rider, rather than go for better odds with two.
—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
“Absolutely not!” one general shouts loud enough that I can hear her all the way from the little medical station that’s been set up at the end of the bleachers for riders. It’s nothing but a row of a dozen tables and some flown-in supplies to tide us over until we can get to the Healer Quadrant, but at least the pain medication is taking effect.
Two dragons. I have…two dragons.
The generals have been screaming at each other for the last half hour, long enough for a chill to settle in the night air and for an instructor I’ve never met to sew up both sides of my arm.
Lucky for me, Tynan mostly sliced through muscle but didn’t sever it.
Unlucky for me, Jack is getting his shoulder examined about a dozen feet away. He strutted over from the back of an Orange Scorpiontail to record his bond with the roll-keeper, who’d kept doing her job regardless of the generals arguing on the dais behind her.
Jack hasn’t quit staring at Tairn across the field.
“How is that?” Professor Kaori asks quietly, tightening the straps around my splinted ankle. There are about a million other questions in his slashing, dark eyes, but he keeps them to himself.
“Hurts like hell.” The swelling made it nearly impossible to get my boot back on without loosening every single lace to its widest position, but at least I didn’t have to crawl across the field like a girl from Second Wing who had broken her leg during dismount. She’s seven tables back, crying softly as the rider field medics try to set her leg.
“You’ll be focused on strengthening your bonds and riding in the next couple of months, so as long as you don’t have trouble mounting or dismounting”—his head tilts as he ties off the straps of my splint—“which, after what I saw, I don’t think you will—this sprain should heal before your next round of challenges.” Two lines deepen between his brow. “Or I can call Nolon—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ll heal.”
“If you’re sure?” He obviously isn’t.
“Every eye in this valley is on me and my dragon—dragons,” I correct myself. “I can’t afford to appear weak.”
He frowns but nods.
“Do you know who made it out of my squad?” I ask, fear knotting my throat. Please let Rhiannon be alive. And Trina. And Ridoc. And Sawyer. All of them.
“I haven’t seen Trina or Tynan,” Professor Kaori answers slowly, like he’s trying to soften a blow. It doesn’t.
“Tynan won’t be coming,” I whisper, guilt gnawing at my stomach.
“That is not your kill to take credit for,” Tairn mentally growls.
“I see,” Professor Kaori murmurs.
“What the hell do you mean you think it needs surgery?” Jack bellows from my left.
“I mean, it looks like the weapon severed a couple of ligaments, but we’ll have to get you to the healers to be sure,” the other instructor says, his voice infinitely patient as he secures Jack’s sling.
I look Jack straight in those evil eyes and smile. I’m done being scared of him. He ran back in that meadow.
Rage mottles his cheeks in the mage light, and he swings his feet over the end of his table and charges toward me. “You!”
“I what?” I slip off the end of my table and leave my hands loose by the sheaths at my thighs.
Professor Kaori’s eyebrows jump as he glances between us. “You?” he murmurs.
“Me,” I answer, keeping my focus on Jack.
But Professor Kaori moves between us, throwing his palm out at Jack. “I wouldn’t get any closer to her.”
“Hiding behind our instructors now, Sorrengail?” Jack’s uninjured fist curls.
“I didn’t hide out there, and I’m not hiding here.” I raise my chin. “I’m not the one who ran.”
“She doesn’t need to hide behind me when she’s bonded to the most powerful dragon of your year,” Professor Kaori warns Jack, whose eyes narrow on me. “Your orange is a good choice, Barlowe. Baide, right? He’s had four other riders before you.”
Jack nods.
Professor Kaori looks back over his shoulder at the line of dragons. “As aggressive as Baide might be, from the way Tairn’s looking at you, he’ll have no problem scorching your bones into the earth if you take another step toward his rider.”
Jack stares at me in disbelief. “You?”
“Me.” The throbbing in my ankle is down to a manageable, dull ache, even standing on it.
He shakes his head, and the look in his eyes transforms from shock, to envy, to fear as he pivots toward the professor. “I don’t know what she told you about what happened out there—”
“Nothing.” The instructor folds his arms across his chest. “Is there something I need to know?”
Jack pales, going white as a sheet in the mage light as another injured first-year hobbles over, blood streaming from his thigh and torso.
“Everyone who needs to know already knows.” I lock eyes with Jack.
“Guess we’re done for the night,” Kaori says as a line of dragons flies in, only visible by their silhouettes in the darkness. “The senior riders are back. You two should return to your dragons.”
Jack huffs and marches off across the field.
I glance at the generals still gathered in heated discussion on the dais. “Professor Kaori, has anyone ever bonded two dragons?” If anyone knows, it’s the professor of Dragonkind.
He turns with me to face the arguing leadership. “You would be the first. Not sure why they’re fighting about it, though. The decision won’t be up to them.”
“It won’t?” Wind gusts as dozens of dragons land on the opposite side of the first-years, rows of mage lights hanging between them.
“Nothing about who dragons choose is up to humans,” Kaori assures me. “We only like to maintain the illusion that we’re in control. Something tells me they’ve just been waiting for the others to make it back before they meet.”
“The leadership?” My brow furrows.
Kaori shakes his head. “The dragons.”
The dragons are going to meet? “Thank you for tending to my ankle. I’d better get back over there.” I offer him a tentative smile and head across the dimly lit field to Tairn and Andarna, feeling the weight of every stare in the valley as I stop and stand between the two dragons.
“You two are causing a ruckus, you know.” I look at Andarna, then glance up at Tairn before turning around to face the field like the other first-years. “They’re not going to let us do this.” Oh shit, what if they make me choose?
My stomach plummets.
“It’s up to the Empyrean to decide,” Tairn says, but there’s an edge of tension in his tone. “Don’t leave the field. This might take a while.”
“What might—” My question dies on my tongue as the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen, even larger than Tairn, stalks toward us from the opening to the valley. Each dragon it passes walks into the center of the field and follows after, gathering dozens as it walks. “Is that…”
“Codagh,” Tairn answers.
General Melgren’s dragon.
I make out the patchy holes in his battle-scarred wings as he comes closer, his golden gaze focused on Tairn in a way that makes me nauseous. He growls, low in his throat, turning those sinister eyes on me.
Tairn rumbles his own growl, stepping forward so I’m between his massive claws.
There’s zero doubt I’m the subject of both disgruntled snarls.
“Yep! We’re talking about you!” Andarna says as the line passes by, and she joins.
“Stay close to the wingleader until we return,” Tairn orders.
Surely he meant to say squad leader.
“You heard what I said.”
Or not.
I glance around and spot Xaden standing across the field, his arms crossed and legs spread as he stares at Tairn.
The riders are eerily silent as the dragons empty the meadow, taking flight in a steady stream near the end and landing halfway up the southernmost peak in a shadowy grouping I can barely define in the moonlight.
The second the last of the dragons flies off, chaos erupts. First-years swarm the center of the field, where I happen to be standing, shouting in exuberance and searching for their friends. My eyes scan the crowd, hoping for some glimpse of—
“Rhi!” I shout, spotting Rhiannon in the mob and limping her way.
“Violet!” She crushes me into a hug, pulling away when I wince at the fresh pain in my arm. “What happened?”
“Tynan’s sword.” I barely get the answer out of my mouth before I’m snatched off my feet by Ridoc, who spins me around, my feet flying out in front of me.
“Look who rode in on the baddest motherfucker around!”
“Put her down!” Rhiannon chides. “She’s bleeding!”
“Oh shit, sorry,” Ridoc says, and my feet find the ground.
“It’s fine.” There’s fresh blood on the bandage, but I don’t think I’ve torn my stitches. And painkillers are awesome. “Are you all right? Who did you guys bond?”
“The Green Daggertail!” Rhiannon grins. “Feirge. And it was just…easy.” She sighs. “I saw her and just knew.”
“Aotrom,” Ridoc says with pride. “Brown Swordtail.”
“Sliseag!” Sawyer throws his arms around Rhiannon’s and Ridoc’s shoulders. “Red Swordtail!” We all cheer, and I’m swept into his hug next. Out of all of us, I’m happiest for him, for all he’s had to endure to get here.
“Trina?” I ask as he lets me go.
One by one, they shake their heads, looking to the others for answers. An impossible heaviness settles in my heart, and I search for any other reason. “I mean…there’s a possibility she’s just unbonded, right?”
Sawyer shakes his head, sorrow slackening his shoulders. “I saw her fall from the back of an Orange Clubtail.”
My heart sinks.
“Tynan?” Ridoc asks, his gaze jumping between us.
“Tairn killed him,” I say softly. “In his defense, Tynan had already run me through once.” I gesture to the wound on my arm. “And he was trying to—”
“He tried what?”
I’m spun around by the shoulders and yanked against a chest. Dain. My arms wind around his back and hold fast as I breathe deeply.
“Damn it. Violet. Just…damn.” He squeezes me tight, then pushes me to arm’s length. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, but that doesn’t quell the worry in his eyes. I’m not sure anything ever will. “But we’re all that’s left of our squad’s first-years.”
Dain’s gaze rises to look at the others, and he nods. “Four out of nine. That’s”—his jaw ticks once—“to be expected. The dragons are currently holding a meeting of the Empyrean—their leadership. Stay here until they return,” he says to the others before looking down at me. “You come with me.”
It’s probably my mother, beckoning me through him. Surely she’ll want to see me with everything that’s going on. I glance across the field, but it’s not Mom I find watching me but Xaden, his expression unreadable.
When Dain takes my hand and tugs, I turn away from Xaden, following Dain to the opposite edge of the field, where we’re hidden in shadow. Guess it’s not about Mom.
“What the actual fuck happened out there? Because I’ve got Cath telling me that not only did Tairn choose you but so did the small one—Adarn?” His fingers lace with mine, panic swirling in his brown eyes.
“Andarna,” I correct him, a smile playing on my lips at the thought of the small golden dragon.
“They’re going to make you choose.” His expression hardens, and the certainty there makes me recoil.
“I’m not choosing.” I shake my head, disengaging our hands. “No human has ever chosen, and I’m not about to be the first.” And who the hell is Dain to tell me that?
“You are.” He rips his hand over his hair, and his composure slips. “You have to trust me. You do trust me, right?”
“Of course I do—”
“Then you have to choose Andarna.” He nods as if his decree equals a decision made. “The gold one is the safest choice of the two.”
Why, because Tairn is…Tairn? Does Dain think I’m too weak for a dragon as strong as Tairn?
My mouth opens, then shuts like a fish out of water as I search for any reply that isn’t fuck off. There’s no way in hell I’m rejecting Tairn. But my heart won’t let me reject Andarna, either.
“Are they going to make me choose?” I think in their direction.
There’s no response, and where I’ve felt an…extension in my mind, of who I am, stretching my mental boundaries since Tairn first spoke to me in that field, there’s nothing now.
I’m cut off. Don’t panic.
“I’m not choosing,” I repeat, softer this time. What if I can’t have either of them? What if they’ve broken some sacred rule and now we’ll all be punished?
“You are. And it has to be Andarna.” He grips my shoulders and leans in, an edge of urgency in his tone. “I know she’s too small to bear a rider—”
“That hasn’t been tested,” I say defensively even though I know it’s true. The physics just don’t match up.
“And it doesn’t matter. It will mean that you won’t be able to ride with a wing, but they’ll probably make you a permanent instructor here like Kaori.”
“That’s because his signet power makes him indispensable as a teacher, not because his dragon can’t fly,” I argue. “And even he had the requisite four years with a combat wing before he was put behind a desk.”
Dain looks away, and I can almost see the gears in his mind turning as he calculates…what? My risk? My choice? My freedom? “Even if you take Andarna into combat, there’s only a chance you’ll be killed. You take Tairn, and Xaden will get you killed. You think Melgren is terrifying? I’ve been here for a year longer than you have, Vi. At least you know what you’re getting when it comes to Melgren. Xaden isn’t only twice as ruthless, but he’s dangerously unpredictable.”
I blink. “Wait. What are you saying?”
“They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.”
My mind whirs. Mated pairs can’t be separated for long or their health diminishes, so they’re always stationed together. Always. Which means—oh gods.
“Just…tell me how it happened.” He must see me fumbling because his voice softens.
So I do. I tell him about Jack and his band of murderous friends hunting Andarna. I tell him about falling, and the field, and Xaden watching, Xaden…shockingly protecting me with his warning when Oren was at my back. He had the perfect opportunity to end me without it tipping his scales, and he chose to help. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
“Xaden was there,” Dain says quietly, but the gentleness leaches from his voice.
“Yes.” I nod. “But he left after Tairn showed up.”
“Xaden was there when you defended Andarna, and then Tairn just…showed up?” he asks slowly.
“Yes. That’s what I just said.” Was the timeline confusing him? “What are you getting at?”
“Don’t you see what happened? What Xaden’s done?” His grip tightens. Thank gods for the dragon-scale armor, or I might have bruises tomorrow.
“Please, do tell me what it is you think I’ve done.” A shape emerges from the shadows, and my pulse quickens as Xaden steps into the moonlight, darkness falling off him like a discarded veil.
Heat rushes through every vein, wakes every nerve ending. I hate the reaction of my body to the sight of him, but I can’t deny it. His appeal is so fucking inconvenient.
“You manipulated Threshing.” Dain’s hands drop from my shoulders, and he turns to face our wingleader, the set of his shoulders rigid as he puts himself between us.
Oh shit, that’s a huge allegation to hurl.
“Dain, that’s…” Paranoid. I sidestep Dain’s back. If Xaden was going to kill me, he wouldn’t have waited this long to do it. He’s had every possible opportunity, and yet I’m still standing here. Bonded. To his dragon’s mate.
Xaden’s not going to kill me. The realization makes my chest tighten, makes me reexamine everything that happened in that field, makes my sense of gravity shift beneath my feet.
“Is that an official accusation?” Xaden looks at Dain like a hindrance, an annoyance.
“Did you step in?” Dain demands.
“Did I what?” Xaden arches a dark brow and levels a look on Dain that would make a lesser person wither. “Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded? Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless?” He turns that stare on me, and I feel the impact all the way to my toes.
“And I would do it again.” I raise my chin.
“Well-the-fuck-aware,” Xaden roars, losing his temper for the first time since I met him on Parapet.
I pull in a quick breath, and Xaden does the same, as if he’s just as shocked by his outburst as I am.
“Did I see her fight off three bigger cadets?” His glare pivots to Dain. “Because the answer to all of those is yes. But you’re asking the wrong question, Aetos. What you should be asking is if Sgaeyl saw it, too.”
Dain swallows and looks away, obviously rethinking his position.
“His mate told him,” I whisper. Sgaeyl called for Tairn.
“She’s never been a fan of bullies,” Xaden says to me. “But don’t mistake it as an act of kindness toward you. She’s fond of the little dragon. Unfortunately, Tairn chose you all on his own.”
“Fuck,” Dain mutters.
“My thought exactly.” Xaden shakes his head at Dain. “Sorrengail is the last person on the Continent I’d ever want to be chained to me. I didn’t do this.”
Ouch. It takes all the willpower in my body not to reach for my chest and make sure he didn’t just rip my heart out from behind my ribs, which makes absolutely zero sense, since I feel the same way about him. He’s the son of the Great Betrayer. His father was directly responsible for Brennan’s death.
“And even if I had.” Xaden moves toward Dain, towering over him. “Would you really level that accusation knowing it would have been what saved the woman you call your best friend?”
My gaze flies to Dain, and a silent, damning moment passes. It’s a simple question, and yet I find myself holding my breath for his answer. What do I really mean to him?
“There are…rules.” Dain tilts his chin to look Xaden in the eyes.
“And out of curiosity, would you have, let’s say, bent those rules to save your precious little Violet in that field?” His voice ices over as he studies Dain’s expression with rapt fascination.
Xaden had taken a step. Right before Tairn landed, he’d moved…toward me.
Dain’s jaw flexes, and I see the war in his eyes.
“That’s unfair to ask him.” I move to Dain’s side as the sound of whipping wings interrupts the night. The dragons are flying back. They’ve made their decision.
“I’m ordering you to answer, squad leader.” Xaden doesn’t even spare me a glance.
Dain swallows, his eyes slamming shut. “No. I wouldn’t have.”
My heart hits the ground. I’ve always known deep down that Dain valued rule and order more than relationships, more than me, but to have it so cruelly displayed cuts deeper than Tynan’s sword.
Xaden scoffs.
Dain immediately jerks his head toward mine. “It would have killed me to watch something happen to you, Vi, but the rules—”
“It’s all right,” I force out, touching his shoulder, but it isn’t.
“The dragons are returning,” Xaden says as the first of them lands on the illuminated field. “Get back to formation, squad leader.”
Dain rips his gaze from mine and walks away, blending into the crowd of hurried riders and their dragons.
“Why would you do that to him?” I hurl at Xaden, then shake my head. I don’t care why. “Forget it,” I mutter, then march off, heading back toward the spot where Tairn told me to wait.
“Because you put too much faith in him,” Xaden answers anyway, catching up to me without even lengthening his stride. “And knowing who to trust is the only thing that will keep you alive—keep us alive—not only in the quadrant but after graduation.”
“There is no us,” I say, dodging a rider as she races past. Dragons land left and right, the ground trembling with the force of the riot’s movement. I’ve never seen so many dragons at flight in the same moment.
“Oh, I think you’ll find that’s no longer the case,” Xaden murmurs next to me, gripping my elbow and yanking me out of the path of another rider running from the other direction.
Yesterday, he would have let me run headfirst into him.
Hell, he might have even pushed me.
“Tairn’s bonds are so powerful, both to mate and rider, because he’s so powerful. Losing his last rider nearly killed him, which, in turn, nearly killed Sgaeyl. Mated pairs’ lives are—”
“Interdependent, I know that.” We move forward until we’re dead center in the line of riders. If I wasn’t so aggravated by Xaden’s callous attitude toward Dain, I would take the time to admire just how spectacular it is to see hundreds of dragons land all around us. Or maybe I’d question how the man next to me manages to consume all the air in the massive field.
“Each time a dragon chooses a rider, that bond is stronger than the last, which means that if you die, Violence, it sets off a chain of events that potentially ends with me dying, too.” His expression is immovable marble, but the anger in his eyes leaves me breathless. It’s pure…rage. “So yeah, unfortunately for everyone involved, there’s now an us if the Empyrean lets Tairn’s choice stand.”
Oh. Gods.
I’m tethered to Xaden Riorson.
“And now that Tairn is in play, that other cadets know he’s willing to bond…” He sighs, annoyance rippling over his features, his strong jaw working as he looks away.
“That’s why Tairn told me to stay with you,” I whisper as the consequences of today’s actions settle in my churning stomach. “Because of the unbonded.” There are at least three dozen of them standing on the opposite side of the field, watching us with avarice in their eyes—including Oren Seifert.
“The unbonded are going to try to kill you in hopes they’ll get Tairn to bond them.” Xaden shakes his head at Garrick as he approaches, and the section leader glances between us, his mouth set in a firm line before retreating across the field. “Tairn is one of the strongest dragons on the Continent, and the vast power he channels is about to be yours. The next few months, the unbonded will try to kill a newly paired rider while the bond is weak, while they still have a chance of that dragon changing its mind and picking them so they’re not set back a full year. And for Tairn? They’ll do just about anything.” He sighs again like it’s his new full-time job. “There are forty-one unbonded riders for which you are now target number one.” He holds up a single finger.
“And Tairn thinks you’ll play bodyguard.” I snort. “Little does he know just how much you dislike me.”
“He knows exactly how much I value my own life,” Xaden retorts, glancing down my body. “You’re freakishly calm for someone who just heard she’s about to be hunted.”
“It’s a typical Wednesday for me.” I shrug, ignoring the way his gaze heats my skin. “And honestly, being hunted by forty-one people is a lot less intimidating than constantly watching dark corners for you.”
A breeze hits my back as Andarna lands behind me, followed by a gust of wind and shuddering ground when it’s Tairn.
Without another word, Xaden rips his gaze from mine and walks away, cutting a slightly diagonal path across the field to where Sgaeyl overshadows the other wingleaders’ dragons.
“Tell me it’s going to be all right,” I murmur toward Andarna and Tairn.
“It is how it should be,” Tairn answers, his voice gruff and bored at the same time.
“You didn’t answer before.” Fine, it sounds a little accusatory.
“Humans can’t know what’s said within the Empyrean,” Andarna answers. “It’s a rule.”
So every rider was blocked, not just me. The thought is oddly comforting. Also, the whole Empyrean is a new term for me today. Kaori must be in heaven tonight with all the dragon politics coming to light. What did they decide?
I glance at my mother, but she’s looking everywhere but my direction.
General Melgren moves toward the front of the dais, his uniform dripping in medals. Dain’s right in one way—the top general in our kingdom is terrifying. He’s never had an issue using infantry for fodder, and his cruelty when it comes to overseeing the interrogation—and execution—of prisoners is well-known, at least at my family’s dining room table. His enormous nightmare of a dragon takes up the entire space beside the dais, and a hush falls over the crowd as Melgren angles his hands in front of his face.
“Codagh has relayed that the dragons have spoken regarding the Sorrengail girl.” Lesser magic allows his voice to magically amplify over the field for all to hear.
Woman, I mentally correct him, my stomach knotting.
“While tradition has shown us that there is one rider for every dragon, there has never been a case of two dragons selecting the same rider, and therefore there is no dragon law against it,” he declares. “While we riders may not feel as though this is…equitable”—his tone implies that he’s one of them—“dragons make their own laws. Both Tairn and…” He looks over his shoulder and his aide rushes forward to whisper in his ear. “Andarna have chosen Violet Sorrengail, and so their choice stands.”
The crowd murmurs, but my shoulders sag in acute relief. I don’t have to make an impossible choice.
“As it should be,” Tairn grumbles. “Humans have no say in the laws of dragons.”
Mom steps forward and makes the same gesture with her hands to project her voice, but I can’t concentrate on what she’s saying as she closes out the formal portion of the Threshing ceremony, promising the unbonded riders another chance next year. If they don’t manage to kill one of us while our bonds are weak in the next few months and try to bond our dragons themselves.
I belong to Tairn and Andarna…and, in some really fucked-up way…Xaden.
My scalp prickles, and I glance across the field at him.
As if sensing my gaze, he looks over and holds up a single finger. Target number one.
“Welcome to a family that knows no boundaries, no limits, and no end,” my mother finishes, and a cheer resounds around the field. “Riders, step forward.”
I look left and right in confusion, but so does every other rider.
“Five steps or so,” Tairn says.
I take them.
“Dragons, it is our honor as always,” Mom calls out. “Now we celebrate!”
Heat blasts my back, and I hiss in pain as riders on both sides of me cry out. My back feels like it’s on fucking fire, and yet everyone across the field is cheering raucously, some of them racing our way.
Other riders are caught up in embraces.
“You’ll like it,” Tairn promises. “It’s unique.”
The pain fades to a dull ache, and I glance over my shoulder. There’s a solid black…something peeking out from the vest. “I’ll like what?”
“Violet!” Dain reaches me, his smile wide as he cups my face. “You kept both of them!”
“I guess I did.” My lips curve. It’s all…surreal, all too much for one day.
“Where’s your…” He lets go and circles me. “Can I unlace this? Just the top?” he asks, tugging at the raised neck of the back of my vest.
I nod. A few pushes and pulls later, the crisp October air nips at the base of my neck.
“Holy shit. You have to see this.”
“Tell the boy to move,” Tairn orders.
“Tairn says you should move.”
Dain steps out of the way.
Suddenly, my vision isn’t mine. I’m looking at my own back through…Andarna’s eyes. A back that has a glistening black relic of a dragon mid-flight stretching from shoulder to shoulder and, in the center, the silhouette of a shimmering golden one.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. I’m marked by their magic as a rider now, as their rider.
“We know,” Andarna answers.
I blink, and my vision is mine again, and Dain’s hands lace up my corset quickly, then are on my face, tipping it up toward his.
“You have to know that I would do anything to save you, Violet, to keep you safe,” he blurts, panic in his eyes. “What Riorson said…” He shakes his head.
“I know,” I say reassuringly, nodding even as something cracks in my heart. “You always want me safe.” He’d do anything. Except break the rules.
“You have to know how I feel about you.” His thumb strokes over my cheek, his eyes searching for something, and then his mouth is on mine.
His lips are soft, but the kiss is firm, and delight races up my spine. After years, Dain is finally kissing me.
The thrill is gone in less than a heartbeat. There’s no heat. No energy. No sharp slice of lust. Disappointment sours the moment, but not for Dain. He’s all smiles as he pulls away.
It was over in an instant.
It was everything I’ve ever wanted…except…
Shit. I don’t want it anymore.
It is therefore only natural that the more powerful the dragon, the more powerful the signet its rider manifests. One should beware of a strong rider who bonds a smaller dragon, but even warier of the unbonded cadet, who will stop at nothing to seize a chance to bond.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
After sleeping in the crowded barracks for the last two months, it’s weird, and oddly decadent, to have my own room. I’ll never take the luxury of privacy for granted again.
I close my door behind me as I limp into the hallway.
Rhiannon’s door, across the small hall from mine, opens and I see Sawyer’s tall, lean frame come out. He runs his fingers through his hair, and when he sees me, his eyebrows rise and he freezes—his cheeks almost as red as his freckles.
“Good morning.” I grin.
“Violet.” He forces an awkward smile and walks off, headed toward the main hallway of the first-year dormitory.
A couple from Second Wing holds hands as they come out of the room next to Rhiannon’s, and I offer them a smile as I lean back against my door and wait, testing my ankle by rolling it. It’s sore, just like every time I sprain it, but the brace and my boot hold it in place well enough to keep my weight on it. If I were anywhere else, I would call for crutches, but that would just put another target on my back, and according to Xaden, I already have a big enough one as it is.
Rhiannon walks out of her room and smiles as soon as she sees me. “No more breakfast duty?”
“I was told last night that all the less desirable duties were being handed off to the unbonded so our energy can be redirected for flight lessons.” Which means I’ll have to find another way to weaken my opponents before challenges. Xaden’s right. I can’t always count on taking every enemy down with poison, but I’m not going to ignore the only advantage I have here, either.
“One more reason for the unbonded to hate us,” Rhiannon mutters.
“So, Sawyer, huh, Rhi?” We start down our hallway, passing a few other rooms before meeting up with the main corridor that leads to the rotunda. Have to say, the first-year rooms aren’t as spacious as the second-years’, but at least we both got ones with windows.
A grin curves her lips. “I felt like celebrating.” She darts a quick side-eye at me. “And why have I not heard of you celebrating?”
We melt into the crowd moving toward the gathering hall. “Haven’t found anyone I want to celebrate with.”
“Really? Because I heard that you and a certain squad leader had a moment last night.”
My gaze whips toward hers, and I nearly stumble over my feet.
“Come on, Vi. The entire quadrant was out there, and you don’t think someone saw you?” She rolls her eyes. “You’re not going to get a lecture from me. Who gives a shit if it’s frowned upon to be in a relationship with a superior officer? There’s no regulation, and it’s not like any of us is guaranteed to live through the day.”
“Solid points,” I admit. “But it’s…” I shake my head, searching for the right words. “It’s not like that with us. I’d always hoped it would be, but when he kissed me—there was nothing there. Like. Nothing.” It’s impossible to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
“Well, that’s shitty to hear.” She hooks her arm through mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I sigh.
A door opens farther down the hall, and Liam Mairi walks out with his arm wrapped around the waist of another first-year who bonded a Brown Clubtail. Looks like everyone was celebrating last night except me.
“Good morning, ladies.” Ridoc forces his way through the crowd and slings an arm around each of our shoulders as we enter the rotunda. “Or should I say, riders?”
“I like the sound of riders,” Rhiannon replies, shooting a smile in his direction.
“It has a certain ring to it,” Ridoc agrees.
“It’s definitely better than dead. Where’s your relic?” I ask Ridoc as we pass through the columns of carved dragons and take the steps into commons.
“Right here.” His arm falls off my shoulders, and he shoves the sleeve of his tunic up to reveal the brown mark of a dragon silhouette on his upper arm. “You?”
“Can’t see it. It’s on my back.”
“That will keep you safer if you’re ever separated from that massive dragon of yours.” His eyes dance. “I swear, I thought I was going to shit myself when I saw him on the field. What about yours, Rhi?”
“Somewhere you’ll never see,” she responds.
“You wound me.” He slaps his hand over his heart.
“I highly doubt that,” she retorts, but there’s a smile on her face. We move through commons and into the gathering hall, then make our way through the line for breakfast.
It’s odd to be on this side of it, and I startle at the sight of the guy behind the counter.
It’s Oren.
He glares at me with a hatred that trickles like ice down my spine. I skip his station, opting for fresh fruit that I know can’t be tampered with, just in case he decides to take my approach to conflict and poison me.
“Asshole,” Ridoc mutters behind me. “I still can’t believe they tried to kill you.”
“I can.” I shrug, taking my chances with a mug of apple juice. “I’m the weakest link, right? Unfortunately for me, that means people are bound to try and take me out for the good of the wing.” We head toward the Fourth Wing section and find a table with three extra seats.
“Mind if we—” Ridoc starts.
“Absolutely! It’s yours!” A couple of guys from Tail Section scurry off the bench.
“Sorry, Sorrengail!” the other says over his shoulder as they find another table, leaving this one empty.
What the hell?
“Well, that was really fucking weird.” Rhiannon rounds the other side of the table, and I follow, putting our backs to the wall as we step over the bench and sit, setting our trays in front of us.
I’m half tempted to give my underarms a whiff to see if I smell.
“Even weirder?” Ridoc remarks, gesturing across the hall toward First Wing.
Following his line of sight, my eyebrows lift. Jack Barlowe is being squeezed out of his table. He’s forced to stand as others take his seat.
“What the hell is going on?” Rhiannon bites into a pear and chews.
Jack moves to another table—whose occupants won’t make room for him—and then finds a place two tables down.
“How the mighty have fallen,” Ridoc notes, watching the same show I am, but there’s no satisfaction in watching Jack struggle. Feral dogs bite harder when they’re cornered.
“Hey, Sorrengail,” the stocky girl from First Wing I beat in my second challenge says with a tight smile as she walks past our table.
“Hi.” I wave awkwardly as she walks away, then turn to whisper to Ridoc and Rhiannon. “She hasn’t spoken to me since I took one of her daggers in that challenge.”
“It’s because you bonded Tairn.” Imogen blows her pink hair out of her face and throws her leg over the bench across from us to sit, pushing up the sleeves of her tunic and revealing her rebellion relic. “The morning after Threshing is always a clusterfuck. Power balance shifts, and you, little Sorrengail, are now about to be the most powerful rider in the quadrant. Anyone with common sense is going to be scared of you.”
I blink, my pulse elevating. Is that what’s going on? I look around the hall and take note. Social groups have split up, and some of the cadets I would have considered threats are no longer sitting where they usually do.
“Which is why you’re now sitting with us?” Rhiannon arches a brow at the second-year. “Because I can count on one hand the number of nice words you’ve said to any of us.” She holds up a fist with zero fingers raised.
Quinn—the tall second-year in our squad who hasn’t bothered to so much as look our way since Parapet—takes a seat next to Imogen, and Sawyer arrives, sitting on Rhiannon’s other side. Quinn tucks her blond curls behind her ears and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, her round cheeks rising as she smiles at something Imogen says. Have to admit, the hooped piercings that line the shells of both her ears are pretty awesome, and among her half dozen patches, it’s the dark-green one—the same color as her eyes—with two silhouettes that’s most intriguing. I should have studied up on what all the patches mean, but according to what I’ve heard, they change every year.
I’m personally a fan of the first ones we’ve been given. I had to sew the flame-shaped patch with the emblem for Fourth Wing and the centered, reddish number two with great care, being sure to only stitch the fabric of my corseted armor, since it’s not like any needle is going to penetrate the scales.
My favorite patch, though, is the one beside the Flame Section one. We’re the squad to have the most surviving members since Parapet, this year’s Iron Squad.
“You weren’t interesting enough to sit with before,” Imogen responds, then bites into a muffin.
“I usually sit with my girlfriend in Claw Section. Besides, no use getting to know you when most of you die,” Quinn adds, tucking her curls away again, just to have them spring forward. “No offense.”
“None taken?” I start on my apple.
I nearly spit it out when Heaton and Emery, the only third-years in our squad, flank Imogen and Quinn on the bench across from us.
The only people we’re missing are Dain and Cianna, who are eating with leadership as usual.
“I thought Seifert would bond,” Heaton says to Emery across the table, as though we’ve caught them mid-discussion. The normally red flames in their hair are green today. “Other than losing to Sorrengail, he nailed every challenge.”
“He tried to kill Andarna.” Shit. Maybe I should have kept that to myself.
Every head at the table turns toward me.
“My guess would be that Tairn told the others.” I shrug.
“But Barlowe bonded?” Ridoc questions. “Though from what I’ve heard, his Orange Scorpiontail is on the smaller side.”
“She is,” Quinn confirms. “Which is why he’s struggling this morning.”
“Don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll make up for his lack of social standing in other ways,” Rhiannon mutters, her gaze narrowing on my tray. “You have to have some protein, Vi. You can’t just survive on fruit.”
“It’s the only food I can be sure isn’t tampered with, especially with Oren behind the counter.” I busy myself with peeling an orange.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Imogen scrapes three pieces of sausage onto my plate. “She’s right. You’re going to need all your strength to ride, especially with a dragon as big as Tairn.”
I stare at the sausage. Imogen hates me just as much as Oren does. Hell, she’s the one who broke my arm and ripped out my shoulder on assessment day.
“You can trust her,” Tairn says, and I startle, dropping the orange.
“She hates me.”
“Stop arguing with me and eat something.” There’s zero room for debate in his tone.
My gaze rises to meet Imogen’s, and she tilts her head, staring back in challenge.
I use my fork to cut the link, then pop it into my mouth and chew, focusing on the conversation at the table again.
“What’s your signet?” Rhiannon asks Emery.
Air rushes down the table, rattling the glasses. Air manipulation. Got it.
“That’s epic.” Ridoc’s eyes widen. “How much air can you move?”
“None of your business.” He barely spares him a glance.
“Sorrengail, after class is out today, you’re mine,” Imogen says.
I swallow my current bite. “I’m sorry?”
Her pale green eyes lock on mine. “Meet me in the sparring gym.”
“I’m already working with her on sparring—” Rhiannon starts.
“Good. We can’t afford her to lose any challenges,” Imogen retorts. “But I’m going to help you with weights. We need to strengthen the muscles around your joints before challenges resume. That’s the only way you’ll survive.”
The hairs rise on the back of my neck. “And since when do you care about my survival?” This isn’t a squad thing. It can’t be. Not when she didn’t give a shit before.
“Since now,” she says, gripping her fork in her fist, but it’s the lightning-fast glance toward the dais at the end of the hall that gives her away. Her concern isn’t coming from the goodness of her heart. Something tells me it’s an order. “Squads are about to be condensed at morning formation. We’ll be down to two in every section,” she continues. “Aetos kept the highest number of his first-years alive—hence the patch—so he’ll be allowed to retain his squad, but we’ll probably gain a few when they strip the squads from those who weren’t as successful.”
As discreetly as I can, I look to my right, past the other Fourth Wing tables and to the dais where Xaden sits with his executive officer and the section leaders, including Garrick, whose shoulders look like they should take up at least two seats. It’s Garrick who looks my way first, his forehead lining with… What is that? Worry? Then he looks away.
The only reason he’d be remotely worried—he knows. He knows my fate is tethered to Xaden’s.
My gaze snaps to Xaden, and my chest tightens. So. Freaking. Beautiful. Apparently my body doesn’t care that he’s as dangerous as they come in the quadrant, because heat rushes through my veins, flushing my skin.
He’s using a dagger to peel an apple, removing the rind in one long curl, and the blade continues its path as his eyes lift, locking with mine.
My whole head tingles.
Gods, is there any part of my body that doesn’t physically react to the sight of him?
He glances toward Imogen and back to me, and that’s all it takes for me to know for certain. He’s ordered her to help train me. Xaden Riorson is now in the business of keeping his mortal enemy alive.
…
A few hours later, after the squads are rearranged and the death roll is read, all the first-year riders in Fourth Wing stand in our newly issued flight leathers, waiting in front of our dragons on the flight field. The uniform is thicker than our usual one, with a full jacket I’ve buttoned over my dragon-scale armor.
And unlike our regular uniforms, whatever we choose them to be, flight leathers bear no insignia besides our rank at our shoulder and any leadership designation. No names. No patches. Nothing that could give us away if we’re separated from our dragons behind enemy lines. Just a lot of sheaths for weapons.
I try not to think about possibly fighting in the war effort one day and focus on the organized chaos evolving on the flight field this morning. I can’t miss the way the other cadets look at Tairn or the wide berth the other dragons give him. Honestly, if I had those teeth bared at me, I’d back away, too.
“No you wouldn’t, because you didn’t. You stayed and defended Andarna.” His voice fills my head, and I can tell from his tone there are places he’d rather be.
“Only because there was a lot going on at the moment,” I respond. “Andarna isn’t coming this morning?”
“She has no need for flight lessons when she can’t bear you.”
“Good point.” Though it would have been nice to see her. She’s quieter in my head, too, not as meddlesome as Tairn.
“I heard that. Now pay attention.”
I roll my eyes but focus on what Kaori is saying from the center of the field. His hand is up, using common lesser magic to project his voice so we can all hear.
God help us when Ridoc figures out how to do that. I bite back a smile, knowing he’ll find some way to annoy the shit out of every rider in the quadrant, not just his squad.
“…and at only ninety-two riders, you are our smallest class to date.”
My shoulders dip. “I thought a hundred and one were willing to bond, plus you?”
“Willing doesn’t mean they found worthy riders,” Tairn answers.
“And yet two of you chose me?” With forty-one unbonded? That’s quite the insult.
“You’re worthy. At least I think you are, but you apparently don’t pay attention in class.” He chuffs and a warm puff of steam blasts the back of my neck.
“There are forty-one unbonded riders who would kill to be standing where you are,” Kaori continues. “And your dragons know that your bond is at its weakest point right now, so if you fall, if you fail, there’s a good chance your dragon might let you if it thinks the unbonded will be a better choice.”
“Comforting,” I mutter.
Tairn makes a noise that reminds me of a scoff.
“Now, we’re going to mount, then follow a series of specific maneuvers your dragons already know. Your orders are simple today. Stay in your seat,” Kaori finishes. Then he turns and breaks into a sprint, racing the dozen feet toward his dragon’s foreleg and making the vertical climb to mount.
Just like the last obstacle on the Gauntlet.
I swallow, wishing I hadn’t eaten so much for breakfast, and turn to face Tairn. To my left and right, other riders are doing the same mounting maneuver. There’s no way I can pull that off normally, let alone with my ankle still healing.
Tairn dips his shoulder and makes his leg into a ramp for me.
Defeat just about swallows me whole. I’ve bonded the biggest—and certainly grumpiest—dragon in the quadrant, and yet he has to make accommodations for me.
“They’re accommodations for me. I’ve seen your memories. I’m not about to have you sticking daggers into my leg to climb up. Now let’s go.”
I snort but make the ascent, shaking my head as I navigate his spikes to find the seat. My thighs ache from yesterday, and I wince as I get into position, gripping the pommel of scales.
Kaori’s dragon launches into the sky.
“Hold tight.”
I feel the same bands of energy clamp around my legs, and Tairn crouches a millisecond before he hurls us skyward.
The wind tears at my eyes as my stomach falls away, and I risk holding on with one hand to lower my flight goggles. Immediate relief.
“We had to go second?” I ask Tairn as we fly out of the canyon and higher into the mountain range. I get it now, why I didn’t see the dragons training often even though I’ve basically grown up at Basgiath. The only people around us are other riders. “Everyone is going to see when I slide right off.”
“I only agreed to follow Smachd because his rider is your instructor.”
“So you’re an in-front kind of guy. Good to know. Remind me to spend some time at temple so I can make multiple appeals to Dunne.” I keep my focus on Kaori, watching for when the maneuvers will start.
“The goddess of strength and war?” Tairn clearly scoffs this time.
“What, dragons don’t think we need the gods on our side?” Shit, it’s cold up here. My gloved hands tighten on the pommel.
“Dragons pay no heed to your puny gods.”
Kaori banks right, and Tairn follows suit, leading us into a steep dive down the face of one of the peaks. I clench with my legs, but I know it’s Tairn keeping me in the seat.
He holds me there through another climb and even a near-spiral of a turn, and I can’t help but notice that he’s taking everything Kaori is doing and making it harder.
“You can’t hold me here the entire time, you know.”
“Watch me. Unless you’d rather be scraped off the glacier below like Gleann’s rider back there?”
I whip my head around to look, but all I see is Tairn’s tail swinging, his massive spikes blocking the view.
“Don’t look.”
“We already lost a rider?” My throat knots.
“Gleann chose poorly. He never bonds strongly anyway.”
Oh. My. God.
“If you keep holding me like this, your energy will go into keeping me on instead of channeling when we need power for battle,” I argue.
“It’s a minuscule amount of my power.”
How the hell am I supposed to be a rider if I can’t stay on my damn dragon by myself?
“Have it your way.”
The bands fall away.
“Thank yoooooh shit!” He banks left and my thighs slip. My hands slide. I skid right off his side, my fingers fumbling for purchase and finding none.
Rushing air fills my ears as I plummet toward the glacier, raw fear gripping my heart and squeezing like a vise. The shape of a body below grows bigger and bigger.
I’m yanked upward as Tairn’s claws catch me, harnessing me just like he did during Threshing. He climbs high, then tosses me again, but at least I’m prepared for impact this time as his back rises to meet my falling bottom.
There’s a disgusted roar of something I don’t understand in my head.
“What the hell does that mean?” I scramble for the seat and get myself into position as he flies level.
“The closest translation for humans is probably ‘for fuck’s sake.’ Now. Are you going to stay in your seat this time?” He dips back into formation, and I manage to stay on.
“I have to be able to do this by myself. We both need me to do this,” I argue.
“Stubborn silver human,” Tairn mutters, following Kaori into a dive.
I fall again.
And again.
And again.
…
Later that evening, after dinner, I make my way to the sparring gym. Everything hurts from how many times I slid off Tairn’s back, and I’m pretty sure there are bruises under my arms from him catching me.
I’m through the rotunda and crossing into the academic wing when I hear Dain calling my name, jogging to catch up with me.
I wait for that familiar swell of happiness that we might have a minute alone, but it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a sea of awkwardness that I don’t know how to navigate.
What the hell is wrong with me? Dain is gorgeous and kind and a really, really good man. He’s honorable and my very best friend. So why don’t we have any chemistry?
“Rhiannon said you were headed this way,” he says once he reaches my side, concern knitting his brow.
“I’m going to work out.” I force a smile as we turn the corner where the gym is just ahead of us, the large arched doors open.
“You didn’t get enough during flight today?” He touches my shoulder and stops, so I do, too, pivoting to face him in the empty hallway.
“I definitely fell enough today.” I check the bandage on my arm. At least I didn’t tear open my stitches.
His jaw works. “I honestly thought you’d be all right once Tairn chose you.”
“And I will be,” I assure him, my voice rising. “I just need to strengthen my muscles to stay seated through maneuvers, and Tairn insists on making everything harder than what Kaori is doing.”
“For your own good.”
“Are you always around?” I snap back mentally.
“Yes. Get used to it.”
I fight the urge to growl at the intrusive, overbearing—
“Still here.”
“Violet?” Dain asks.
“Sorry, I’m not used to Tairn butting into my thoughts.”
“It’s a good sign. Means your bond is strengthening. And honestly, I’m not sure why he’s giving you a hard time with maneuvers. It’s not like there’s any aerial threat out there besides gryphons, and we all know one breath of fire means those birds are goners. Tell him to ease up on you.”
“Tell him to mind his own business.”
“I’ll…uh…do that.” I bite back a laugh. “Take it easy on him. He’s my best friend.”
Tairn snorts.
A sigh rips from Dain’s lips, and he palms my face gently, his gaze dropping to my lips for a heartbeat before he steps back. “Look. About last night…”
“The part where you told me Xaden would get me killed if I bonded Tairn? Or the part where you kissed me?” I fold my arms across my chest, careful with my right.
“The kiss,” he admits, his voice lowering. “It…it never should have happened.”
Relief courses through me. “Right?” I crack a smile. Thank gods he feels the same way. “And it doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”
“The best of friends,” he agrees, but his eyes are heavy with a sadness I don’t understand. “And it’s not that I don’t want you—”
“What?” My eyebrows rise. “What are you saying?” Are our wires somehow crossed?
“I’m saying the same thing you are.” Two lines appear between his brows. “It’s incredibly frowned upon to have a physical relationship with anyone in our chain of command.”
“Oh.” Yeah, that definitely isn’t what I’m saying.
“And you know how hard I’ve worked to be a squad leader. I’m determined to be a wingleader next year, and as much as you mean to me…” He shakes his head.
Oh. This is all about politics for him. “Right.” I nod slowly. “I get it.” It shouldn’t matter that the only reason he isn’t pursuing me is rank, and it honestly doesn’t. But it definitely makes me lose a little respect for him, which is something I never expected.
“And maybe next year, if you’re in a different wing, or even after graduation,” he starts, hope lighting up his eyes.
“Sorrengail, let’s go. I am not sitting around all night,” Imogen calls from the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. “If our squad leader is done with you, that is.”
Dain rears back, glancing between Imogen and me. “She’s training you?”
“She offered.” I shrug.
“Squad loyalty and all that. Blah, blah.” Imogen offers a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her. Bye, Aetos.”
I toss Dain a quick smile and walk away, refusing to look over my shoulder to see if he’s still there. She quickly follows after me, then leads me toward the corner on the left where glass meets stone and pushes open a door I’ve never taken the time to notice before.
The room is lit with mage lights and full of a variety of wooden machinery with racks and ropes and pulleys, benches with levers, and bars attached to the wall.
And on the other side, doing push-ups on a mat, is one of the first-year Tyrs I saw in the woods that night, Garrick crouched down next to her, urging her on.
“Don’t worry, Sorrengail,” Imogen coos in a saccharine-sweet tone. “There’s only three of us in here. You’re perfectly safe.”
Garrick turns, his gaze meeting mine even as he continues calling off reps for the other first-year. He nods once, then goes back to his task.
“You’re the only one I worry about,” I say as she leads me to a machine with a polished wooden seat and two cushioned squares that meet in front of it at knee height.
She laughs, and I think it’s the first genuine sound I’ve heard her make. “Fair point. Since we can’t work that ankle of yours or your arms until they heal, we’re going to start with the most important muscles you have for staying on a dragon.” She glances down my body and sighs with obvious distaste. “Those weak-ass inner thighs.”
“You’re only doing this because Xaden is making you, right?” I ask, parking my ass in the seat of the machine with the cushioned wood between my knees as she makes adjustments.
Her eyes meet mine and narrow. “Rule number one. He’s Riorson to you, first-year, and you never get to question me about him. Ever.”
“That’s two rules.” I’m starting to think my first guess about them is right. With that kind of fierce loyalty, they have to be lovers.
I am not jealous. Nope. That pit of ugliness spreading inside my chest isn’t jealousy. It can’t be.
She scoffs and pulls a lever that puts immediate tension on the wood, and they rush outward, separating my thighs. “Now get to work. Push them back together. Thirty reps.”
There is nothing more sacred than the Archives. Even temples can be rebuilt, but books cannot be rewritten.
—Colonel Daxton’s Guide to Excelling in the Scribe Quadrant
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
The wooden library cart squeaks as I push it over the bridge that connects the Riders Quadrant to the Healer, and then past the clinic doors into the heart of Basgiath.
Mage lights illuminate my way down the tunnels as I take a path so familiar that I could walk it with my eyes shut. The scent of earth and stone fills my lungs the deeper I descend, and the stab of longing that’s hit me nearly every day for the past month since I was assigned to Archives duty isn’t quite as sharp as it was yesterday, and that wasn’t as sharp as the day before.
I nod to the first-year scribe at the entrance to the Archives and he jumps out of his seat, hurrying to open the vault-like door.
“Good morning, Cadet Sorrengail,” he says, holding the entrance open so I can pass. “I missed you yesterday.”
“Good morning, Cadet Pierson.” I offer him a smile as I push the cart through. As quadrant chores go, I’ve scored my favorite. “I wasn’t feeling well.” I’d had dizzy spells all day, no doubt from not drinking enough water, but at least I’d been able to rest.
The Archives smell like parchment, book-binding glue, and ink. They smell like home.
Rows of twenty-foot-high shelves run the length of the cavernous structure, and I soak in the sight as I wait by the table nearest the entrance, the place where I spent the majority of my hours these past five years. Only scribes may pass any farther, and I am a rider.
The thought brings a smile to my lips as a woman approaches in a cream tunic and hood, a single rectangle of gold woven onto her shoulder. A first-year. When she pulls the fabric from her head, baring long brown hair, and brings her gaze to meet mine, I full-on grin. I sign, “Jesinia!”
“Cadet Sorrengail,” she signs back. Her bright eyes sparkle, but she smothers her smile.
For just this second, I abhor the rituals and customs of the scribes. There would be nothing wrong with pulling my friend into a hug, but she’d be chastised for a loss of composure. After all, how could we know how earnest the scribes are about their work, how dedicated they remain, if they were to crack a smile?
“It’s really good to see you,” I sign and can’t quit grinning. “I knew you’d pass the test.”
“Only because I studied with you for the past year,” she signs back, pressing her lips together so they don’t curve upward. Then her face falls. “I was horrified to hear about you being forced into the Riders Quadrant. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, then pause to search my memory for the correct sign for a dragon bond. “I’m bonded and…” My feelings are complicated, but I think about the way it felt to soar on Tairn’s back, the gentle nudges from Andarna to keep going when I thought my muscles might give out during Imogen’s training sessions, and my relationships with my friends, and I can’t deny the truth. “I’m happy.”
Her eyes widen. “Aren’t you constantly worried you’re going to—” She glances left and right, but there’s no one near enough to see us. “You know…die?”
“Sure.” I nod. “But oddly enough, you kind of get used to that.”
“If you say so.” She looks skeptical. “Let’s get you taken care of. Are these all returns?”
I nod and reach into the pocket of my pants for a small scroll of parchment and hand it to her before signing, “And a few requests from Professor Devera.” The rider in charge of our small library sends a list of requests and the returns every night, and I fetch them before breakfast, which is probably why my stomach is growling.
Burning all the extra calories from a combination of flight, Rhiannon’s sparring lessons, and Imogen’s torture sessions means I have an all-new capacity for food.
“Anything else?” she asks after putting the scroll in a hidden pocket in her robes.
Maybe it’s being in the Archives, but a stab of homesickness nearly bowls me over. “Any chance you guys have a copy of The Fables of the Barren?” Mira was right, I had no business bringing the book of fables with me, but it would be nice to spend an evening curled up with a familiar story.
Jesinia’s brow furrows. “I’m not familiar with that text.”
I blink. “It’s not for academics or anything, just a collection of folklore my dad shared with me. A little on the dark side, honestly, but I love it.” I think for a moment. There’s no sign for wyvern or venin, so I spell them out. “Wyvern, venin, magic, the battles of good and evil—you know, the good stuff.” I grin. If anyone understands my love of books, it’s Jesinia.
“I’ve never heard of that one, but I’ll look for it while I pull these.”
“Thank you. I’d really appreciate it.” Now that I’m going to be the one wielding magic, I could use a few good folktales of what happens when humans defile the power channeled to them. No doubt they were written as a parable to warn us of the dangers of bonding dragons, but in Navarre’s six-hundred-year history of unification, I’ve never read of a single rider losing their soul to their powers. The dragons keep us from that.
Jesinia nods and pushes the cart, disappearing into the shelves.
It usually takes about fifteen minutes to gather the requests that come in from both professors and cadets in my quadrant, but I’m more than content to wait. Scribes come and go, some in groups as they train to become our kingdom’s historians, and I find myself staring at every hooded figure, searching for a face I know I can’t find—searching for my father.
“Violet?”
I turn to the left and see Professor Markham leading a squad of first-year scribes. “Hello, Professor.” Keeping my face emotionless around him is easier because I know he’ll expect it.
“I didn’t realize you had library chore duty.” He glances toward the spot in the shelves where Jesinia disappeared. “Are you being helped?”
“Jesinia—” I cringe. “I mean, Cadet Neilwart is most helpful.”
“You know,” he says to the squad of five as they arc around me, “Cadet Sorrengail here was my prized student until the Riders Quadrant stole her away.” His gaze meets mine under his hood. “I had hopes she would return, but alas, she has bonded to not one but two dragons.”
A girl to his right gasps, then covers her mouth and mutters an apology.
“Don’t worry, I felt the same way,” I tell her.
“Perhaps you can explain something to Cadet Nasya over here, who was just griping that there’s not nearly enough fresh air in here.” Professor Markham turns his focus to a boy on his left. “This group is just starting their rotation in the Archives.”
Nasya turns beet red under his cream hood.
“It’s part of the fire mitigation system,” I tell him. “Less air, less risk of our history burning to the ground.”
“And the stuffy hoods?” Nasya lifts a brow at me.
“Makes it harder for you to stand out against the tomes,” I explain. “A symbol that no one and nothing is more important than the documents and books in this very room.” My gaze darts around the chamber, and a new pang of homesickness hits me.
“Exactly.” Professor Markham levels a glare at Nasya. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Cadet Sorrengail, we have work to attend. I’ll see you tomorrow in Battle Brief.”
“Yes, sir.” I step back, giving the squad room to pass.
“You are sad?” Andarna asks, her voice soft.
“Just visiting the Archives. No need to worry,” I tell her.
“It’s hard to love a second home as much as the first.”
I swallow. “It’s easy when the second home is the right one.” And that is what the Riders Quadrant has become to me—the right home. The longing for the kind of peace and solitude I found only here can’t match the adrenaline rush of flight.
Jesinia reappears with the cart, laden down with the requested books and bits of mail for the professors of my quadrant. She signs, “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t find that book. I even searched the catalog for wyvern—I think that’s what you said—but there’s nothing.”
I stare for a second. Our Archives have either a copy or the original of almost every book in Navarre. Only ultrarare or forbidden tomes are excluded. When did folklore become either of those? Though, come to think of it, I never came across anything like The Fables of the Barren on the shelves while I was studying to become a scribe. Chimera? Yes. Kraken? Sure. But wyvern or the venin that create them? None. Bizarre. “That’s all right. Thank you for looking,” I sign back.
“You look different,” she signs, then hands the cart over.
My eyes widen.
“Not bad different, just…different. Your face is leaner, and even your posture…” She shakes her head.
“I’ve been training.” I pause, my hands hanging by my sides while I consider my answer. “It’s hard, but great, too. I’m getting quicker on the mat.”
“The mat?” Her brow furrows.
“For sparring.”
“Right. I forget that you guys fight each other, too.” Sympathy fills her eyes.
“I’m really all right,” I promise her, leaving out the times I’ve caught Oren gripping a dagger in my presence or the way Jack seethes in my direction. “How about you? Is it everything you wanted?”
“It’s everything and more. So much more. The responsibility we have not only to record history but to speed information from the front lines is more than I ever could have imagined, and it’s so fulfilling.” She presses her lips together again.
“Good. I’m happy for you.” And I mean it.
“But I worry for you.” She sucks in a breath. “The uptick in attacks along the border…” Concern etches lines into her forehead.
“I know. We hear about them in Battle Brief.” It’s always the same, striking at faltering wards, ransacking villages high in the mountains, and more dead riders. My heart breaks every time we get a report, and a part of me shuts down with each attack that I have to analyze.
“And Dain?” she asks as we head for the door. “Have you seen him?”
My smile falters. “That’s a story for another day.”
She sighs. “I’ll try and be here around this time so I can see you.”
“Sounds wonderful.” I refrain from pulling her into a hug and walk through the door she opens.
By the time I return the cart to the library and make it through the lunch line, our time is almost up, which means I’m busy shoveling food in my mouth as fast as I can while the members of our original squad chat around me. The newbies, two first-years and two second-years we took on when the third squad was dissolved, are a table away. They’ve refused to sit with anyone with a rebellion relic.
So, fuck them.
“It was the coolest thing ever,” Ridoc continues. “One second he was sparring against that third-year with the wicked broadsword skills, and then Sawyer—”
“You could let him tell the story,” Rhiannon chides, rolling her eyes.
“No thank you,” Sawyer counters, shaking his head, staring at his fork with a hefty dose of fear.
Ridoc grins, in all his glory telling the story. “And then the sword just twists in Sawyer’s hand, curving toward the third-year even though Sawyer was way off the mark.” He grimaces in Sawyer’s direction. “Sorry, man, but you were. If your sword hadn’t decided to warp and go straight for that guy’s arm—”
“You’re a metallurgist?” Quinn’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”
Holy crap, Sawyer can manipulate metals. I force down a little more turkey and openly stare at him. As far as I know, he’s the first of us to display any form of power, let alone a signet.
Sawyer nods. “That’s what Carr says. Aetos dragged me straight to the professor when he saw it happen.”
“I’m so jealous!” Ridoc grabs his chest. “I want my signet power to manifest!”
“You wouldn’t be so excited if it meant you weren’t sure if your fork would stab into the roof of your mouth because you can’t control it yet.” Sawyer shoves his tray away.
“Good point.” Ridoc looks at his own tray.
“You’ll manifest when your dragon is ready to trust you with all that power,” Quinn says, then finishes off her water. “Just hope your dragons trust you before about six months and—” She makes a sound like an explosion and mimics it with her hands.
“Stop scaring the children,” Imogen says. “That hasn’t happened in”—she pauses to think—“decades.” When we all stare at her, she rolls her eyes. “Look, the relic your dragons transferred onto you at Threshing is the conduit to let all that magic into your body. If you don’t manifest a signet and let it out, then after a bunch of months, bad things happen.”
We all gawk.
“The magic consumes you,” Quinn adds, making the explosion sound again.
“Relax, it’s not like a hard deadline or something. It’s just an average.” Imogen shrugs.
“Fuck me, it’s always something around here,” Ridoc mutters.
“Feeling a little luckier now,” Sawyer says, staring at his fork.
“We’ll get you some wooden utensils,” I tell Sawyer. “And you should probably avoid the armory or sparring with…anything.”
Sawyer scoffs. “That’s the truth. At least I’ll be safe during flight this afternoon.”
Adding flight classes to our schedule has been essential since Threshing. The wings rotate for access to the flight field, and today is one of our lucky days of the week.
I feel a tingle in my scalp and know if I turn, I’ll find Xaden watching us. Watching me. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking. He hasn’t said so much as a word to me since Threshing. That doesn’t mean I’m alone—oh, I’m never alone. There’s always an upperclassman somewhere near when I’m walking the halls or headed to the gym at night.
And they all have rebellion relics.
“I like it better when we have it in the morning,” Rhiannon says, her face souring. “It’s way worse after we’ve eaten breakfast and lunch.”
“Agreed,” I manage between mouthfuls.
“Finish the turkey,” Imogen orders. “I’ll see you tonight.” She and Quinn clear their trays, taking them back to the window for scullery.
“Is she any nicer when she’s training you?” Rhiannon asks.
“No. But she’s efficient.” I finish the turkey as the room begins to clear, and we all make our way toward the scullery window. “What’s Professor Carr like?” I ask Sawyer, then tuck my tray onto the stack. The wielding professor is one of the only ones I haven’t met, since I haven’t manifested a signet.
“Fucking terrifying,” Sawyer answers. “I can’t wait for the entire year to start wielding lessons so everyone can enjoy his particular brand of instruction.”
We head out through commons and the rotunda and into the courtyard, all buttoning up our coats. November has hit hard with gusty winds and frosted grass in the morning, and the first snow isn’t far behind.
“I knew it would work!” Jack Barlowe says ahead of us, dragging someone under his arm and thumping her head affectionately.
“Isn’t that Caroline Ashton?” Rhiannon asks, her mouth hanging open as Caroline heads toward the academic wing with Jack.
“Yeah.” Ridoc tenses. “She bonded Gleann this morning.”
“Wasn’t he already bonded?” Rhiannon watches them until they disappear into the wing.
“His rider died on our first flight lesson.” I focus on the gate ahead that leads to the flight field.
“So I guess the unbonded still have that shot they’re looking for,” Rhiannon mutters.
“Yeah.” Sawyer nods, his features tense. “They do.”
…
“You only fell about a dozen times that trip,” Tairn remarks as we land on the flight field.
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.” I take deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart.
“Take it as you wish.”
I mentally roll my eyes and scoot out of the seat as he dips his shoulder so I can slide down his foreleg. The move has become so practiced that I barely even notice that other riders are capable of leaping to the ground or descending the proper way. “Besides, you could make it easier, you know.”
“Oh, I know.”
“I’m not the one putting us into spirals with steep banks while Kaori is teaching plain dives.” My feet hit the ground of the field, and I arch an eyebrow at Tairn.
“I’m training you for battle. He’s teaching you parlor tricks.” He blinks a golden eye at me and looks away.
“Do you think we can get Andarna to join us next week? Even if it’s just to fly along?” I do all the checks Kaori has taught us, looking for any debris that could have lodged between the long, taloned toes of Tairn’s claws or between the rock-hard scales of his underbelly.
“I’m not foolish enough to not know that I have something stuck in my flesh. And I wouldn’t ask Andarna to join us unless she requested it. She can’t keep up the speed, and it would only draw unwanted attention.”
“I never get to see her,” I blatantly whine. “I’m always stuck with your grumpy ass.”
“I’m always here,” Andarna answers, but there’s no flicker of gold. She’s most likely in the Vale as usual, but at least she’s protected there.
“This grumpy ass just caught you a dozen times, Silver One.”
“Eventually you could call me Violet, you know.” I take the time to examine every row of his scales. One of the biggest dangers to dragons are the smallest things they can’t remove that penetrate between the scales, causing infection.
“I know,” he repeats. “And I could call you Violence like the wingleader.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” I narrow my eyes as I move forward, checking where his chest begins to rise. “And you know how much that ass annoys me.”
“Annoys you?” Tairn chuckles above me, the sound like a chuffing cat. “Is that what you call it when your heart rate—”
“Don’t even start with me.”
A growl rumbles through Tairn’s chest above me and vibrates my very bones. I pivot, my hands hovering along my sheathed daggers as Dain approaches.
“It’s just Dain.” I walk out from between Tairn’s forelegs when Dain pauses a dozen feet away.
“Anger does not suit him.” He growls again, and a puff of steam hits the back of my neck.
“Relax,” I say and glance back over my shoulder at him. My eyebrows shoot up.
Tairn’s golden eyes are narrowed in a glare on Dain, and his teeth are bared, dripping saliva as another growl rumbles.
“You’re a menace. Stop it,” I say.
“Tell him if he harms you, I’ll scorch the ground where he stands.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tairn.” I roll my eyes and walk to Dain, whose jaw is locked, but his eyes are wide with apprehension.
“Tell him, or I’ll take it up with Cath.”
“Tairn says if you harm me, he’ll burn you,” I say as dragons to the left and right launch skyward without their riders, headed back to the Vale. But not Tairn. Nope, he’s still standing behind me like an overprotective dad.
“I’m not going to harm you!” Dain snaps.
“Word for word, Silver One.”
I blow a breath out slowly. “Sorry, he actually said, if you harm me, he’ll scorch the ground where you stand.” I turn and look over my shoulder. “Better?”
Tairn blinks.
Dain keeps his eyes on me, but I see it there, the swirling anger Tairn warned me about. “I would rather die than harm you, and you know it.”
“Happy now?” I ask Tairn.
“I’m hungry. I think I’ll partake in a flock of sheep.” He launches with great beats of his wings.
“I need to talk to you.” Dain’s voice drops, and he narrows his eyes.
“Fine. Walk me back.” I motion at Rhiannon to go on without me, and she walks ahead with the others, leaving Dain and me to bring up the rear.
We fall back at the edge of the field.
“Why didn’t you tell me you can’t keep your fucking seat?” he shouts at me, grabbing my elbow.
“I’m sorry?” I yank my arm out of his hold.
Tairn growls in my mind.
“I’ve got this,” I shout back at him.
“All this time, I’ve been letting Kaori teach you, thinking he must have everything under control. After all, if the rider of the strongest dragon in the quadrant couldn’t keep her seat, then surely we’d all know.” He rips his hand over his hair. “Surely I would know if my best friend fell every fucking day that she flew!”
“It’s not a secret!” Anger bubbles in my veins. “Everyone in our wing knows! I’m sorry if you haven’t been keeping tabs on your squad, but trust me, Dain. Everyone knows. And I’m not going to stand here while you lecture me like I’m a child.” I stalk off, my strides eating up the ground as I follow my wing.
“You didn’t tell me,” he says, anger in his voice giving way to hurt as he catches up, more than matching my pace.
“There’s not a problem.” I shake my head. “Tairn can keep me buckled in magically if he needs to. I’m the one asking him to loosen the restraints. And I’d think twice before you question him. He’s more of the char-first-ask-questions-later type.”
“It’s a huge problem, because he can’t channel—”
“His full powers?” I ask as we make it out of the field, heading toward the steps that descend next to the Gauntlet. “I know that. Why do you think I’m up there asking him to loosen up?” Frustration is a living, breathing thing inside me, eating up all rational thought.
“You’ve been flying for a month, and you’re still falling.” His voice follows me down the staircase.
“So is half the wing, Dain!”
“Not a dozen times, they aren’t,” he shoots back. He’s on my heels as I pick up my pace toward the path that will lead back to the citadel, the gravel crunching beneath my boots. “I just want to help you, Vi. How can I help?”
I sigh at the plaintive tone in his voice. I keep forgetting this is my best friend, and he’s having to watch me risk my life every day. I don’t know how I’d feel if our roles were reversed. Probably just as concerned. So I try to lighten the mood and say, “You should have seen me a month ago when it was three dozen times.”
“Three dozen?” His voice rises on the last word.
I halt at the mouth of the tunnel and offer a smile. “It sounds worse than it is, Dain. I promise.”
“Will you at least tell me what part of flight you have trouble with? At least let me help you.”
“You want a list of my flaws?” I roll my eyes. “My thighs are too weak, but I’m building muscle. My hands can’t grip the pommel, but they’re getting stronger. It took weeks for my biceps to heal, so I’m training that one, too. But you don’t have to worry about me, Dain—Imogen is training me.”
“Because Riorson asked her to,” he guesses, folding his arms across his chest.
“Probably. Why does it matter?”
“Because he doesn’t have your best interest at heart.” He shakes his head, looking more like a stranger than I’ve ever seen him before. “First, it was bending the rules to make it up the Gauntlet, and yes, Amber lit into me for an hour about how you acted dishonorably.”
Dishonorably? Fuck this.
“And you just took her word for it? Without asking me what happened?”
“She’s a wingleader, Vi. I’m not about to question her integrity!”
“I proved myself with the Codex, and Riorson accepted it. He’s a wingleader, too.”
“Fine. You made it up. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t stand myself if something happened to you, whether you were handling the trial the right or wrong way. And then I thought you’d be fine if you survived Threshing, but even bonded to the strongest of them…” He shakes his head.
“Go ahead. Say it.” My hands curl into fists, my nails biting into my palms.
“I’m terrified you’re not going to make it to graduation, Vi.” His shoulders slump. “You know exactly how I feel about you, whether or not I can do anything about it, and I’m terrified.”
It’s that last line that does me in. Laughter bubbles up through my throat and escapes.
His eyes widen.
“This place cuts away the bullshit and the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core.” I repeat his words from this summer. “Isn’t that what you said to me? Is this who you really are at your core? Someone so enamored with rules that he doesn’t know when to bend or break them for someone he cares about? Someone so focused on the least I’m capable of doing, he can’t believe I can do so much more?”
The warmth drains from his brown eyes.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Dain.” I take a step closer, but the distance between us only widens. “The reason we’ll never be anything more than friends isn’t because of your rules. It’s because you have no faith in me. Even now, when I’ve survived against all odds and bonded not just one dragon but two, you still think I won’t make it. So forgive me, but you’re about to be some of the bullshit that this place cuts away from me.” I move to the side and march past him through the tunnel, forcing air through my lungs.
Other than the last year, when he entered the Riders Quadrant, I can’t remember a time without Dain in my life.
But I can’t take his constant pessimism about my future anymore.
Sunlight overpowers me for a second as I walk into the courtyard. Classes are out for the afternoon, and I see Xaden and Garrick leaned up against the wall of the academic building like gods surveying their domain.
Xaden arches a dark eyebrow as I pass by.
I flip him the middle finger.
I’m not taking his shit today, either.
“Everything all right?” Rhiannon asks as I catch up to her and the guys.
“Dain is an ass—”
“Make it stop!” someone screams, rushing down the steps of the rotunda and holding his head. It’s a first-year in Third Wing who sits two rows beneath me in Battle Brief and perpetually drops his quill. “For gods’ sake, make it stop!” he shrieks, stumbling into the courtyard.
My hands hover over my blades.
A shadow moves to my left, and a glance tells me Xaden has moved, casually putting himself just ahead of me.
The crowd hollows, forming a circle around the first-year as he screams, clutching his head.
“Jeremiah!” someone shouts, coming forward.
“You!” Jeremiah spins, pointing his finger at the third-year. “You think I’ve lost it!” His head tilts, and his eyes flare. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!” His tone shifts, like the words aren’t his own.
Chills race down my spine, dragging my stomach to the ground.
“And you!” He spins again, pointing at a second-year in First Wing. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?” He turns again, focused on Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!” The impression is uncanny, embarrassing, and terrifying.
“Oh gods,” I whisper, my heart thundering so loud, I can hear the pounding blood in my ears. Forget the embarrassment. Who cares if people know Dain is thinking about me? Jeremiah’s signet power is manifesting. He can read minds—an inntinnsic. His power is a death sentence.
Ridoc stumbles backward on my left—shoved aside—and I don’t need to look to know whose muscled arm now brushes my shoulder. The scent of mint somehow steadies my heartbeat.
Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword. “Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” His panic is palpable, clogging my own throat.
“Do something,” I beg Xaden, glancing up at him.
His unwavering, lethal focus is on Jeremiah, but his body tenses at my plea, poised, ready to strike. “Start mentally reciting whatever bookish shit you’ve learned.”
“I’m sorry?” I hiss up at him.
“If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now,” Xaden orders.
Oh. Shit.
Nothing comes to mind, and we’re clearly in imminent danger. Um… Many Navarrian defense posts exist beyond the safety of our wards. Such posts are considered to be in a zone of imminent danger and should only be staffed by military personnel and never the civilians who usually accompany them.
“And you!” Jeremiah turns, his gaze locking on Garrick. “Damn it all to hell. He’ll know about—” The shadows around Jeremiah’s feet snake up his legs in a heartbeat, winding around his chest until they cover his mouth in bands of black.
I swallow the boulder in my throat.
A professor pushes through the crowd, his shock of white hair bouncing with every step of his large frame.
“He’s an inntinnsic!” someone shouts, and that seems to be all that’s necessary.
The professor grips Jeremiah’s head with both hands, and a crack echoes off the walls of the silent courtyard. Xaden’s shadows melt away and Jeremiah falls to the ground, his head at an unnatural, macabre angle. His neck is broken.
The professor bends down and lifts Jeremiah’s body with surprising strength, carrying him into the rotunda.
Xaden inhales sharply beside me, then walks away with Garrick, headed toward the academic wing. Nice to see you, too.
“Maybe I don’t want a signet power after all,” Ridoc murmurs.
“That death is merciful compared to what will happen if you don’t manifest one,” Dain says, and I swear I start to feel my relics burn across my back even though my dragons haven’t started channeling.
“And that,” Sawyer says from Rhiannon’s side, “was Professor Carr.”
…
“You always have to check your sources,” Dad tells me, ruffling my hair as he stands beside me at the table in the Archives. “Remember that firsthand accounts are always more accurate, but you have to look deeper, Violet. You have to see who is telling the story.”
“But what if I want to be a rider?” I ask with the voice of a much-younger version of me. “Like Brennan and Mom?”
“WAKE.” A familiar, consuming voice rumbles through the Archives. A voice that doesn’t belong here.
“You’re not like them, Violet. That’s not your path.” Dad offers me an apologetic smile, the usual kind that says he sympathizes but there’s nothing he can do, the kind he gives me when Mom makes a choice he doesn’t agree with. “And it’s for the best. Your mother has never understood that while riders may be the weapons of our kingdom, it’s the scribes who have all the real power in this world.”
“Wake before you die!” The bookshelves in the Archives tremble, and my heart jolts. “Now!”
My eyes fly open, and I gasp as the dream disintegrates. I’m not in the Archives. I’m in my room in the Riders—
“Move!” Tairn bellows.
“Fuck! She’s awake!” Moonlight reflects off a sword slicing through the air above me.
Oh. Shit. I roll toward the opposite side of my bed, but not fast enough, and the blade slams into the side of my back with a force even my thick winter blankets can’t diffuse.
Adrenaline camouflages the pain as the sword rebounds, unable to split the dragon scales.
My knees slam into the hardwood floor, and I thrust my hands beneath my pillow, drawing back two daggers as I untangle from the covers and gain my feet. How the hell did they get my door unlocked?
Blowing my unbound hair out of my face, I meet the wide, shocked eyes of an unbonded first-year, and he’s not the only one. There are seven cadets in my room. Four are unbonded men. Three are unbonded women—I gasp with recognition—make that two as she runs for the door and slams it on the way out.
She opened the door. There’s no other explanation.
The rest are all armed. All determined to kill me. All standing between my unlocked door and me. My hands curl around the hilts of my daggers and my heart rate skyrockets. “Guess it won’t do me much good to ask you to leave nicely?”
I’m going to have to fight my way out of here.
“Get away from the wall! Don’t let them trap you!”
Good point. But there’s not exactly a lot of places to go in this tiny room.
“Damn it! I told you her armor is impenetrable!” Oren hisses from the other side of the room, blocking my exit. Fucking asshole.
“I should have killed you during Threshing,” I admit. My door is closed, but surely someone will hear if I sc—
A woman lunges for me, scrambling across my bed, and I dodge, sliding along the icy pane of the window. The window!
“It’s too high. You’ll fall to the ravine, and I can’t get there fast enough!”
No window. Got it. Another woman throws her knife, rending the fabric of my nightgown’s sleeve as it lodges in the armoire, but she missed any flesh. I spin, leaving the sleeve behind as it rips away, and flick my dagger as I round the end of my bed. It lands in her shoulder, my favorite target, and she goes down with a cry, clutching her wound.
The rest of my weapons are stored near the door. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“No more throwing things. Keep ahold of that weapon!”
For someone who can’t help, Tairn has no problem dishing out opinions.
“You have to go for her throat!” Oren shouts. “I’ll do it myself!”
I move my blade to my right hand and fend off one attack from the left, slicing her down her forearm, and then another to the right, stabbing into a man’s thigh. I kick out with my heel and catch another in the gut as he attacks, sending him careening back onto my bed, his sword tumbling after him.
But now I’m cornered between my desk and the armoire.
There are too many of them.
And they all rush at the same damn time.
My dagger is kicked out of my hand with appalling ease, and my heart seizes as Oren grips my throat, yanking me toward him. I sweep out for his knees, but my bare feet make no impact as he lifts me off the ground, cutting off my air supply as I kick for purchase.
No. No. No.
I dig my hands into his arm, my fingernails puncturing his skin as I claw, drawing blood. He might bear my scars after this, but his grip doesn’t ease as he crushes my throat.
Air. There’s no air.
“He’s almost there!” Tairn promises, panic lacing his tone.
He who? I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
“Finish her!” one of the men yells. “He’ll only respect us if we finish her!”
They’re after Tairn.
Tairn’s roar of rage fills my head as Oren lowers my body, flipping me around as he curls his arm so my back is against his chest. At least my feet are on the ground, but the edge of my vision goes dark, my lungs fighting for oxygen that isn’t there.
The greedy eyes of a bleeding first-year stare back into mine. “Do it!” she demands.
“Your dragon is mine,” Oren hisses in my ear, and his hand falls away, replaced by a blade.
Air rushes into my lungs as cold metal caresses my throat, the oxygen flooding my blood and clearing my head enough to realize this is it. I am going to die. From one heartbeat to what will probably be my last, an overwhelming sorrow seizes my chest, and I can’t help but wonder if I would have made it. Would I have been strong enough to graduate? Would I have become worthy of Tairn and Andarna? Would I have finally made my mother proud?
The knife tip touches my skin.
My bedroom door flies open, the wood splintering as it slams against the stone wall, but I don’t have a chance to turn to see who is standing there before a shriek pierces my vision.
“Mine!” Andarna screams. Skin-prickling energy zings down my spine, then rushes to my fingertips and toes, and the next breath I take is in total, complete silence.
“Go!” Andarna demands.
I blink and realize the first-year in front of me doesn’t. She isn’t breathing. Isn’t moving.
No one is.
Everyone in this room is frozen in place…except me.
In response to the Great War, dragons claimed the western lands and gryphons the central ones, abandoning the Barrens and the memory of General Daramor, who nearly destroyed the Continent with his army. Our allies sailed home and we began a period of peace and prosperity as the provinces of Navarre united for the first time behind the safety of our wards, under the protection of the first bonded riders.
—Navarre, an Unedited History
by Colonel Lewis Markham
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
What. The. Hell.
It’s as if everyone in my room has turned to stone, but I know that can’t be true. Oren’s body is warm behind me, his skin malleable under my fingers as I shift my grip and shove his bloody forearm, forcing the blade away from my neck.
A single drop of blood drips from the sharp tip, splattering on the hardwood, and there’s a trickle of wetness down my throat.
“Quick! I can’t hold it!” Andarna urges, her voice thready.
She’s doing this? I gulp heaving breaths through my battered windpipe and duck under Oren’s forearm, freeing myself, then sidestep quickly in the silence.
Complete, unearthly silence.
The clock on my desk isn’t ticking as I squeeze between Oren’s elbow and a giant guy who used to be from Second Wing. No one breathes. Their gazes are frozen. To the left, the woman I sliced open is hunched over, clutching her forearm, and the man I stabbed is leaned against the wall on the right, staring in horror at his thigh.
I mark time in thunderous heartbeats as I stumble into the only open space in my room, but my path to the now-open door isn’t clear.
Xaden fills the doorway like some kind of dark, avenging angel, the messenger of the queen of the gods. He’s fully dressed, his face a mask of veritable rage as shadows curl from the walls on either side of him, hanging in midair.
For the first time since crossing the parapet, I’m so fucking relieved to see him that I could cry.
Andarna gasps in my mind—and chaos resumes.
Nausea clenches my stomach.
“It’s about damned time,” Tairn rumbles.
Xaden’s gaze snaps to mine, his onyx eyes flaring in shock for no longer than a millisecond before he strides forward, his shadows streaming before him as he stands at my side. He snaps his fingers and the room illuminates, mage lights hovering above us.
“You’re all fucking dead.” His voice is eerily calm and all the scarier for it.
Every head in the room turns.
“Riorson!” Oren’s dagger clatters to the floor.
“You think surrendering will save you?” Xaden’s lethally soft tone sends goose bumps up my arms. “It is against our code to attack another rider in their sleep.”
“But you know he never should have bonded her!” Oren puts his hands up, his palms facing us. “You of all people have reason enough to want the weakling dead. We’re just correcting a mistake.”
“Dragons don’t make mistakes.” Xaden’s shadows grab every assailant but Oren by the throat, then constrict. They struggle, but it doesn’t matter. Their faces turn purple, the shadows holding tight as they sag to their knees, falling in an arc in front of me like lifeless puppets.
I can’t find it in my heart to pity them.
Xaden prowls forward as though he has all the time in the world and holds out his palm as yet another tendril of darkness lifts my discarded dagger from the floor.
“Let me explain.” Oren eyes the dagger, and his hands tremble.
“I’ve heard everything I need to hear.” Xaden’s fingers curl around the hilt. “She should have killed you in the field, but she’s merciful. That’s not a flaw I possess.” He slashes forward so quickly that I barely catch the move, and Oren’s throat opens in a horizontal line, blood streaming down his neck and chest in a torrent.
He grabs for his throat, but it’s useless. He bleeds out in seconds, crumpling to the floor. A crimson puddle grows around him.
“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick walks in, sheathing his sword as his gaze rakes over the room. “No time for questioning?” His glance sweeps to me as if cataloging injuries, catching on my throat.
“No need for it,” Xaden counters as Bodhi enters, doing the same quick assessment Garrick had. The similarity between the cousins still gives me pause. Bodhi has the same bronzed skin and strong brow line, but his features aren’t as angular as Xaden’s, and his eyes are a lighter shade of brown. He looks like a softer, more approachable version of his older cousin, but my body doesn’t heat at the sight of him the way it does around Xaden. Or maybe Oren just strangled the common sense out of me.
An illogical laugh bubbles up through my lips, and all three men look at me like I’ve hit my head.
“Let me guess,” Bodhi says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re on cleanup?”
“Call in help if you need it,” Xaden answers with a nod.
Bodies.
I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive. I repeat the mantra in my head as Xaden wipes the blood from my dagger on the back of Oren’s tunic.
“Yes. You’re alive.” Xaden steps over Oren’s body and two others, retrieving my dagger from the fallen woman’s shoulder before reaching my armoire. I don’t even recognize her, and yet she tried to kill me.
Garrick and Bodhi haul out the first bodies.
“I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.” The trembling starts in my knees, and then nausea overpowers me. Fuck, I thought I’d worked past this kind of reaction to adrenaline, but here I am, shaking like a leaf as Xaden sorts through my armoire like he hasn’t just taken out half a dozen people.
As if this kind of slaughter is commonplace.
“It’s the shock,” he says, whipping my cloak from its hook and retrieving a pair of boots. “Are you hurt?” His words are clipped and break whatever temporary block I had on the pain. It comes flooding back in a throbbing wave that centers in my back. So much for the adrenaline rush.
Every breath feels like I’m shoving my lungs against broken glass, so I keep them short and shallow. But I manage to stay on my feet, retreating until I feel the stone wall against my uninjured side, letting it take my weight.
“Come on, Violence.” His cajoling words are at odds with his terse tone as he folds my cloak over his arm and brings my boots through the remaining bodies he’s left on my floor. “Pull your shit together and tell me where you’re hurt.” He’s killed six people without so much as a spot of blood on his midnight-black leathers. My boots hit the ground next to my feet and my cloak lands on the little armchair in the corner.
I can barely breathe, but can I risk admitting my current weakness to him?
His fingers are warm under my chin as he tilts my head up so our gazes collide. Wait…is that a hint of panic swirling in his? “You’re breathing like crap, so I’m guessing it has to do with—”
“My ribs,” I finish before he can guess. Trying to mask the pain isn’t going to work with him. “The one by the bed hit the side of my ribs with the sword, but I think they’re just bruised.” There hadn’t been that telltale snap that comes with broken bones.
“Must have been a dull sword.” He cocks a dark eyebrow. “Unless it has something to do with why you sleep in your leather vest.”
“Trust him,” Tairn demands.
“It’s not that easy.”
“It has to be for now.”
“It’s dragon-scale.” I lift my right arm and pivot slightly so he can see the gaping hole in my nightdress. “Mira made it for me. It’s why I’ve lived this long.”
He glances between our bodies, his mouth tensing before he nods once. “Ingenious, though I’d say there are multiple reasons for why you’ve made it this far.” Before I can argue that point, his gaze shifts to my throat and narrows at what I imagine has to be the purple imprint of a hand. “I should have killed him slower.”
“I’m fine.” I’m not.
His focus snaps back to my eyes. “Never lie to me.” He says it with such ferocity, bit out through gritted teeth, that I can’t help but nod in promise.
“It hurts,” I admit.
“Let me see.”
I open and shut my mouth twice. “Is that a request or a demand?”
“Your pick as long as I get to see if that fucker broke your ribs.” His hands curl into fists.
Two other men walk in through the open door, Garrick and Bodhi following closely after. They’re all…dressed. Fully clothed at—I glance at the clock—two a.m.
“Take those two, and we’ll get the last ones,” Garrick orders, and the others get to work, carrying the last of the bodies out through the door. I can’t help but notice they all have rebellion relics shimmering up their arms, but I keep the observation to myself.
“Thank you,” Xaden says, then flicks his hand and my door shuts with a soft click. “Now, let me see your ribs. We’re wasting time.”
I swallow, then nod. Better to know now if they’re broken anyway. I turn my back on him, but I can see his face in the full-length mirror as I shrug out of the billowing sleeves of my nightdress, holding the material above my breasts as it dips in the back to my waist. “You’ll have to—”
“I know how to handle a corset.” His jaw flexes once, and something that reminds me of raw hunger flitters across his expression before he locks it down, drawing my hair over my shoulder with surprising gentleness.
His fingers skim my bare skin and I suppress a shiver, locking my muscles so I don’t arch into his touch.
What the hell is wrong with me? There’s still blood on my floor and yet my breaths are tight for the entirely wrong reason as he makes quick work of the laces, starting at the bottom. He wasn’t lying. He absolutely knows his way around a corset.
“How the hell do you get yourself into this thing every morning?” he asks, clearing his throat as inch after inch of my back is exposed.
“I’m freakishly flexible. It’s part of the whole bones-snapping, joints-tearing thing,” I answer over my shoulder.
Our eyes meet, and warmth flutters through my stomach. The moment is gone as quickly as it came, and he pulls my armor apart, inspecting my right side. Gentle fingers stroke over the abused ribs, then prod carefully.
“You have one hell of a bruise, but I don’t think they’re broken.”
“That’s what I thought. Thank you for checking.” It should be awkward, but somehow it isn’t, even as he laces me back up, securing the ends.
“You’ll live. Turn around.”
I do, tugging my nightdress back over my shoulders, and he drops to his knees on the floor before me.
My eyes widen. Xaden Riorson is kneeling before me, his black hair at the perfect level for me to run my fingers through the thickness. It’s probably the only thing that’s soft about him. How many women have felt those strands between their fingers?
Why the hell do I care?
“You’re going to have to walk through the pain, and we have to do it fast.” He grabs a boot, then taps my foot. “Can you lift it up?”
I nod, lifting my foot. Then he robs me of every logical thought by putting on my boots and lacing them one at a time.
This is the same man who had no problems with my death just a few months ago, and my brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the different sides of him.
“Let’s go.” He wraps my cloak around my shoulders and buttons it at my collar like I’m something precious. Now I know I’m in shock because I’m anything but precious to Xaden Riorson. His gaze drifts over my hair and he blinks once before tugging my hood up over the fading dark-to-light mass. Then he grasps my hand and tugs me into the hallway. His fingers are strong as they curl around mine, his grip firm but not too tight.
Every other door is shut. The attack wasn’t even loud enough to rouse my neighbors. I’d be dead by now if Xaden hadn’t shown up, even if I had managed to get out of Oren’s hold. But how did that happen?
“Where are we going?” The hallways are dimly lit by blue mage lights, the kind that signal it’s still night for those without windows.
“Keep talking loud enough for others to hear, and someone will stop us before we get anywhere.”
“Can’t you just hide us in shadows or something?”
“Sure, because a giant black cloud moving down the hallway isn’t going to look more suspicious than a couple sneaking around.” He shoots me a look that keeps me from countering.
Point taken.
Not that we’re a couple.
Not that I wouldn’t climb the man like a tree if presented with the right set of circumstances. I cringe as we make it to the main hallway of the dormitory. There will never, ever be a right set of circumstances when it comes to him, let alone right after he’s executed half a dozen people.
But in my defense, and in a sick, twisted way, his rescue was pretty damned hot, even if he is hauling me down the hallway at an untenable speed. Even if he only did it because my life is tied to his. My chest screams for a break, but there’s none to be found as he leads me past the spiral staircase that leads up to the second- and third-year dorms and into the rotunda.
It’s going to take weeks for my ribs to fully heal.
Our boots against the marble floor are the only sounds as we pass into the academic wing. Instead of turning left, toward the sparring gym, he takes us right, down a set of stairs that I know leads to storage.
Halfway down the steps, he pauses, and I nearly run into the sword strapped to his back. Then he gestures with his right hand, keeping mine in his left.
Click. Xaden pushes on the stones and a hidden door swings open.
“Holy shit,” I whisper at the expansive tunnel revealed before us.
“Hope you’re not afraid of the dark.” He pulls me inside, and suffocating darkness envelops us as the door closes.
This is fine. This is absolutely fine.
“But just in case you are,” Xaden says, his voice at full volume as he snaps. A mage light hovers above our head, illuminating our surroundings.
“Thanks.” The tunnel is supported by arches of stone and the floor is smooth, as though it’s been traveled more than its entrance lets on. It smells like earth but isn’t dank, and it goes on for what seems like an eternity.
He drops my hand and starts walking. “Keep up.”
“You could—” I wince. Fuck, my chest hurts. “Be a little more considerate.” I trudge after him, dropping my hood.
“I’m not going to baby you like Aetos does,” he says without turning around. “That’s only going to get you killed once we get out of Basgiath.”
“He doesn’t baby me.”
“He does and you know it. You hate it, too, if the vibe I’m picking up on is any indication.” He falls back to walk at my side. “Or did I read that wrong?”
“He thinks this place is too dangerous for someone…like me, and after what just happened, I’m not sure I can really argue with him.” I was asleep. That’s the only time we’re supposed to be guaranteed safety around here. “I don’t think I’ll bother sleeping again.” I shoot a look sideways at his irritatingly gorgeous profile. “And if you even think about suggesting that you sleep with me for safety from now on—”
He scoffs. “Hardly. I don’t fuck first-years—even when I was one—let alone…you.”
“Who said anything about fucking?” I fire back, cursing myself as the ache in my ribs only intensifies. “I’d have to be a masochist to sleep with you, and I can assure you, I’m not.” Fantasizing about it doesn’t count.
“Masochist, huh?” A corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk.
“You hardly give off snuggly morning-after vibes.” A smile of my own curves my lips. “Unless you’re worried about me killing you while we sleep.” We round a corner, and the tunnel continues.
“I have zero concern about that. As violent as you are, and skilled with those daggers, I’m not even sure you could kill a fly. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you managed to wound three of them and never went for a kill shot.” He shoots a disapproving look my way.
“I’ve never killed anyone,” I whisper like it’s a secret.
“You’re going to have to get over that. All we are after graduation are weapons, and it’s best if we’re honed before leaving the gates.”
“Is that where we’re going? Are we leaving the gates?” I’ve lost all sense of direction in here.
“We’re going to ask Tairn what the hell just happened.” Xaden’s jaw flexes. “And I’m not talking about the attack. How the hell did they get past your locks?”
I shrug but don’t bother to explain. There’s no way he’ll believe me. I barely believe it myself.
“We’d better figure it out so it doesn’t happen again. I refuse to sleep on your fucking floor like some kind of guard dog.”
“Wait. This is another way to the flight field?” I do my best to mentally wall off the pain in my throat and ribs. “He’s bringing me to you,” I tell Tairn.
“I know.”
“Are you going to tell me what that was in there?”
“I would if I knew.”
“Yes,” Xaden says, and the path curves again. “It’s not exactly common knowledge. And I’m going to ask you to tuck this little tunnel into the file of secrets you keep on my behalf.”
“Let me guess, and you’ll know if I tell?”
“Yes.” Another smirk appears, and I look away before he can catch me staring.
“Are you going to promise me another favor?” The path begins to climb, and the ascent is anything but gentle. Every breath reminds me of what happened less than an hour ago.
“Having one of my favors is more than enough, and we’ve already reached mutually assured destruction status, Sorrengail. Now, can you push through it, or do you need me to carry you?”
“That sounds like an insult, not an offer.”
“You’re catching on.” But his pace slows to match mine.
The ground shifts beneath my feet as though it’s rocking, but I know better. It’s my head, the result of the pain and stress. My steps wobble.
Xaden’s arm wraps around my waist, steadying me. I hate how his touch elevates my heart rate as we continue the climb, but I don’t protest. I don’t want to be grateful for anything when it comes to him, but man if that minty scent of his isn’t delicious. “What were you doing tonight anyway?”
“What makes you ask?” His tone clearly insinuates that I shouldn’t.
Too bad.
“You made it to my room within minutes, and you’re not exactly dressed for sleeping.” He’s strapped with a sword for crying out loud.
“Maybe I sleep in my armor, too.”
“Then you should pick more trustworthy bedmates.”
He snorts, a flash of a smile appearing for a heartbeat. A real one. Not the fake, forced sneer I’m used to seeing or the cocky little smirk. An honest, heart-stopping smile that I’m anything but immune to. It’s gone as fast as it appears, though.
“So you’re not going to tell me?” I ask. I’d be frustrated if I didn’t hurt so damned much. And I’m not even going to touch why he needed to haul us all the way to Tairn when I can chat with him anytime I want.
Unless he wants to talk to Tairn, which is…ballsy.
“Nope. Third-year business.” He lets go when we reach the stonewalled end of the tunnel. A few hand gestures and another click sounds before he pushes open the door.
We step out into crisp, freezingly cold November air.
“What the hell,” I whisper. The door is built into a stack of boulders on the eastern side of the field.
“It’s camouflaged.” Xaden waves a hand and the door closes, blending into the rock as if it’s a part of it.
There’s a sound I now recognize as the steady beat of wings, and I look up to see the three dragons block out the stars as they descend. The earth shudders as they land in front of us.
“I’m guessing the wingleader wants a word?” Tairn steps forward and Sgaeyl follows, her wings tucked in tight, her golden eyes narrowing on me.
Andarna scurries between Sgaeyl’s claws, galloping toward us. She skids the last dozen feet, paws digging into the ground to stop just in front of me, bringing her nose to my ribs as an urgent sense of anxiety fills my head, swamping me with feelings I know aren’t mine.
“No broken bones,” I promise, stroking my hand over the bumpy ridges of her head. “They’re just bruised.”
“You’re sure?” she asks, worry widening her eyes.
“As sure as I can be.” I force a smile. Trudging out here in the middle of the night is worth it to alleviate her anxiety.
“Yes, I want a word. What the hell kind of powers are you channeling to her?” Xaden demands, staring up at Tairn like he isn’t…Tairn.
Yep. Ballsy. Every muscle in my body locks, sure that Tairn is about to torch Xaden for impudence.
“None of your business what I choose or do not choose to channel toward my rider,” Tairn answers with a growl.
This is going well.
“He says—” I start.
“I heard him,” Xaden counters, not sparing me a glance.
“You what?” My eyebrows hit my hairline, and Andarna retreats to stand with the others. Dragons only talk to their riders. That’s what I’ve always been taught.
“It’s absolutely my business when you expect me to protect her,” Xaden retorts, his voice rising.
“I got the message to you just fine, human.” Tairn’s head swivels in that snakelike motion that puts me on alert. He’s more than agitated.
“And I barely made it.” The words come out clipped through clenched teeth. “She would have been dead if I’d been thirty seconds later.”
“Seems like you had thirty seconds gifted to you.” Tairn’s chest rumbles with a growl.
“And I’d like to know what the fuck happened in there!”
I inhale sharply.
“Don’t hurt him,” I beg Tairn. “He saved me.” I’ve never seen someone so much as dare to speak to another rider’s dragon, yet alone yell at one, especially not one as powerful as Tairn.
He grumbles in response.
“We need to know what happened in that room.” Xaden’s dark gaze cuts through me like a knife for a millisecond before he glares back at Tairn.
“Do not dare to try and read me, human, or you’ll regret it.” Tairn’s mouth opens, his tongue curling in a motion I know all too well.
I move between the two and tilt my chin at Tairn. “He’s just a little freaked out. Don’t scorch him.”
“At least we agree on something.” A feminine voice sounds through my head.
Sgaeyl.
In awe, I blink up at the navy-blue daggertail as Xaden moves to my side. “She talked to me.”
“I know. I heard.” He folds his arms across his chest. “It’s because they’re mates. It’s the same reason I’m chained to you.”
“You make it sound so pleasant.”
“It’s not.” He turns to face me. “But you and I are exactly that, Violence. We’re chained. Tethered. You die, I die, so I damn well deserve to know how the hell you were under Seifert’s knife one second and across the room in another. Is that the signet power you’ve manifested with Tairn? Come clean. Now.” His eyes bore into me.
“I don’t know what happened,” I answer honestly.
“Nature likes all things in balance,” Andarna says like she’s reciting facts, just like I do when I’m nervous. “That’s the first thing we’re taught.”
I pivot to face the golden dragon, repeating what she said to Xaden.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks me, not her.
Guess that means he can hear Tairn, but not Andarna.
“Well, not the first thing.” Andarna sits, flicking her feathertail along the frost-laden grass. “The first thing is we shouldn’t bond until we’re full-grown.” She cocks her head to the side. “Or maybe the first is where the sheep are? I like goats better, though.”
“This is why feathertails don’t bond.” Tairn sighs with a hefty dose of exasperation.
“Let her explain,” Sgaeyl urges, clicking her talons like nails on the ground.
“Feathertails shouldn’t bond because they can accidentally gift their powers to humans,” Andarna continues. “Dragons can’t channel—not really—until we’re big, but we’re all born with something special.”
I relay the message. “Like a signet?” I ask out loud so Xaden can hear.
“No,” Sgaeyl answers. “A signet is a combination of our power with your own ability to channel. It reflects who you are at the core of your being.”
Andarna sits up and tilts her head proudly. “But I gave my gift directly to you. Because I’m still a feathertail.”
I repeat again, staring at the smaller dragon. Almost nothing is known about feathertails because they’re never seen outside the Vale. They’re guarded. They’re… I swallow. Wait. What did she say? “You’re still a feathertail?”
“Yep! For another couple of years, probably.” She blinks slowly and then cracks a yawn, her forked tail curling.
Oh. Gods. “You’re…you’re a hatchling,” I whisper.
“I am not!” Andarna puffs steam into the air. “I’m two! The hatchlings can’t even fly!”
“She’s a what?” Xaden’s gaze swings between Andarna and me.
I glare up at Tairn. “You let a juvenile bond? A juvenile train for war?”
“We mature at a much faster rate than humans,” he argues, having the nerve to look affronted. “And I’m not sure anyone lets Andarna do anything.”
“How much faster?” I gasp. “She’s two years old!”
“She’ll be full-grown in a year or two, but some are slower than others,” Sgaeyl answers. “And if I thought she’d actually bond, I would have objected harder to her Right of Benefaction.” She chuffs at Andarna in obvious disapproval.
“Hold on. Is Andarna yours?” Xaden walks a step toward Sgaeyl, and the tone in his voice is one I’ve never heard. He’s…hurt. “Have you hidden a hatchling away from me these last two years?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sgaeyl blows out a blast of air that ruffles Xaden’s hair. “Do you think I’d let my offspring bond while still feathered?”
“Her parents passed before hatching,” Tairn answers.
My heart sinks. “Oh, I’m sorry, Andarna.”
“I have lots of elders,” she responds, as though that makes up for it, but having lost my dad…I know it doesn’t.
“Not enough to keep you off the Threshing field,” Tairn grumbles. “Feathertails don’t bond because their power is too unpredictable. Unstable.”
“Unpredictable?” Xaden questions.
“The same way you wouldn’t hand a toddler your signet, would you, wingleader?” Tairn grunts when Andarna sags against his foreleg.
“Gods, no. I could barely control it as a first-year.” Xaden shakes his head.
It’s odd to imagine Xaden ever not being in control. Hell, I’d pay good money to see him lose it. To be the one he lost it with. Nope. I shut that thought down immediately.
“Exactly. Bonding too young allows them to give their gift directly, and a rider could easily drain them and burn out.”
“I would never!” I shake my head.
“That’s why I chose you.” Andarna’s head flops against Tairn’s leg. How could I not see it before now? Her rounded eyes, her paws…
“Of course, you wouldn’t know. Feathertails aren’t supposed to be seen,” Tairn says, glancing sideways at his mate.
She doesn’t even roll her eyes.
“If leadership knew riders could take her gifts for themselves, rather than depending on their own signets…” Xaden says, staring at Andarna as she blinks slower and slower.
“She’d be hunted,” I finish quietly.
“Which is why you can’t tell anyone what she is,” Sgaeyl says. “Hopefully she’ll mature once you’re out of the quadrant, and the elders are already placing more…stringent protections on the feathertails.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “Andarna, thank you. Whatever you did saved my life.”
“I made time stop.” Her mouth drops open into another jaw-cracking yawn. “But only for a little bit.”
Wait. What? My stomach hits the ground as I stare into Andarna’s golden eyes and forget the pain, the solid earth beneath my feet, even the need to breathe as shock rolls through me, robbing me of logic.
No one can stop time. Nothing can stop it. It’s…unheard of.
“What did she say?” Xaden asks, gripping my shoulders to steady me.
Tairn growls and a puff of steam blasts us both.
“I’d take your hands off the rider,” Sgaeyl warns.
Xaden loosens his grip but continues to cradle my shoulders. “Tell me what she said. Please.” His mouth tightens and I know that last bit cost him.
“She can pause time,” I force out, stumbling over my words. “Briefly.”
Xaden’s features slacken, and for the first time, he doesn’t look like the stalwart, lethal wingleader I met on the parapet. He’s flat-out shocked as his gaze swings to Andarna. “You can stop time?”
“And now we can stop it.” She blinks slowly, and I can feel exhaustion wafting off her. Channeling that gift to me tonight cost her. She can barely keep her eyes open.
“In small increments,” I whisper.
“In small increments,” Xaden echoes slowly, like he’s absorbing the information.
“And if I use it too much, I can kill you,” I say softly to Andarna.
“Kill us.” She stands on all four paws. “But I know you won’t.”
“I’ll do my best to be worthy.” The ramifications of this gift, this exceptional power, hit me like a death blow, and my stomach bottoms out. “Is Professor Carr going to kill me, too?”
Every gaze whips toward me, and Xaden’s grip tightens on my shoulders, his thumbs stroking in a soothing motion. “Why would you think that?”
“He killed Jeremiah.” I push the panic away and focus on the tiny golden flecks in Xaden’s onyx eyes. “You saw him snap his neck like a twig right in front of the whole quadrant.”
“Jeremiah was an inntinnsic.” Xaden’s voice lowers. “A mind reader is a capital offense. You know that.”
“And what are they going to do if they find out I can stop time?” Terror freezes the blood in my veins.
“They’re not going to find out,” Xaden promises. “No one is going to tell them. Not you. Not me. Not them.” He motions with one hand toward our trio of dragons. “Understand?”
“He’s right,” Tairn says. “They can’t find out. And there’s no saying how long you’ll have the ability. Most feathertail gifts disappear with maturity when they begin to channel.”
Andarna cracks another yawn, looking nearly dead on her feet.
“Get some sleep,” I tell her. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”
“Let’s go, Golden One,” Tairn says, and they all bend slightly, then launch, wind gusting against my face. Andarna struggles, her wings beating twice as hard, and Tairn flies up underneath her, taking her weight and continuing on to the Vale.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about the time-stopping,” Xaden asks as we head back into the tunnel, but it feels an awful lot like a command. “It’s not just for your safety. Rare abilities, when kept secret, are the most valuable form of currency we possess.”
My brow furrows as I study the stark lines of the rebellion relic that winds up his neck, marking him as a traitor’s son, warning everyone that he’s not to be trusted. Maybe he’s telling me to keep quiet for his own gain, so he can use me later down the road.
At least that means he intends for me to be alive at a later date.
“We need to figure out how unbonded cadets got in your room,” he says.
“There was a rider there,” I tell him. “Someone who ran away before you arrived. She must have unlocked it from the outside.”
“Who?” He halts, taking my elbow gently and turning me toward him.
I shake my head. There’s no way he’ll believe me. I barely believe it myself.
“At some point, you and I are going to have to start trusting each other, Sorrengail. The rest of our lives depend on it.” Fury swims in Xaden’s eyes. “Now tell me who.”
Accusing a wingleader of wrongdoing is the most dangerous of all accusations. If you’re right, then we’ve failed as a quadrant to select the best wingleaders. If you’re wrong, you’re dead.
—My Time as a Cadet: A Memoir
by General Augustine Melgren
CHAPTER
TWENTY
“Oren Seifert.” Captain Fitzgibbons finishes reading the death roll and closes the scroll as we stand in formation the next morning, our breath creating clouds in the chilled air. “We commend their souls to Malek.”
There’s no room for sorrow in my heart for six of the eight names, not when I’m shifting my weight to soothe the ache of black-and-blue along my ribs and ignoring the way other riders stare at the ring of bruises I wear around my throat.
The two others on today’s list are third-years from Second Wing, killed on a training operation near the Braevick border, according to breakfast gossip, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s where Xaden had been before coming to my rescue last night.
“I can’t believe they tried to kill you while you were sleeping.” Rhiannon’s still seething at breakfast after I told our table what happened.
Maybe Xaden is fighting to keep last night’s events a secret, to hide what a liability I really am to him, because no one else in leadership knows. He didn’t say a single word after I told him who unlocked the door, so I have no clue if he believes me or not.
“Even worse, I think I’m getting used to it.” Either I have kick-ass compartmentalization skills or I really am acclimating to always being a target.
Captain Fitzgibbons makes some minor announcements, and I tune him out as someone strides our way, cutting through the space between the Flame and Tail Sections of our wing.
Just like it always does, my stupid, hormone-driven heart stutters at the first sight of Xaden. Even the most effective poisons come in pretty packages, and Xaden’s exactly that—as beautiful as he is lethal. He looks deceptively calm as he approaches, but I can feel his tension as if it’s my own, like a panther prowling toward his prey. The wind ruffles his hair, and I sigh at the completely unfair advantage he has over every man in this courtyard. He doesn’t even have to try to look sexy…he just is.
Oh shit. This feeling right here—the way my breath catches and my entire body draws tight when he’s near—is why I haven’t taken anyone to bed or celebrated like the rest of my perfectly normal friends. This feeling is why I haven’t wanted anyone…else.
Because I want him.
There aren’t enough curse words in the world for this.
His gaze locks with mine just long enough to quicken my pulse before he addresses Dain, ignoring Fitzgibbons’s announcements behind him. “There’s a change to your squad roll.”
“Wingleader?” Dain questions, his spine straightening. “We just absorbed four from the dissolution of the third squad.”
“Yes.” Xaden looks to the right, where Second Squad, Tail Section stands at attention. “Belden, we’re making a roll change.”
“Yes, sir.” The squad leader nods once.
“Aetos, Vaughn Penley will be leaving your command, and you’ll be gaining Liam Mairi from Tail Section.”
Dain’s mouth snaps shut, and he nods.
We all watch as the two first-year riders exchange places. Penley’s only been with us since Threshing, so there’s no heartfelt goodbye from our original squad, but the other three grumble.
Liam nods at Xaden, and my stomach twists. I know exactly why he’s being put under Dain’s command. The guy is massive, as tall as Sawyer and as built as Dain, with light-blond hair, prominent nose, blue eyes, and the sprawling rebellion relic that begins at his wrist and disappears under the sleeve of his tunic gives his mission away.
“I do not need a bodyguard,” I snap at Xaden. Am I out of line speaking to a wingleader that way? Absolutely. Do I care? Not one bit.
He ignores me, facing Dain. “Liam is statistically the strongest first-year in the quadrant. He has the fastest time up the Gauntlet, hasn’t lost a single challenge, and is bonded to an exceptionally strong Red Daggertail. Any squad would be lucky to have him, and he’s all yours, Aetos. You can thank me when you win the Squad Battle in the spring.”
Liam steps into formation behind me, taking Penley’s place.
“I. Do. Not. Need. A. Bodyguard,” I repeat, a little louder this time. I could give two fucks who hears me.
One of the first-years behind me gasps, mortified by my audacity, no doubt.
Imogen snorts. “Good luck with that approach.”
Xaden walks past Dain and stands directly in front of me, leaning into my space. “You do, though, as we both learned last night. And I can’t be everywhere you are. But Liam here”—he points back to the blond Tyr—“he’s a first-year, so he can be in every class, at every challenge, and I even had him assigned to library duty, so I hope you get used to him, Sorrengail.”
“You’re overstepping.” My nails bite into my palms.
“You haven’t begun to see overstepping,” he warns, his voice dropping low, sending a shiver down my spine. “Any threat against you is a threat against me, and as we’ve already established, I have more important things to do than sleep on your floor.”
Heat flushes up my neck and stains my cheeks. “He is not sleeping in my room.”
“Of course not.” He freaking smirks, and my traitorous stomach dips. “I had him moved into the one next to yours. Wouldn’t want to overstep.” He turns on his heel and walks away, headed back to his place at the front of our formation.
“Fucking mated dragons,” Dain seethes, keeping his eyes forward.
Fitzgibbons finishes his announcements and steps to the back of the dais, which would usually signal the end of formation, but Commandant Panchek takes the podium. He makes it a habit to avoid morning formation, which means something is up.
“What’s going on with Panchek?” Rhiannon asks at my side.
“Not sure.” I take a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my ribs.
“It has to be something big if he’s fumbling with a Codex up there,” Rhiannon says.
“Quiet,” Dain orders, glancing back over his shoulder at us for the first time this morning. He does a double-take, his eyes flaring wide as he catches sight of my neck. “Vi?”
He hasn’t spoken to me since our fight yesterday. Gods, how has it been less than twenty-four hours when I feel like a completely different person?
“I’m fine,” I assure him, but he’s still staring at my throat, locked in shock. “Squad Leader Aetos, people are staring.” We hold way more than our share of the attention as Commandant Panchek begins to speak at the podium, telling us that there’s another matter to handle this morning, but Dain won’t look away. “Dain!”
He blinks, jerking his gaze to mine, and the apology in those soft brown eyes clogs my throat. “Is that what Riorson meant by last night?”
I nod.
“I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because you wouldn’t believe me, even if I did.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, nodding toward the dais. “Later.”
He turns, but the motion is reluctant.
“It has been brought to my attention as your commandant that a breach of the Codex has occurred,” Panchek calls out over the courtyard.
“As you know, breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated,” Panchek continues. “This matter will be addressed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward.”
“Someone’s in trouble,” Rhiannon whispers. “Think Ridoc finally got caught in Tyvon Varen’s bed?”
“That’s hardly against the Codex,” Ridoc murmurs from behind us.
“He’s the executive officer for Second Wing.” I send a pointed look over my shoulder.
“And?” Ridoc shrugs, grinning without a touch of remorse. “Fraternizing with command is frowned upon, not unlawful.”
I sigh, facing forward. “I miss sex.” I really do, and it’s not just the physical gratification, either. There’s a sense of connection in those moments that I crave, a momentary banishment of loneliness.
The first is something I’m sure Xaden would be more than capable of providing, if he ever thought of me that way, but the second? He’s the last person I should be craving, but lust and logic never seem to go hand in hand.
“If you’re looking for a little fun, I’m happy to oblige—” Ridoc starts, shoving his floppy brown hair off his forehead with a wink.
“I miss good sex,” I counter, smothering a smile as someone walks from the front of formation toward the dais, indistinguishable through the rows of the squads ahead of us. “Besides, apparently you’re spoken for.” Have to admit, it feels good to tease a friend about something so trivial. It’s a tiny slice of normalcy in an otherwise macabre environment.
“We’re not exclusive,” Ridoc counters. “It’s like Rhiannon and what’s-her-name…”
“Tara,” Rhiannon offers.
“Will you all shut the hell up?” Dain barks in his superior-officer voice.
Our mouths snap shut.
Mine drops open again when I realize it’s Xaden climbing the steps to the dais. My stomach lurches as I suck in a tight breath. “This is about me,” I whisper.
Dain glances back at me, confusion furrowing his brow before whipping his attention toward the dais, where Xaden now stands at the podium, somehow managing to fill the entire stage with his presence.
From what I remember reading, his father had that same magnetism, the ability to hold and capture a crowd with nothing but his words…words that led to Brennan’s death.
“Early this morning,” he begins, his deep voice carrying over the formation, “a rider in my wing was brutally, illegally attacked in her sleep with the intent of murder by a group primarily composed of unbondeds.”
A collection of murmurs and gasps fills the air, and Dain’s shoulders stiffen.
“As we all know, this is a violation of Article Three, Section Two of the Dragon Rider’s Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense.”
I feel the weight of a dozen glances, but it’s Xaden’s I feel most of all.
His hands clench the sides of the podium. “Having been alerted by my dragon, I interrupted the attack along with two other Fourth Wing riders.” He dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind Xaden, their hands at their sides. “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.”
“Both Tyrs. How convenient,” Nadine, one of our new additions to the squad, says from the row behind Ridoc and Liam.
I look back over my shoulder and pin her with a glare.
Liam keeps his eyes forward.
“But the attack was orchestrated by a rider who fled before I arrived,” Xaden continues, his voice rising. “A rider who had access to the map of where all first-years are assigned to sleep, and that rider must be brought to swift justice.”
Shit. This is about to get ugly.
“I call you to answer for your crime against Cadet Sorrengail.” Xaden’s focus shifts to the center of the formation. “Wingleader Amber Mavis.”
The quadrant draws a collective breath before an uproar rips through the crowd.
“What the hell?” Dain bites out.
My chest tightens. Gods, I hate it when Dain proves me right.
Rhiannon reaches for my hand, squeezing tight in support as every rider in the courtyard’s attention pivots between Xaden, Amber…and me.
“She’s a Tyr, too, Nadine,” Ridoc says over his shoulder. “Or are you only biased against marked ones?”
Amber’s family stayed loyal to Navarre, so she wasn’t forced to watch her parents executed and wasn’t marked by a rebellion relic.
“Amber would never.” Dain shakes his head. “A wingleader would never.” He turns completely to face me. “Get up there and tell everyone that he’s lying, Vi.”
“But he’s not,” I say as gently as I can.
“It’s impossible.” His cheeks flush a mottled shade of red.
“I was there, Dain.” The reality of his disbelief hurts so much more than I expected, like a blow to my already battered ribs.
“Wingleaders are beyond reproach—”
“Then why are you so quick to call our own wingleader a liar?” My brows rise in challenge, daring him to say what he’s so careful to keep quiet.
Behind him, Amber steps forward, separating herself from the formation. “I have committed no such crime!”
“See?” Dain swings his arm, pointing toward the redhead. “Put a stop to this right now, Violet.”
“She was with them in my room,” I say simply. Shouting won’t convince him. Nothing will.
“That’s impossible.” He lifts his hands, as though ready to cup my face. “Let me see.”
The shock of what he intends to do has me stumbling backward. How have I forgotten that his signet allows him to see others’ memories?
But if I let him see my memory of Amber’s participation, it will also show him that I stopped time, and I can’t let that happen. I shake my head and take another step back.
“Give me the memory,” he orders.
Indignation lifts my chin. “Touch me without permission, and you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.”
Surprise ripples over his features.
“Wingleaders.” Xaden projects his voice over the chaos. “We need a quorum.”
Both Nyra and Septon Izar—the wingleaders for First and Second Wing—climb the stairs to the dais, passing by Amber as she stands utterly exposed in the courtyard.
A familiar chaos fills the air, and we all look toward the ridgeline as six dragons curve along the mountain, flying straight for us. The biggest among them is Tairn.
In a matter of seconds, they reach the citadel and hover over the courtyard walls. Wind from the strong beats of their wings blasts through the courtyard. Then, one by one, they land on their perch, Tairn at the center of the grouping.
Every line of his frame exudes menace as his talons crush the masonry under his grip, and his narrowed, angry eyes focus on Amber.
Sgaeyl is perched to the right, taking her position behind Xaden. She’s just as terrifying as she was that first day, but back then I’d never imagined I’d bond a dragon even more frightening…to everyone but me. Nyra’s Red Scorpiontail looms behind her as well, and Septon’s Brown Daggertail mirrors the stance to the left. On the ends, puffing blasts of steam, are Commandant Panchek’s Green Clubtail and Amber’s Orange Daggertail.
“Shit’s about to get real,” Sawyer says, breaking formation to stand at my side, and I feel Ridoc at my back.
“You can stop this all right now, Violet. You have to,” Dain implores. “I don’t know what you saw last night, but it wasn’t Amber. She cares too much about the rules to break them.”
And she thinks I broke them by using my dagger on the last ascent of the Gauntlet.
“You’re using this to get your revenge on my family!” Amber shouts at Xaden. “For not supporting your father’s rebellion!”
That’s a low fucking blow.
Xaden doesn’t even acknowledge it as he turns to the other wingleaders.
He isn’t demanding proof like Dain. He believes me, and he’s ready to execute a wingleader on nothing more than my word. As surely as if they’re a physical structure, I feel my defenses crack on Xaden’s behalf.
“Can you see my memories?” I ask Tairn. “Share them?”
“Yes.” His head snakes left and right ever so slightly. “A memory has never been shared outside of a mating bond. It’s considered a violation.”
“Xaden’s up there fighting because I told him it was her. Help him.” And gods, I admire him for it. I take a deep breath. “Only what they need to see.”
Wanting and admiring? I’m so screwed.
Tairn chuffs and every dragon besides Sgaeyl stiffens on the wall, even Amber’s. The riders are quick to follow, silence filling the courtyard, and I know they know.
“That spineless wretch,” Rhiannon seethes, her hand squeezing mine even tighter.
Dain pales.
“Believe me now?” I hurl it like the accusation it is. “You’re supposed to be my oldest friend, Dain. My best friend. There’s a reason I didn’t tell you.”
He staggers backward.
“The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement,” Xaden announces, flanked by Nyra and Septon while the commandant hangs back. “We find you guilty, Amber Mavis.”
“No!” she shouts. “It is no crime to rid the quadrant of the weakest rider! I did it to protect the integrity of the wings!” She paces in panic, looking to everyone—anyone for help.
As a whole, the formation moves backward.
“And as is our law, your sentence will be carried out by fire,” Nyra states.
“No!” Amber looks to her dragon. “Claidh!”
Amber’s Orange Daggertail snarls at the other dragons and lifts a claw.
Tairn swivels his massive head toward Claidh, his roar shaking the ground beneath my feet. Then he snaps his teeth at the smaller orange, and she retreats, her head hanging as she grips the wall again.
The sight breaks my heart, not for Amber but for Claidh.
“Do you have to?” I ask Tairn.
“This is our way.”
“Please don’t,” I beg, forgetting to think the words. It’s one thing to punish Amber, but Claidh will suffer as well.
Maybe I could talk to Amber. Maybe we can still work through our issues. Maybe we can find common ground, turn our anger to friendship or at least casual indifference. I shake my head, my heart pounding in my throat. I did this. I was so focused on whether anyone would believe me, I didn’t stop to think what might happen if they did.
I turn to Xaden and beg again, my voice breaking by the end. “Please give her a chance.”
He holds my gaze but doesn’t so much as show a flicker of emotion.
“I let someone live once, and he almost killed you last night, Silver One,” Tairn says. Then, as if this is all that really matters in the end, “Justice is not always merciful.”
“Claidh,” Amber whimpers, the courtyard so unbelievably silent that the sound carries.
The formation splits at the center.
Tairn leans low, extending his head and neck past the dais toward where Amber stands. Then his teeth part, he curls his tongue, and he incinerates her with a blast of fire so hot, I can feel it from here. It’s over in a heartbeat.
A gruesome scream rends the air, shattering a window in the academic wing, and every rider slams their hands over their ears as Claidh mourns.
Don’t freak out if you can’t immediately channel your dragon’s powers, Mira. Yeah, I know you have to be the best at everything, but this isn’t something you can control. They’ll channel when they feel you’re ready. And once they do, you’d better be ready to manifest a signet. Until then, you’re not ready. Don’t push it.
—Page sixty-one, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
“This really isn’t necessary.” I glance sideways at Liam as we make our way toward the door of the Archives. The cart doesn’t even squeak anymore. He fixed that the very first day.
“So you’ve told me for the last week.” He shoots me a grin, revealing a dimple.
“And yet you’re still here. Every day. All day.” It’s not that I don’t like him. To my absolute annoyance, he’s actually…nice. Courteous, funny, and ridiculously helpful. He makes it difficult to loathe his constant presence, even though he leaves wood shavings in little piles everywhere he goes—which is everywhere I go now. The guy is constantly whittling with that smaller knife of his. Yesterday he finished the figurine of a bear.
“Until otherwise ordered,” he says.
I shake my head at him as Pierson jolts upright at the Archives doors, straightening his cream tunic. “Good morning, Cadet Pierson.”
“You as well, Cadet Sorrengail.” He offers me a polite smile, which dies as he glances at Liam. “Cadet Mairi.”
“Cadet Pierson,” Liam responds, as if the scribe’s tone hadn’t completely changed.
My shoulders tense as Pierson hurries to open the door. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t been around marked ones before Basgiath, but the outright hostility toward them is becoming glaringly, uncomfortably obvious to me.
We walk into the Archives and wait by the table just like every other morning.
“How do you do that?” I ask Liam in a hushed whisper. “Handle when people are that rude without reacting?”
“You’re rude to me all the time,” he teases, drumming his fingers on the handle of the cart.
“Because you’re my babysitter, not because…” I can’t even say it.
“Because I’m the son of the disgraced Colonel Mairi?” His jaw ticks, his brow furrowing for a heartbeat as he looks away.
I nod, my stomach sinking as I think back over the last few months. “I guess I’m really no better, though. I hated Xaden on sight, and I didn’t know a single thing about him.” Not that I do now, either. He’s infuriatingly good at being completely inaccessible.
Liam scoffs, earning us a glare from a scribe near the back corner. “He has that effect on people, especially women. They either despise him for what his father did or want to fuck him for the same reason, just depends on where we are.”
“You actually know him, don’t you?” I crane my neck to look up at him. “He didn’t just pick you to shadow me because you’re the best in our year.”
“Just now catching on, huh?” A grin flashes across his face. “I would have told you that on the first day if you hadn’t been so busy huffing and puffing about the pleasure of my company.”
I roll my eyes as Jesinia approaches, her hood up over her hair. “Hey, Jesinia,” I sign.
“Good morning,” she signs back, her mouth curving in a shy smile as her gaze darts up to Liam.
“Good morning.” He signs with a wink, clearly flirting.
It shocked me to my toes that first day that he knew how to sign, but honestly, I’d been a little judgy just because I didn’t want a shadow.
“Just these today?” Jesinia asks, inspecting the cart.
“And these.” I reach for the list of requests amid their obvious glances and hand it to her.
“Perfect.” Her cheeks flush and she studies the list before putting it in her pocket. “Oh, and Professor Markham left before his daily report arrived to teach your briefing. Would you mind taking it over?”
“Happy to.” I wait until she’s pushing the cart away from us, then smack Liam’s chest. “Stop it,” I whisper out loud.
“Stop what?” He watches her until she turns the corner at the first set of shelves.
“Flirting with Jesinia. She’s a long-term-relationship woman, so unless that’s what you’re looking for…just…don’t.”
His eyebrows hit his hairline. “How does anyone think long-term around here?”
“Not everyone is in a quadrant where death is less of a chance and more of a foregone conclusion.” I breathe in the scent of the Archives and try to absorb a little of the peace it brings.
“So you’re saying that some people still try to make cute little things like plans.”
“Exactly, and those some people is Jesinia. Trust me, I’ve known her for years.”
“Right. Because you wanted to be a scribe when you grew up.” He scans the Archives with an intensity that almost makes me laugh. As if there’s any chance someone is going to lunge out of the shelves and come after me.
“How did you know that?” I lower my voice as a group of second-years passes, their expressions somber as they debate the merits of two different historians.
“I did my research on you after I was…you know…assigned.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen you practicing this week with those blades of yours, Sorrengail. Riorson was right. You would have been wasted as a scribe.”
My chest swells with more than a little pride. “That remains to be seen.” At least challenges haven’t resumed. Guess enough of us are dying during flight lessons to hold off on killing more through hand-to-hand. “What did you want to be when you grew up?” I ask, just to keep the conversation going.
“Alive.” He shrugs.
Well, that’s…something.
“How do you know Xaden anyway?” I’m not foolish enough to think that everyone in the province of Tyrrendor knows one another.
“Riorson and I were fostered at the same estate after the apostasy,” he says, using the Tyrrish term for the rebellion, which I haven’t heard in ages.
“You were fostered?” My mouth drops open. Fostering the children of aristocrats was a custom that died out after the unification of Navarre more than six hundred years ago.
“Well, yeah.” He shrugs again. “Where did you think the kids of the traitors”—he flinches at the word—“went after they executed our parents?”
I look out over the sprawling shelves of texts, wondering if one of them holds the answer. “I didn’t think.” My throat catches on that last word.
“Most of our great houses were given to nobles who had remained loyal.” He clears his throat. “As it should be.”
I don’t bother agreeing with what’s obviously a conditioned reply. King Tauri’s response after the rebellion was swift, even cruel, but I was a fifteen-year-old girl too lost in her own grief to think mercifully on the people who’d caused my brother’s death. The burning of Aretia, which had been Tyrrendor’s capital, to the ground had never sat well with me, though. Liam was the same age. It wasn’t his fault his mother had broken faith with Navarre. “But you didn’t go with your father to his new home?”
His gaze swings toward mine, and his brow furrows. “It’s hard to live with a man who was executed on the same day as my mother.”
My stomach sinks. “No. No, that’s not right. Your father was Isaac Mairi, right? I’ve studied all the noble houses in every province, including Tyrrendor.” Had I gotten something wrong?
“Yes. Isaac was my father.” He tilts his head, looking toward the area where Jesinia disappeared, and I get the distinct feeling he is over this conversation.
“But he wasn’t a part of the rebellion.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of it. “He isn’t on the death roll of the executions from Calldyr.”
“You read the death roll from the Calldyr executions?” His eyes flare.
It takes all my courage, but I hold his stare. “I needed to see that someone was on it.”
He draws back slightly. “Fen Riorson.”
I nod. “He killed my brother at the Battle of Aretia.” My mind scrambles, trying to harmonize what I’ve read and what he’s saying. “But your father wasn’t on that roll.” But Liam was—as a witness. Mortification sweeps over me. What the hell am I doing? “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“He was executed at our family’s house.” His features tighten. “Before it was given to another noble, of course. And yes, I watched as they did it that time, too. I already had the rebellion relic by then, but the pain was the same.” He looks away, his throat working. “Then I was sent to Tirvainne to be fostered by Duke Lindell, the same as Riorson. My little sister was sent elsewhere.”
“They separated you?” My jaw practically unhinges. Neither fostering nor separating siblings is mentioned in any text I’ve read about the rebellion, and I’ve read a ton.
He nods. “She’s only a year younger than me, though, so I’ll get to see her when she enters the quadrant next year. She’s strong, quick, and has good balance. She’ll make it.” The edge of panic in his tone reminds me of Mira.
“She could always choose another quadrant,” I say softly, hoping it will soothe him.
He blinks at me. “We’re all riders.”
“What?”
“We’re all riders. It was part of the deal. We’re allowed to live, allowed a chance to prove our loyalty, but only if we make it through the Riders Quadrant.” He stares at me in bewilderment. “You don’t know?”
“I mean…” I shake my head. “I know that the children of the leaders, the officers, were all forced into conscription, but that’s all. A lot of those treaty addenda are classified.”
“I personally think the quadrant was chosen to give us the best chance of rising in rank, but others…” He grimaces. “Others think it’s because the death rate is so much higher for riders, so they were hoping to kill us all off without having to do it themselves. I’ve heard Imogen say they originally figured the dragons have unimpeachable honor, so they’d never bond a marked one in the first place, and now they don’t quite know what to do with us.”
“How many of you are there?” I think of my mother and can’t help but wonder how much of it she knows, how much of it she agreed to when she became the commanding general of Basgiath after Brennan’s death.
“Xaden’s never?” He pauses. “Sixty-eight of the officers had kids under the age of twenty. There are one hundred and seven of us, all who carry rebellion relics.”
“The oldest is Xaden,” I murmur.
He nods. “And the youngest is almost six now. Her name is Julianne.”
I think I’m going to be sick. “Is she marked?”
“She was born with it.”
I understand it was done by dragon, but what the fucking hell?
“And it’s all right that you ask. Someone should know. Someone should remember.” His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. “Anyway, is it hard for you to be in here? Or is it more of a comfort thing?”
Subject change noted.
I take in the rows of tables, slowly filling with scribes readying themselves for work, and imagine my father among them. “It’s like coming home, but not. And it’s not that it’s changed—this place never changes. Hell, I think change is the mortal enemy of a scribe. But I’m starting to realize that I’ve changed. I don’t quite fit here. Not anymore.”
“Yeah. I get that.” Something in his voice tells me he really does.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what the last five years were like for him, but Jesinia reappears, the cart laden with the requested tomes.
“I have everything here for you,” she signs, then gestures to the scroll on top. “And that is for Professor Markham.”
“We’ll make sure he gets it,” I promise, leaning forward to take the cart. My high collar shifts, and Jesinia gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
“Oh gods, Violet. Your neck!” Her hand movements are sharp, and the sympathy in her eyes makes my chest tighten. “Sympathy” isn’t a word found in our quadrant. There’s rage, wrath, and indignation…but no sympathy.
“It’s nothing.” I put my collar back in place, covering the ring of yellowing bruises, and Liam reaches across me, taking the cart. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
She bobs her head and wrings her hands as we turn for the door. Pierson closes it after we pass into the hallway.
“Riorson taught me to fight during the years he was at Tirvainne.” Liam’s change of subject is appreciated and no doubt intentional once again. “I’ve never seen anyone move the way he does. He’s the only reason I made it through the first round of challenges. He might not show it, but he takes care of his own.”
“Are you trying to sell me on his finer points?” We make the ascent, and I note with some satisfaction that my legs feel strong today. I love the days when my body cooperates.
“You are slightly stuck with him for…” He makes a face. “Well, forever.”
“Or until one of us dies,” I joke, but it falls flat as we round the corner and take the path past the Healer Quadrant. “How can you do this anyway? Guard someone whose own mother oversaw the wing that captured yours?” I’ve wanted to ask the question all week.
“Wondering if you can trust me?” He flashes another easy grin.
“Yes.” The answer is simple.
He laughs, the sound echoing off the tunnel walls and glass windows of the clinic. “Good answer. All I can say is that your survival is essential to Riorson’s, and I owe him everything. Everything.” He looks me straight in the eye for that last word, even as the cart hits a raised stone in the paved corridor.
The scroll on top tumbles to the floor, and I wince at the dull ache in my ribs as I hurry to retrieve it and it unrolls along the slight slope of the passage.
“Got it.” The thick parchment isn’t eager to roll back into place, and I catch a sentence that makes me pause.
The conditions at Sumerton are of particular concern. A village was ransacked and a supply convoy looted last night—
“What does it say?” Liam asks.
“Sumerton was attacked.” I flip the scroll to see if it’s marked as classified, but it isn’t.
“On the southern border?” He looks as confused as I feel.
“Yeah.” I nod. “It’s another high-altitude attack, too, if I remember my geography correctly. It says a supply convoy was looted.” I read a little further. “And the community storage in nearby caves was ransacked. But that doesn’t make sense. We have a trade agreement with Poromiel.”
“A raiding party, then.”
I shrug. “No clue. Guess we’ll hear about it in Battle Brief today.” Attacks along our southern borders are rising, all with the same description. Mountain villages are being torn apart wherever the wards weaken.
Immense, incredible hunger strikes, my stomach gnawing on emptiness that demands to be appeased with the blood of—
“Sorrengail?” Liam looks over at me, concern etched between his brows.
“Tairn’s awake,” I manage to say, clutching my stomach like I’m the one who craves a flock of sheep. Or goats. Or whatever he decides for the morning. “Good gods, please go eat something.”
“The same could be suggested to you,” he snarls.
“Such a morning person, aren’t you?” The hunger dissipates, and I know it’s because he’s dampening the bond in that moment because I can’t. His emotions only flow into me when they override his control. “Thank you. Andarna?”
“Still sleeping. She’ll be out another few days after using that much power.”
“Does it ever get any easier?” I ask Liam. “Being tackled by what they’re feeling?”
He winces. “Good question. Deigh keeps pretty good control of himself, but when he’s angry?” Liam shakes his head. “It’s supposed to help once they start channeling and we have the power to shield them out, but you know Carr isn’t going to bother with us until that happens.”
I’d already assumed Liam didn’t have his abilities yet, considering he’s with me in every single class, but it’s comforting to know he’s still in the waning population of powerless riders with me. While Andarna has given me her gift for stopping time, I’m pretty sure using it isn’t going to be a regular occurrence, especially if it takes her days to recover.
“So Tairn hasn’t channeled to you, either, right?” Liam asks, a look of uncertainty, vulnerability on his face.
I shake my head. “I think he has commitment issues,” I whisper.
“I heard that.”
“Then stay out of my head.”
Another wave of paralyzing hunger assaults me, and I nearly crush Markham’s scroll in my hand. “Don’t be an ass.”
I swear I hear him chuff a chuckle in response.
“We’d better hurry or we’ll miss breakfast.”
“Right.” I finish rolling the scroll and put it back on the cart.
…
“I want to be like the cool kids,” Rhiannon grumbles as first-years from Second and Third Wings pour out of the stairwell of the turret that leads up to Professor Carr’s classroom that afternoon, further clogging the hallway on our way to Battle Brief.
“We will,” I promise, linking my arm through hers. Have to admit, there’s more than a little twinge of jealousy in my chest.
“You may be cool, but you will never be as cool as I am!” Ridoc pushes past Liam and throws his arm over my shoulder.
“She’s talking about everyone who’s already channeling,” I explain, juggling my books so I don’t drop them. “Though at least if we’re not channeling, we’re not stressed about manifesting a signet before the magic kills us.” The relic in the center of my back tingles, and I can’t help but wonder if Andarna’s gift has triggered that clock for me.
“Oh, I thought we were discussing how I just owned that physics test.” He grins. “Definitely the highest score in the class.”
Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “Please. I scored five points higher than you.”
“We stopped counting your grades months ago.” He leans forward slightly. “Your grades in that class make it unfair for the rest of us.” He looks between our shoulders. “Wait. What did you get, Mairi?”
“Not getting into the middle of this,” Liam responds.
I laugh as we break apart, entering the bottleneck of cadets to get into the briefing room.
“Sorry, Sorrengail,” someone says, stepping out of the way and tugging their friend with them as we enter the tiered classroom.
“Nothing to be sorry about!” I call out, but they’re already headed up a few rows. “I’m never going to get used to that.”
“It definitely makes getting places easier,” Rhiannon teases as we descend the steps that curve along the massive turret.
“They show the appropriate level of deference,” Tairn grumbles.
“To what they think I’ll be, not who I am.” We find our row and walk to our seats, sitting as a squad among the first-years.
“That shows excellent forethought.”
The room buzzes with energy as riders file in, and I can’t help but notice that no one has to stand anymore. Our numbers have decreased exponentially in the last four months. The number of empty chairs is sobering. We lost another first-year yesterday when he got too close to another rider’s Red Scorpiontail on the flight field. One second he was standing there, and the next he was a scorched patch of earth. I kept as close to Tairn as possible the rest of the session.
My scalp prickles, but I fight the urge to turn around.
“Riorson just got here,” Liam says from the seat to my right, breaking from the little dragon figurine he’s carving and looking up the rows toward the third-years.
“Figured.” I hold up my middle finger and keep my eyes forward. Not that I don’t like Liam, but I’m still pissed at Xaden for assigning him.
Liam snorts and grins, flashing his dimple. “And now he’s glaring. Tell me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant?”
“You could try it yourself and find out,” I suggest, opening my notebook to the next empty page. I can’t turn around. I won’t. Wanting Xaden is fine. It has to be. Indulging the impulses it gives me? That’s asinine.
“That’s going to be a no from me.”
I lose the battle with my self-control and look over my shoulder. Sure enough, Xaden is seated in the top row next to Garrick, mastering the art of looking bored. He gives Liam a nod, which Liam returns.
I roll my eyes and face forward again.
Liam concentrates on his carving, which looks a lot like his Red Daggertail, Deigh.
“I swear, you’d think there were assassination attempts on me during every class with the way he makes you shadow me.” I shake my head.
“In his defense, people are fond of trying to kill you.” Rhiannon sets out her supplies.
“One time! It’s happened one time, Rhi!” I adjust my posture to keep my weight off my bruised ribs. They’re wrapped tight, but leaning against the back of my seat isn’t an option.
“Right. And what would you call that whole thing with Tynan?” Rhiannon asks.
“Threshing.” I shrug.
“And Barlowe’s constant threats?” She arches a brow at me.
“She has a point there,” Sawyer chimes in, leaning forward from the seat next to Rhiannon’s.
“They’re just threats. The only time I’ve actually been targeted was at night, and it’s not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom.”
“I mean, I’m not opposed—” he begins, his knife hovering over the piece of wood.
“Don’t even start.” I whip my head to face him and can’t help but laugh. “You are a shameless flirt.”
“Thank you.” He grins and goes back to carving.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Don’t mind her, she’s just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.” Rhiannon writes the date down on her empty page and I follow suit, dipping my quill into my portable inkpot. Those easy, mess-less pens some of the others can already use is just another reason I can’t wait to channel. No more quills. No more inkpots.
“That has nothing to do with it.” Gods, could she have said that a little louder?
“And yet I don’t hear you denying it.” She smiles sweetly at me.
“I’m sorry I don’t make the cut,” Liam teases. “But I’m sure Riorson would be fine with my reviewing a couple candidates, especially if it means you’ll stop flipping him off in front of his entire wing.”
“And how exactly would you be reviewing candidates? What will you be scoring?” Rhiannon asks, one eyebrow raised above her wide grin. “This I have to hear.”
I manage a straight face for all of two seconds before laughing at how horrified he suddenly looks. “Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll make sure to run any potential liaisons by you.”
“I mean, you could watch,” Rhiannon continues, blinking innocently at him. “Just to be sure she’s fully covered. You know, so no one…sticks it to her.”
“Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?” Ridoc asks from Liam’s side. “Because my entire life has led up to this very moment.”
Even Sawyer laughs.
“Fuck me,” Liam mutters under his breath. “I’m just saying that since you’re protected at night now—” We laugh harder, and he blows out a deep breath.
“Wait.” I stop laughing. “What do you mean I’m protected at night? Because you’re next door?” My smile vanishes. “Please tell me he’s not making you sleep in the hallway or something obnoxious.”
“No. Of course not. He warded your door the morning after the attack.” His expression clearly says I should know this. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?”
“He what?”
“He warded your door,” Liam says, quieter this time. “So only you can open it.”
Shit. I don’t know how to feel about that. It’s more than slightly controlling, and way out of line, but also…sweet. “But if he’s the one who warded it, then he can get in, too, right?”
“Well, yeah.” Liam shrugs as Professors Markham and Devera walk down the stairs, heading for the front of the room. “But it’s not like Riorson is going to kill you.”
“Right. You see, I’m still adjusting to that little change of heart.” I fumble my quill and it falls to the ground, but before I can lean over, the shadows beneath the arm of my desk lift the instrument like an offering. I pluck it out of the shadows and look back at Xaden.
He’s locked in conversation with Garrick, not paying me a speck of attention.
Except, apparently, he is.
“If we can get started?” Markham calls over the room, and we fall silent as he places the scroll Liam and I had delivered to him before breakfast on the podium. “Excellent.”
I write Sumerton down at the top of the page and Liam trades his knife for a quill.
“First announcement,” Devera says, stepping forward. “We’ve decided that not only will the winners of this year’s Squad Battle receive bragging rights—” She grins like we’re in for a treat. “But they’ll also be given a trip to the front lines to shadow an active wing.”
Cheers break out all around us.
“So if we win, we get a chance to die sooner?” Rhiannon whispers.
“Maybe they’re trying a reverse psychology thing.” I glance at the others around us who are clearly overjoyed and worry about their sanity. Then again, most everyone in this room can stay on their dragon.
“So can you.”
“Don’t you have better things to do with your day than listen in on my self-loathing?”
“Not particularly. Now pay attention.”
“Stop butting in and maybe I can,” I counter.
Tairn chuffs. One day I might be able to translate that sound, but it’s not today.
“I know the Squad Battle doesn’t commence until spring,” Devera continues, “but I figured that news would give you all the proper motivation to apply yourselves in every area leading up to the challenges.”
Another cheer resounds.
“And now that we have your attention.” Markham lifts his hand and the room quiets. “The front lines are relatively quiet today, so we’re going to take this opportunity to dissect the Battle of Gianfar.”
My quill hovers above my notebook. Surely he didn’t say that.
The mage lights rise to the Cliffs of Dralor that separate Tyrrendor, lifting the entire province thousands of feet above the rest of the Continent, before shining brightest on the ancient stronghold along the southern border. “This battle was pivotal to the unification of Navarre, and though it happened more than six centuries ago, there are important lessons that still impact our flight formations to this day.”
“Is he serious?” I whisper to Liam.
“Yeah.” Liam’s grip bends his quill. “I think he is.”
“What made this battle unique?” Devera asks, her eyebrows raised. “Bryant?”
“The stronghold was not only set for a siege,” the second-year says from high above us, “but was equipped with the first cross-bolt, which proved lethal against dragonkind.”
“Yes. And?” Devera prompts.
“It was one of the final battles where gryphons and dragons actually worked alongside each other to annihilate the army of the Barrens,” the second-year continues.
I glance left and right, watching the other riders begin to take notes. Surreal. This is just…surreal. Even Rhiannon is writing intensely.
None of them knows what we do, that an entire village of Navarrians was ransacked last night along the border and supplies looted. And yet, we’re discussing a battle that happened before the convenience of indoor plumbing was invented.
“Now, pay close attention,” Markham lectures. “Because you’ll be turning in a detailed report in three days and drawing comparisons to battles from the last twenty years.”
“Was that scroll marked classified?” Liam asks under his breath.
“No,” I respond just as quietly. “But maybe I missed it?” The battle map doesn’t even show activity near that mountain range.
“Yeah.” He nods, scratching his quill against the parchment as he begins to take notes. “That has to be it. You missed it.”
I blink, forcing my hand through the motions of writing about a battle I’ve analyzed dozens of times with my father. Liam’s right. That’s the only possible explanation. Our clearance isn’t high enough, or maybe they haven’t finished gathering all the information needed to form an accurate report.
Or it had to have been marked classified. I just missed it.
The first rush of power is unmistakable. The first time it forms to you, surrounds you with a seemingly endless supply of energy, you’ll be addicted to the high, to the possibilities of all you can do with it, to the control you hold in the palm of your hand. But here’s the thing, that power can quickly turn and control you.
—Page sixty-four, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
The rest of November passes without mention of what happened at Sumerton, and by the time the howling winds bring snow in December, I’ve given up hoping command will release the information. It’s not like Liam or I can directly ask the professors without incriminating ourselves for reading what was obviously a classified report—even if it wasn’t marked.
It makes me wonder what else doesn’t make it to Battle Brief, but I keep that to myself. Between that and my growing frustration over my inability to channel—unlike three-quarters of my year—I’m keeping a lot to myself these days.
“Not entirely,” Tairn grunts.
“No comments from you, not after you almost let me hit the side of a mountain today.” My stomach churns just thinking about how far he let me fall.
The first-year from Third Wing wasn’t as lucky. She lost her seat during a new maneuver and ended up on the death roll this morning.
Rhiannon swings her bow staff, and I throw my weight into a backbend, narrowly escaping the strike. To my absolute surprise, I keep my balance on the training mat.
“Then stay on next time.”
“Start channeling and maybe I’ll be able to,” I counter.
“You’re distracted tonight.” Rhiannon backs off as I regain my balance, showing me mercy no opponent would during a challenge. Her gaze flicks across the mat to where Liam sits on a bench, carving yet another dragon, and returns to mine, giving me a look that says she’ll follow up later once I’ve been released from my constant shadow for the night. “But you’re faster than you used to be. Whatever Imogen has you doing is working.”
“You’re not ready to channel yet, Silver One.”
“As if there was ever any doubt,” Imogen calls from the next mat over, where she casually holds Ridoc in a headlock, waiting for him to tap out.
To my left, Sawyer and Quinn circle each other, preparing for yet another round, and behind Rhiannon, Emery and Heaton are doing their best to coach the other first-years we gained after Threshing while Dain looks on, studiously avoiding anything that has to do with me.
Per his recent orders, Tuesday nights are for squad hand-to-hand practice, because the full academic load we’re carrying, coupled with flight lessons and now wielding instruction for some of us isn’t leaving much time for the mat. A few of the farther mats are taken up by other riders with the same idea, one of which includes Jack Barlowe.
Hence why Liam refused when Ridoc asked to spar with him.
“You’re taking it easy on me,” I tell Rhiannon. Sweat drips down my back, dampening the tight-fitted tunic I chose while my dragon-scale vest dries on the bench next to Liam.
It’s not like he needs extra practice. He’s already taken everyone but Dain down to the mat, and part of me thinks that’s only because Dain refuses to be bested by a younger rider.
“We’ve been at this for an hour.” Rhiannon swishes her staff through the air. “You’re tired, and the last thing I want is to hurt you.”
“Challenges resume after solstice,” I remind her. “You’re not doing me any favors by holding back.”
“She’s not wrong,” a deep voice says from behind me.
In my peripherals, I see Liam stand, and I mutter a curse under my breath.
“Well aware,” I say over my shoulder as Xaden passes by our mat, accompanied by Garrick as usual. It’s impossible to rip my eyes away until he passes, though. Gods, I have it bad. “Go away unless you have something useful to say.”
“Move faster. You’ll be less likely to die. How’s that for useful?” he calls back, taking up a position on a mat closer to the center of the sparring gym.
Rhiannon’s eyes flare, and Liam shakes his head.
“What?”
“The way you talk to him,” Rhiannon murmurs.
“What’s he going to do? Kill me?” I charge forward, swinging my staff at her legs.
She jumps over the attack and spins, bringing the staff against mine with a crack.
“You’re likely to kill each other,” Liam chimes in, taking his seat again. “Can’t wait to see how you two function after graduation.”
After graduation.
“Haven’t let myself think past this week, let alone all the way to graduation.” Not when there are some very difficult questions I’m not ready to ask.
“Look, I know you’re…aggravated by how long it’s taking Tairn to channel,” Rhiannon says, circling me on the mat again. “I’m just saying on this mat with me is a way safer place for you to take out that anger than the giant, shadow-wielding wingleader.”
“I don’t want to take any of my anger out on you. You’re my friend.” I gesture loosely toward Xaden. “He’s the one who stuck me with a shadow I can’t shake because he thinks I’m his weakness. But does he help me?” I lash out with the staff, and she counters. “No. Does he train me?” Another lunge, another clash of our staffs. “No. He’s remarkably good at showing up when I’m about to die and eliminating threats, but that’s it.” He sure as hell doesn’t have a problem keeping his eyes off me the way I do him.
“So there’s definitely some anger there,” Rhiannon drawls as she spins away easily.
“You would be furious if someone took your freedom away. If you had Liam at your door every morning until every night, even as seemingly great as he is.” I dodge one of her attacks.
“I appreciate that,” Liam butts in, proving my point.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I would. And I’m pissed on your behalf. Now, let’s put that anger to use.” Rhiannon rains another series of moves down on me and I keep up, but only because she’s doing exactly what I accused her of and taking it easy on me.
Then I make the mistake of glancing over her shoulder, toward the center of the gym.
Holy. Fucking. Hot.
Xaden and Garrick have stripped off their shirts and are sparring like their lives depend on it, a blur of kicks, punches, and rippling muscle. I’ve never seen two people move that fast. It’s a beautiful, hypnotizing dance with lethal choreography that makes me hold my breath whenever Garrick goes in for the kill and Xaden deflects.
I’ve seen countless riders spar without their shirts these past months. This is nothing new. I should be absolutely immune to the male form, but I’ve never seen him shirtless.
Every edge of Xaden’s body is honed like a weapon, all sharp lines and barely leashed power. His rebellion relic twists around his upper body and stands out against the deep bronze of his skin, accentuating every punch he throws, and his stomach… I mean, how many muscles are there in the abdominals? His are so rigidly defined that I could probably count every single one if the rest of him wasn’t so damned distracting. And he has the largest dragon relic I’ve ever seen. Mine consumes the skin between shoulder blades, but Sgaeyl’s mark takes up his entire back.
And I know exactly how that body feels on top of mine, just how much power—
My hip stings, knocking me out of my trance, and I startle.
“Serves you right,” Tairn lectures.
“Pay attention!” Rhiannon yells, drawing back her staff. “I could have… Oh.” Clearly, she sees what I do, what nearly every other woman—and several of the men—are happily watching.
How can we not when the two of them are mesmerizing?
Garrick’s wider, more densely packed with muscle than Xaden, his rebellion relic only extending to his shoulder, the second largest I’ve seen. Only Xaden’s reaches his carved jawline.
“That is…” Rhiannon murmurs beside me.
“It sure is,” I agree.
“Stop objectifying our wingleader,” Liam teases.
“Is that what we’re doing?” Rhiannon asks, not bothering to look away.
My mouth waters at the muscled expanse of his back and that sculpted ass. “Yeah, I think that’s what we’re doing.”
Liam snorts.
“We could just be watching for technique.”
“Yeah. We absolutely could be.” But I’m not. I’m shamelessly wondering how his skin would feel under my fingertips, how my body would react to having every ounce of that intense focus on me. Heat races through my veins and stings my cheeks.
A repetitive smacking sound draws my attention to the right, where Ridoc is tapping out with zeal. Imogen drops him, leaving him gasping for breath on the mat, and an unwanted and absolutely illogical flash of ugly, twisted jealousy stabs me straight in the chest at the pure yearning she can’t hide in her expression as she watches Xaden and Garrick.
“If you guys are this easily distracted, we’re fucked for the Squad Battle,” Dain barks. “You can kiss any thought of visiting the front lines goodbye.”
We all snap out of it, and I shake my head like that might clear the dizzying need that demands I do more than look at Xaden, which is just…ridiculous. He only tolerates my existence because our dragons are mated, and here I am salivating over his half-naked body.
It’s a really nice half-naked body, though.
“Get back to work. We have another half hour,” Dain orders, and I feel like he’s talking directly to me, which would be the first thing he’s said since my memory got Amber killed.
“She got herself killed by breaking the Codex,” Tairn growls.
Sure enough, when I glance his way, Dain’s eyes are narrowed on me, but I must be reading his face wrong. Surely that’s not betrayal pursing his lips.
“Should we?” Rhiannon asks, lifting her staff.
“Yep, we definitely should.” I roll my shoulders, and we start again. I match her move for move, using the patterns she taught me, but she switches up the next attack.
“Stop defending and go on offense!” Tairn demands, his anger flooding my system and throwing off my footwork.
Rhiannon sweeps low and flips me onto my back, knocking the wind out of me as I collide with the mat.
I fight for air that isn’t there.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Vi.” Rhiannon drops down to a knee beside me. “Just relax and give it a second.”
“And yet that is the rider Tairn chose,” Jack mocks, talking to someone in his squad as he grins maliciously at the edge of the mat. “I’m starting to think he chose wrong, but considering I haven’t seen you wield any powers, I bet you’re thinking the same thing, too, aren’t you, Sorrengail? Shouldn’t you have twice the ability to channel with two dragons?”
It doesn’t work like that with Andarna, but none of them know that.
Liam stands, putting himself between Jack and me as the first trickle of air dances into my lungs.
“Simmer down, Mairi. I’m not going to attack your little charge. Not when I can just challenge her in a couple of weeks and accidentally snap her scrawny neck in front of an audience.” Jack folds his arms across his chest and watches me struggle with pure pleasure. “Tell me, though, you are getting tired of playing the nursemaid, aren’t you?” His friend from First Wing offers him something—a slice of the orange he’s eating—and Jack shoves his hand away at the wrist. “Get that noxious shit away from me. Do you want me to end up in the infirmary?”
“Walk the fuck away, Barlowe,” Liam warns, dagger in hand.
I manage one breath, then two as Jack’s gaze rises from me to someone standing behind me. That look on his face, half envy, half shitting himself, means it has to be Xaden.
“She’s only alive because of you,” Jack spits, but the blood drains from his face.
“Right, because I’m the one who buried a dagger in your shoulder at Threshing.”
Finally breathing somewhat normally, I scramble for my feet, clutching the staff with both hands.
“We could just settle this now,” Jack says, sidestepping Liam to look me in the eyes. “If you’re done hiding behind the big, strong men.”
My stomach hollows out because he’s right. The only reason I don’t accept his challenge is because I’m not sure I’ll win, and the only reason he isn’t attacking me is because of Liam and Xaden. If I attack Jack now, they’ll kill him. Garrick’s hulking frame appears to the left, and I begrudgingly add him to my list of protectors. Hell, even Imogen has inched closer, but not on my behalf.
It’s only on his.
“That’s what I thought,” Jack says, blowing me a kiss.
“You ran,” I snarl, wishing I could lunge forward and beat the shit out of him, but forcing my feet to stay planted where they are. “That day in the field, you fucking ran when it was three on one, and we both know when it comes down to it, you’ll run again. That’s what cowards do.”
Jack flushes, his eyes nearly bugging out of his face.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Violet,” Dain mutters.
“She’s not wrong,” Xaden drawls.
Garrick laughs, and Liam muscles Jack off the mat when he leaps at me. Jack’s boots squeak against the hardwood floor as he unsuccessfully fights to hold his ground, and Liam forces him from the gym.
With a flick of his hand, Xaden shuts the huge doors with his power, locking Jack out.
“What the hell were you thinking, egging him on like that?” Dain marches toward me, disbelief raising his brows.
“Oh, now you feel like talking to me?” I lift my chin, but it’s Xaden who fills my vision as he steps between us. The fury in his eyes is palpable, but I don’t retreat.
“Give us a second.” His gaze is locked on mine, but we both know he’s not talking to me.
My pulse skitters.
Rhiannon steps back.
“You want to tell me why the fuck you’re not wearing that?” His tone is soft but deadly as he points toward the bench where my armor lies.
“I have to wash it at some point.”
“And you thought that would be a good idea during sparring?” His chest heaves, like he’s battling to keep control of himself.
I’m just trying not to notice his chest or the heat he’s throwing off like a damned furnace. “I washed it before sparring, knowing it could dry while your guard dog keeps watch, as opposed to sleeping without it because we both know what happens behind locked doors around here.”
“Not behind yours anymore.” His jaw ticks. “I made sure of it.”
“Because I’m supposed to trust you?”
“Yes.” A vein in his neck bulges.
“And you make it so easy.” Sarcasm drips from my voice.
“You know I can’t kill you. Fuck, Sorrengail, the entire quadrant knows I can’t kill you.” He leans into my space, eclipsing the rest of the room.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.”
He blinks and shifts backward, composing himself in less than a heartbeat while mine still races. “Stop training with a bow staff. It’s too easy to knock out of your hands. Stick to the daggers.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t snatch it away just to prove he can.
“I was doing just fine until Tairn barged into my head with all his anger and distracted me,” I argue, my defenses rising like the hackles of a dog.
“Then learn how to block him out.” He says it like it’s just that simple.
“What, with all this power I’m wielding?” My brows rise. “Or were you unaware that I’m still not channeling?” I want to throttle him, to shake some ever-loving sense into that beautiful head of his.
He leans in so we’re almost nose to nose. “I am annoyingly aware of everything you do.”
Thanks to Liam.
Every inch of my body vibrates with anger, with irritation, with…whatever this electric tension is between us as we stand there, our eyes locked in combat.
“Wingleader Riorson,” Dain starts. “She’s just not used to the bond yet. She’ll learn how to block it out.”
Dain’s words sting like a blow. I inhale sharply and step back from Xaden. Good gods, we’ve been putting on a fucking show. What is it about Xaden that makes me tune out the rest of the world?
“You choose the oddest times to defend her, Aetos.” Xaden all but rolls his eyes as he looks at Dain. “And the most convenient times not to.”
Dain’s jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists at his sides.
He’s talking about Amber. I know it. Dain knows it. Everyone in this whole, awkward room knows it. Our entire squad was there when Dain demanded I call Xaden a liar.
Xaden turns those unfathomable eyes back on me. “Do us both a favor and put the fucking armor back on,” he finishes.
Before I can counter, he turns and walks off the mat, meeting Garrick at the edge.
His back.
My quiet gasp is uncontrollable, and Xaden tenses for a second before taking his shirt from Garrick’s outstretched hand and tugging it over his head, covering the navy-blue relic of a dragon that sweeps from his waist to over both shoulders—textured intricately with raised silver lines I couldn’t see from across the gym.
Silver lines I instantly recognize as scars.
“You held your own and controlled your temper,” Tairn says, an immense swell of pride flooding my chest.
“She’s ready,” Andarna adds with a giddy jolt of joy that makes me instantly light-headed.
“She’s ready,” he agrees.
…
A couple of hours later, I rip my brush through my hair in the privacy of my room, still fully dressed down to my boots and armor. I still can’t believe I made an ass of myself in front of my entire squad simply because Xaden decided to train shirtless.
I really need to get laid.
I pause mid-brushstroke when a rush of energy races down my spine, dissipating in a heartbeat.
Well, that’s…weird.
Maybe it’s… No. It can’t be. It felt completely different when Andarna stopped time through me. That was a full-body flood that expanded through my fingers and toes, then…left afterward.
Another wave ripples through me, stronger this time, and I drop the brush, clutching the edge of the dresser so I don’t fall as my knees threaten to buckle. The energy doesn’t dissipate this time; it sticks around, humming under my skin, ringing in my ears, overwhelming every sense.
Something within me expands, somehow too big for my own body, too vast to be contained, and pain sears every nerve as I crack open, the sound reverberating through my skull like bones shattering. It’s as though I’ve been split at the very seams of the fabric of my being.
My knees hit the floor, and I throw my hands over my temples, trying to shove everything I am back into my skull, forcing myself to shrink.
Energy pours in—a deluge of raw, endless power—eroding everything I was and forging something completely new as it fills every pore, every organ, every bone. My head screams, and it feels like Tairn has flown too high too fast and I can’t pop my ears. All I can do is lie there on the floor and pray the pressure equalizes.
I stare at my brush, the hardwood floor biting into my cheek, and breathe.
In and then out.
In…and then out…surrendering to the onslaught.
Finally, the pain ebbs, but the energy—the power—doesn’t. It’s simply…there, prowling through my veins, saturating every cell in my body. It is everything I am and everything I can be all at once.
I sit up slowly and flip my hands to examine my tingling palms. It feels like they should look different, changed, but they’re not. They’re still my fingers, my slender wrists, and yet they’re so much more now. They’re strong enough to shape the torrent inside me, to mold it into whatever I desire.
“This is your power, isn’t it?” I ask Tairn, but he doesn’t answer. “Andarna?”
There’s only silence.
Go figure, they’re always around, pushing into my head when I could use a little space, then nowhere to be found when it’s the other way around. I’d heard them say I was ready earlier, but I figured it would take a day or two for my mind to fully open that pathway once Tairn started channeling. Guess not.
Rhiannon. I have to tell Rhiannon. She’s going to flip that I can finally go to Professor Carr’s class with her. And Liam? He can stop pretending that he can’t channel just so he isn’t forced to leave me for an hour a day.
Heat washes over me, prickling my skin and centering low in my stomach.
Odd, but whatever. It’s probably just a side effect of the power. I throw open the lock on my door and yank it open.
My vision blurs and need slams into me, robbing me of every logical thought besides satiating the overwhelming—
“Violet?” The fuzzy shape of a man stands in the hallway, and I blink Liam into focus. “You all right?”
“Are you sleeping in the hallway?” I grip the doorframe as an image of falling fills my mind, and I feel the sizzle of flakes as they make contact with my heated skin. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but the driving, thundering desire remains.
Oh shit. This is…lust.
“No.” Liam shakes his head. “Just hanging out here before turning in.”
I look at him then. Really, honestly look at him. He’s more than handsome, with strong features and sky-blue eyes that are startlingly beautiful.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” He sets his knife and semi-carved dragon down.
“Like what?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip and I debate rubbing against him like a cat in heat while demanding he appease this unimaginable ache.
But he’s not who you really want.
He’s not Xaden.
“Like…” He cocks his head to the side. “Like something’s going on. You don’t look like you feel—you know—like yourself.”
Oh shit.
It’s because I’m not myself. All of this, the need, the lust, the craving for the one person who I’m meant to be with…it’s Tairn.
Tairn’s emotions aren’t just overwhelming me; they’re controlling me.
“I’m good! Go to bed!” I step back into my room and slam the door while I still have the mental capacity to do so.
Then I start pacing, but that doesn’t stop the next blast of heat or the compulsion to—
I have to get out of here before I make an epic mistake and take Tairn’s feelings out on Liam.
Grabbing my fur-lined cloak in one hand and pulling my hair up with the other, I swirl the fabric over my shoulders and fasten the clip beneath my throat. A second later, I peek out the door, and when I’m sure the coast is clear, I fucking flee.
I make it to the entrance of the spiral steps—the ones that lead to the river—before I have to lean back against the stone wall and breathe through the fog of Tairn’s emotions.
Once the wave passes, I race down the steps, keeping one hand on the wall in case I’m pulled under again.
The mage lights flicker on as I approach and fizzle out as I race by, as though this newfound power is already at work, stretching into the world.
Away. I have to get away from everyone until Tairn finishes…whatever he and Sgaeyl are doing.
I stumble out of the stairwell and emerge at the foundation walls of the citadel. Snow fills the sky, and I tip my head back, savoring the brief kiss of snowflakes on skin that’s heated for all the wrong reasons.
The air is crisp and chilled, and—
My eyes pop open at the scent in the air and I whirl, my cloak whipping out behind me as I find the source of the sweet, easily identifiable smoke.
Xaden is leaning back against the wall, one foot braced on the stone, smoking and watching me like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Is that…churam?”
He blows out a puff of smoke. “Want some? Unless you’re here to continue our earlier argument, in which case, none for you.”
My jaw practically unhinges. “No! We’re not allowed to smoke that!”
“Yeah, well, the people who made that rule obviously weren’t bonded to Sgaeyl and Tairn, now were they?” A smirk lifts a corner of his mouth.
Gods, I could stare at his lips forever. They are perfectly shaped and yet entirely too decadent for the slashing line of his jaw.
“It helps with…distancing yourself.” He offers me the rolled churam and cocks an eyebrow at me—the one with the scar. “Beyond what shielding does, of course.”
I shake my head and cross through the newly fallen snow to brace my weight on the wall beside him, letting my head fall back against the stone.
“Suit yourself.” He inhales deeply on the churam and then puts it out against the wall.
“I feel like I’m on fucking fire.” That’s putting it mildly.
“Yeah. That happens.” His laugh holds a wicked edge, and I make the utterly unforgivable mistake of turning to see his smile.
Xaden, while brooding and bossy, dangerous and lethal, is a toe-curling sight that makes my pulse quicken. But Xaden laughing, his head thrown back with a smile curving his mouth, is drop-dead beautiful. My stupid, foolish heart feels like there’s a fist around it, squeezing tight.
There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice, nothing I wouldn’t give to have one unguarded moment with this man I’m going to be tethered to for the rest of our lives.
This has to be Tairn. It just…has to.
And yet, I know it isn’t. While I’d admired Liam upstairs, I am completely, utterly obsessed with Xaden.
His eyes meet mine in the moonlight. “Oh, Violence, you’re going to have to learn to shield against Tairn or his escapades with Sgaeyl will drive you mad—or into someone’s bed.”
I squeeze my eyes shut just so I can escape his gorgeous face as a jolt of heat flashes through me, making every inch of my skin tingle and burn. I reach a hand out to steady myself against the wall again. “Oh, I know. I am horrified to see Liam again.”
“Liam? Why?” He pivots to face me, leaning against his shoulder. “Where the hell is your bodyguard?”
“I’m my own bodyguard,” I counter, resting my cheek on the icy stone. “And he’s in bed.”
“Your bed?” His voice is like a crack of lightning.
I pry my eyes open to meet his gaze. The snow makes everything so much brighter, highlighting the furrowed line of his brow, the firm set of his mouth. “No. Not that it should matter to you.”
Is he jealous? That’s…oddly comforting.
He looses a breath, his shoulders dipping. “It doesn’t matter to me as long as you’re both consenting, and trust me, you’re in no condition to consent.”
“You have no clue what I’m capable of consenting—” Undeniable, unquenchable need nearly takes me out at the knees.
Xaden’s arm wraps around my waist, steadying me. “Why the hell aren’t you shielding?”
“Not all of us have been given lessons! He just started channeling before all…this, and in case you forgot, you’re only allowed to attend Professor Carr’s class if you can wield.”
“Always thought that was a ridiculous rule.” He sighs. “All right. Crash course. Only because I’ve been where you are and woken up with more than a few regrets.”
“You’re actually going to help me?”
“I’ve been helping you for months.” His hand flexes at my waist, and I swear I can feel the warmth of his touch through my cloak and leathers.
“No, you sent Liam to help. He’s been helping me for months.” My forehead puckers. “Weeks. Almost months. Whatever.”
He has the nerve to look offended. “I’m the one who burst through your door and killed everyone who attacked you, and then I removed the other threat to your life with a very public, very polarizing display of vengeance. Liam didn’t do that. I did.”
“The crowd wasn’t polarized. They were all for it. I was there.”
“You were torn. In fact, you begged Tairn not to kill her, damn well knowing she’d just come after you again.”
That point was still debatable.
“Fine. But let’s not pretend that you didn’t do most of that for yourself. It would be inconvenient for you if I died.” I shrug, blatantly poking at him to help ignore the rising tide of lust thundering through me.
He stares at me with disbelief. “You know what? We’re not fighting tonight. Not if you want to learn how to shield.”
“Fine. We’re not fighting. Teach me.” I tilt my chin. Gods, I barely reach his collarbone.
“Ask me nicely.” He leans closer.
“Have you always been this tall?” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
“No. I was a child at some point.”
I roll my eyes.
“Ask me nicely, Violence,” he whispers. “Or I’m gone.”
I can feel Tairn at the edge of my mind, his emotions ebbing and flowing, and know the next wave is going to hit hard. How freaking long can those two possibly take? “How often is it like this with them?”
“Often enough that you’re going to need proper shields. You won’t ever be able to block them out completely, and sometimes they forget to block us, like tonight. That’s why the churam helps, but at least it’s like walking by a brothel instead of actively participating in one.”
Well…shit. “Right then. All right. Will you teach me to shield?”
A smile curves his mouth, and my gaze drops to his lips. “Say please.”
“Are you always this difficult?”
“Only when I know I have something you need. What can I say, I like making you squirm. It’s like a sweet little slice of payback for what you’ve put me through these last couple of months.” He brushes the snow off my hair.
“What I’ve put you through?” Unbelievable.
“You’ve scared me nearly to death once or twice, so I think saying please is a fair request.”
Like he’s ever played fair a day in his life. I take a deep breath and swat at a snowflake that lands on my nose. “As you prefer. Xaden?” I smile sweetly up at him and inch a little closer. “Would you pretty, pretty please teach me how to shield before I accidentally climb you like a tree and we both wake up with regrets?”
“Oh, I’m firmly in control of my faculties.” He smiles again, and I feel it like a caress.
Dangerous. This is so damned dangerous. Heat flushes my skin, so hot that I debate tossing my cloak to the ground just to get a little relief. Notably, Xaden isn’t wearing one.
“And since you asked so nicely.” He adjusts his stance and brings both his hands up to my cheeks, cradling my face before sliding them back to hold my head. “Close your eyes.”
“It requires touching me?” My eyes flutter shut at the sensation of his skin against mine.
“Not at all. Just one of the perks of not thinking too clearly. You have incredibly touchable skin.”
The compliment makes me suck in a breath. So much for controlling his faculties.
“You need to envision somewhere. Anywhere. I prefer the top of my favorite hillside near what’s left of Aretia. Wherever it is, it needs to feel like home.”
The only place I can think of is the Archives.
“Feel your feet hit the ground and dig in some.”
I imagine my boots on the polished marble floor of the Archives and wiggle them a little. “Got it.”
“That’s called grounding, keeping your mental self somewhere so you aren’t swept away by the power. Now call to your power. Open your senses.”
My palms begin to tingle, and a flood of energy surrounds me, just as saturating as it was in my bedroom but without the pain. It’s everywhere, filling the Archives and pushing at the walls, making them bow and bend, threatening to break them. “Too much.”
“Focus on your feet. Stay grounded. Can you see where the power flows from? If not, just pick a place.”
I turn in my mind. The barrage of molten power is flowing through the door. “I see it.”
“Perfect. You’re a natural. It takes most people a week just to learn how to ground. Now, do whatever you need to mentally do to wall yourself off from that current. Tairn is the source. You block that power, and you’ll have some control back.”
The door. I just need to close the door and twist the enormous, circular handle that seals the Archives off for fire control.
Desire makes my heart pound, and I grab on to Xaden’s arms, anchoring myself in reality.
“You’ve got this.” His voice sounds strained. “Whatever you create in your mind is real to you. Shut off the valve. Build a wall. Whatever makes sense.”
“It’s a door.” My fingers dig into the soft material of his tunic, and I mentally heave myself against the door, forcing it shut one inch at a time.
“There you go. Keep going.”
My physical body trembles at the effort it takes to mentally shove the door closed, but I get it there. “I’ve got the door shut.”
“Great. Lock it.”
I imagine spinning the giant handle and hearing the locks click into place. The relief is immediate, a cool blast of snow against my feverish skin. Power pulses, turning the door clear. “It changed. I can see through the door.”
“Yeah. You’ll never be able to fully block him. Got it locked?”
I nod.
“Open your eyes, but do your best to keep that door locked. It means keeping one foot grounded. Don’t be surprised if it slips. We’ll just start again.”
I open my eyes, keeping that mental picture of the shut Archives door, and while my body is still heated and flushed with warmth, that inescapable, driving need is blessedly…somewhat muted. “He’s…” I can’t find the right words.
Xaden studies me with an intensity that makes me sway toward him. “You are astonishing.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do that for weeks.”
“Guess I have a superior teacher.” The emotion swelling through me is more than joy. It’s euphoria that has me grinning like a fool. I’m finally not only good at something, but astonishing.
His thumbs stroke over the soft skin under my ears, and his gaze drops to my mouth and heats. Hands flexing, he draws me forward a few inches before he suddenly lets go and retreats a full step. “Damn it. Touching you was a bad idea.”
“The worst,” I agree, but my tongue skims my lower lip.
He groans and my core melts at the sound. “Kissing you would be a cataclysmic mistake.”
“Calamitous.” What would it take to hear that groan again?
The inches between us feel like kindling, ready to burn at the first suggestion of heat, and I’m a living, breathing flame. This is everything I should run from, and yet denying the primal attraction I feel is completely, utterly impossible.
“We’ll both regret it.” He shakes his head, but there’s more than hunger in his eyes as he stares at my lips.
“Naturally,” I whisper. But knowing I’ll regret it doesn’t stop me from wanting it—wanting him. Regretting is a problem for future Violet.
“Fuck it.”
One second he’s out of reach and the next his mouth is on mine, hot and insistent.
Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need.
I’m trapped between the immovable stone of the wall and the hard lines of Xaden’s body, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. The thought should sober me, but all I do is lean in for more.
He tunnels a hand through my hair, cradling the back of my head, angling me for a deeper kiss, and my lips part eagerly. He takes the invitation, sliding his tongue along mine with expert, teasing strokes that have me clutching at his chest, fisting the material of his shirt to pull him closer as desire dances up and down my spine.
He tastes like churam and mint, like everything I’m not supposed to want and yet can’t help needing, and I kiss him back with everything I have, sucking on his lower lip and scraping my teeth over him.
“Violence,” he moans, and the sound of the nickname on his lips makes me ravenous.
Closer. I need him closer.
As though he can hear my thoughts, he kisses me harder, claiming every line and curve of my mouth with a reckless edge that makes my body sing. He’s just as needy as I am, and when he shifts his grip to my ass and picks me up, I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on like my life depends on this kiss never ending.
The wall digs into my back, but I don’t care. My hands are finally in his hair and it’s just as soft as I imagined. He kisses me until I feel thoroughly devoured and explored, and then he sucks my tongue into his mouth so I can do the same.
This is complete and utter madness, and yet I can’t stop. Can’t get enough. I could live forever in this tiny slice of insanity if it means keeping his mouth on mine, leaving my world narrowed to the heat of his body and the skilled stroke of his tongue.
His hips rock into mine, and I gasp at the delicious friction. He breaks the kiss, sliding his mouth across my jaw, my neck, and I know I’ll do anything to keep him here with me. I want to feel his mouth everywhere.
We’re a tangle of tongues and teeth, questing lips and hands as the snow falls around us, and the kiss consumes me the same way the power had before, so thoroughly I can feel it in every cell in my body. Need pulses between my thighs, and I jolt at the simple knowledge that there’s nothing he could do that I wouldn’t welcome. I want him.
Only him. Here. Now. Anywhere. Whenever.
I’ve never been this out of control over a single kiss. Never wanted someone the way I do him. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time because I know that in this moment, he has the power to break me.
And I’d let him.
I surrender completely, melting into him, my body going pliant against his and losing that mental foothold he calls grounding. A flash of light burns behind my closed eyes, followed by the boom of thunder. Thunder-snow isn’t uncommon around here, but damn does it summarize how this feels, wild and out of control.
But then he breaks the kiss with a sharp gasp, his brow furrowing with something akin to panic before he slams his eyes shut.
I’m still struggling to draw a full breath when he abruptly steps away from the wall and palms the backs of my thighs, setting me on my feet again. He makes sure I’m steady and then retreats a few feet, like the distance will save his life.
“You have to go.” His words are clipped and at odds with the heat in his eyes, his ragged breaths.
“Why?” The cold is a shock to my system without his body heat.
“Because I can’t.” He rakes both hands through his hair and leaves them on the top of his head. “And I refuse to act on desire that isn’t yours. So you have to walk back up those steps. Now.”
I shake my head. “But I want—” Everything.
“This isn’t your want.” He tilts his head up at the sky. “That’s the fucking problem. And I can’t leave you out here on your own, so have just a little mercy on me and go.”
Silence ices over between us as I get ahold of myself. He’s saying no.
And the shitty part about it isn’t the chill of chivalrous rejection. It’s that he’s right. This started because I couldn’t tell Tairn’s emotions from my own. But those emotions are gone, aren’t they? My door is wide open, and I don’t feel anything coming from Tairn’s direction.
I manage a nod, and then I flee for the second time tonight, climbing the steps as quickly as possible to get back to the citadel. My shields are open, but I don’t bother stopping to shut that mental door, since Tairn isn’t barging through.
Common sense prevails by the time I reach the top, my thighs burning from the workout. Xaden stopped us from making a huge mistake.
But I didn’t.
What the hell is wrong with me? And how could I have been a heartbeat away from ripping off my clothes to get closer to someone I don’t like and even worse—can’t fully trust?
It’s harder than it should be to keep moving in the direction of my dorm room when all I want is to go right back down those stupid freaking steps.
Tomorrow is going to suck.
The most worrisome sight for any instructor is most definitely when powers backfire. We lost nine cadets my first year to signets that could not be controlled from their first manifestation. Pity.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
“I don’t even know what I was thinking,” I say to Rhiannon as I sit cross-legged on her bed, watching her pack her satchel with books for the afternoon. The relic on my back burns today, as if it needs to remind me that I can channel now, and I roll my shoulders to try and relieve the sensation, but it’s impossible. My clock has started.
“I can’t believe you managed to wait this long to tell me.” She lifts the canvas strap over her head and turns, leaning back against her desk. “And that’s not judgment. Far from it. I’m all for you exploring…whatever it is you want to explore.”
“I’ve been with Liam from the second I walked out the door this morning, and last night I was a little too discombobulated to put it into words.” The knot between my shoulders has me rolling my neck, looking for some relief. With flight lessons and Imogen using weight training to strengthen the muscles around my joints in hopes they won’t subluxate as often—which is hit or miss right now—I’m a mass of aches and tightness. “Between Tairn finally channeling and then everything else, it was just a night.”
“Good point.” A grin shapes her mouth and her brown eyes sparkle. “Was it good? Tell me it was good. That man looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“It was just a kiss.” Heat sings in my cheeks at the blatant lie. “But yeah. He knows exactly what he’s doing.” My brow furrows, my imagination running through the thousand different consequences of what I did last night just like it has been all morning.
“Second thoughts?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You look like maybe there are third thoughts, even.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Well, maybe? But only if it makes stuff between us weird.”
“Right. Because you’re stuck with him for the rest of your careers. Lives, too. Have you guys talked about what happens after he graduates?” Her eyebrows rise. “Oh, I bet you get the choice of duty stations. Wingleaders always get to pick.”
“He’ll get to pick,” I grumble, toying with an errant string on my satchel. “I will have to follow. Tairn and Sgaeyl haven’t been separated for years. Her last rider died almost fifty years ago, and as far as I know, she flew wherever and whenever she wanted to be near Tairn before Naolin—his last rider—died in Tyrrendor. It’s a two-day flight to that part of our border, depending on where he’s stationed, so what are we going to do next year and the year after?”
Her lips purse. “Not sure. Feirge said we won’t be able to be apart more than a couple of days, so does that mean one of you has to always follow the other?”
“No clue. I think that’s why most mated pairs bond within the same year, so they don’t have these issues. How am I supposed to remain competitive next year if I’m constantly flying off to the front line with Tairn? How is Xaden supposed to be effective if he has to fly back here all the time?” My face scrunches. “He’s the most powerful rider of our generation. He’s going to be needed on the front, not here.”
“For now.” Rhiannon stares at me with intention, lifting her brows. “He’s the most powerful rider in our generation for now.”
“What—”
Three knocks have both of us looking toward her door.
“Rhi?” Liam asks, panic evident in his voice. “Is Sorrengail in there with you? Because—”
Rhiannon opens the door, and Liam stumbles inside, catching his balance before his gaze sweeps the room, finding mine.
“There you are! I went to the bathroom, and you disappeared!”
“No one’s trying to assassinate her in my room, Mairi.” Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to be with her every second of every fucking day. Now give us five minutes and then we’ll start walking to class.” She pushes at his chest and he retreats, his mouth opening and shutting like he’s trying to think of an argument but can’t as she forces him out the door and shuts it in his face.
“He’s…” I sigh. “Dedicated.”
“That’s one word for it,” she mutters. “You’d think that guy owes Riorson his life or something, the way he sticks to you like glue.”
He’s pretty much told me that he does, but I keep that confidence to myself. Between Xaden’s meetings, stopping time, and Andarna’s age, I’m starting to keep too many secrets.
“Oh!” Her eyes light up, and she sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “Something happened with me last night, too.”
“Yeah?” I pivot to face her. “Do go on.”
“All right.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve only done it three times. Twice last night and once this morning, so be patient for a second.”
“Of course.” I nod.
“Watch the book on my desk.”
“Got it.” My gaze locks on the history textbook on the left-hand side of the desk. A minute passes, but I don’t look away.
Then the thing vanishes.
“What the hell, Rhi?” I fly to my feet and whip my head toward her. “What just—” My mouth drops.
She’s holding the book, looking up at me with a wide grin.
“Is that the same book?” I lean in just to see. Yep, it’s the same.
“I guess I can summon.” Her grin grows even wider.
“Holy shit!” I grasp her shoulders in excitement. “That’s amazing! That’s…incredible! I don’t even have words for what that is!” Moving objects and locking doors are the small magics, the baseline of wielding that comes from our constant connection to our dragons through our relics once they begin channeling. But making something disappear and bringing it to you? I haven’t read about a signet power like that in a century. It’s a hell of a signet.
“Right?” She clutches the book to her chest. “I can only do it from a few feet away, and I can’t go through walls or anything.”
“Yet,” I correct her, joy bubbling through me. “You can’t go through walls yet. Rhi. That’s the kind of rare signet that’s going to make your entire career!”
“I hope so.” She stands, putting the book back on her desk. “I just have to develop it.”
“You will.” I say it with the same assurance I feel.
The three of us walk toward the academic wing minutes later, joined by Sawyer and Ridoc as they come out of commons, fresh from the library.
“I finished this for you,” Liam says, handing me a figurine as we climb the wide spiral staircase to the third floor.
It’s Tairn. He’s even mastered his snarl. “This is…incredible. Thank you.”
“Thanks.” Liam gives me a grin, flashing his dimple. “I wanted to carve Andarna first, but I’m not around her as much, you know?”
“She’s pretty private.” We break off from the crowd headed to the fourth floor, and I stash the dragon in my bag, then reach out and give him a hug. “Really, I love it. Thank you.” The hallway is crowded but clears as we walk farther down, nearing Professor Carr’s room.
“You’re welcome.” He turns to Rhiannon. “I’m starting Feirge next.”
Rhiannon jokes with Liam that she hopes he captures her full badassery, but I lose the rest of the conversation as I glance toward the floor-to-ceiling window before the entrance to the Battle Brief tower and my breath catches.
Xaden is standing with the other wingleaders, locked in what looks to be a tense discussion, his arms folded across his chest. It took the commandant all of five minutes to appoint Lamani Zohar as wingleader for Third Wing after Amber was executed, but since she was already executive officer, it made the most sense.
I’ll never get over how quickly people move on around here, how callously death is swept under a rug and trampled on minutes later.
Gods, Xaden looks good today, his brow slightly furrowed as he listens intently to something Lamani says, then nods. Hard to believe I had that mouth on mine last night, those arms wrapped around me. Forget second thoughts. I just want more.
As if he feels me staring, Xaden lifts his head, his gaze colliding with mine across the space with the same effect as a touch. My pulse skitters and my lips part.
“We’re going to be late,” Rhi reminds me, glancing back over her shoulder.
Xaden looks behind me, and his mouth tenses.
“Vi, can we talk?” Dain asks, a little out of breath, like he’s run to catch up to me.
“Now?” I rip my gaze from Xaden’s and turn to face the person I thought was my best friend.
Dain grimaces, rubbing a hand behind his neck, and nods. “I tried to catch you after formation, but you disappeared pretty quickly, and after what happened last night, I figure now is better than later.”
“It might be convenient for you to want to talk after weeks of ignoring me, but I have class right now.” I grip the strap of my satchel.
“We have a couple of minutes.” The plea in his eyes is so heavy that I feel the weight of it on my chest. “Please.”
I glance at Rhiannon, who is glaring at Dain with her true feelings for once, instead of the deference owed him as our squad leader. “I’ll be right in.”
She glances at me and then nods, heading into Carr’s room with the rest of our squad.
I follow Dain out of the doorway, to a place along the wall where we won’t obstruct traffic.
“You let Tairn share your memory with everyone instead of just showing me yourself,” he blurts, his hands falling to his sides.
“I’m sorry?” What the hell is he talking about?
“When all that shit went down with Amber, I asked you to show me what happened, and you refused.” He shifts his weight, just one of his nervous tells, and the motion strips away some of my anger.
When push comes to shove, he’s my oldest friend, even if he’s being an ass.
“I didn’t believe you, and that part is on me.” He raises his hand over his heart. “I should have believed you, but I couldn’t reconcile the woman I knew with what you were saying, and you didn’t come find me after the attack, either.” Hurt laces his tone. “I had to hear about it in formation, Vi. Regardless of the fight we had on the flight field, you’re still…you to me. And my best friend had been viciously attacked, nearly killed, and you didn’t say a single word about it.”
“You didn’t ask,” I say softly. “You reached for my head like you were entitled to my memory after blatantly telling me you didn’t believe me, and you demanded I show you.” It’s everything I can do to keep my voice even.
Two lines appear between his eyebrows. “I didn’t ask?”
“You didn’t ask.” I shake my head. “And after being told countless times that I’m not tough enough for this place, not strong enough…well, what happened on the flight field was a long time coming between you and me. The worst part is that I knew you wouldn’t believe me. It’s why I almost didn’t tell Xaden who it was, because I was sure he wouldn’t believe me, either.”
“But he did.” Dain’s voice drops, and his jaw ticks. “And he was the one who killed them in your bedroom.”
“Because Tairn told Sgaeyl.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Not because he was already there or anything. And I know you hate him—”
“You have every reason to hate him, too,” he reminds me, reaching for me before thinking better of it and drawing his hand back.
“I know that,” I counter. “His father put an arrow in Brennan’s chest, according to battlefield reports. I live with that knowledge every day. But don’t you think he sees me and remembers that my mother put his father to death? It’s…” The right words are hard to find. “It’s complicated between us.” Images of last night flood my mind, from Xaden’s first smile to the last brush of his lips, and I shove them away.
Dain flinches. “You trust him more than you trust me.” It’s not an accusation, but it stings all the same.
“That’s not it.” My stomach twists. Wait. Is it true? “I just…I have to trust him, Dain. Not with everything, of course.” Shit, I’m tying myself into knots here. “Neither of us can do anything about Sgaeyl and Tairn being mated, and trust me, neither of us likes the situation, but we have to figure out a way through it. We don’t have a choice.”
Dain mutters a curse, but he doesn’t disagree.
“I know you just want to keep me safe, Dain,” I whisper. “But keeping me safe is keeping me from growing, too.” He blinks at me, and something shifts between us. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally ready to hear me. “When you told me that this place strips everything away from you to reveal what’s underneath, I was afraid. What if underneath the brittle bones and frail ligaments, there was just more weakness? Only this time, I wouldn’t be able to blame my body.”
“You’ve never been weak to me, Vi—” Dain starts, but I shake my head.
“Don’t you get it?” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what you think—it only matters what I think. And you were right. But the Riders Quadrant stripped away the fear and even the anger about being thrown into this quadrant, and it revealed who I really am. At my core, Dain, I’m a rider. Tairn knew it. Andarna knew it. It’s why they chose me. And until you can stop looking for ways to keep me in a glass cage, we aren’t going to get past this, no matter how many years of friendship we have between us.”
He glances over my shoulder. “And what? Riorson gets a free pass for his control issues? Because last time I checked, Liam was moved into our squad specifically to shadow you.”
It’s an excellent point. “Liam is around because even the strongest rider can’t watch their back from more than thirty unbonded cadets gunning for them. And if I die, Xaden dies. What’s your excuse?”
Dain tenses like a statue, only the muscle in his jaw ticking before he eventually leans forward and whispers, “Look, you don’t know everything there is to know about Xaden, Vi. I have a higher security clearance due to my signet, and you need to be careful. Xaden has secrets, reasons to never forgive your mother, and I don’t want him to use you to get his revenge.”
My hackles rise. There’s a sliver of truth in what he’s saying, but I don’t have time to focus on the confusion that is Xaden right now. One screwed-up relationship at a time.
I narrow my gaze as Dain shuffles his feet again, a kernel of a suspicion growing in my chest. “Wait, did you keep begging me to leave Basgiath because you didn’t think I could survive here—or because you were trying to get me away from Xaden?”
I shake my head before he can answer. “You know what? It’s irrelevant.” And I mean it. “You only want to keep me safe. I appreciate that. But it stops now, Dain. Xaden is tied to me because of Sgaeyl. Nothing more. I do not need protection, and if I do—I’ve got two badass dragons who have my back. Can you respect that?”
He reaches up to cup my cheek, and I hold his gaze, determined for him to understand he either starts valuing my choices or we are never going to fix our friendship. “All right, Vi.” His eyes crinkle at the sides as his mouth turns up into a half smile. “How can I argue with someone who has two badass dragons?”
A weight shifts in my chest, and suddenly I can breathe again. I toss him a cheeky grin. “Exactly.”
“I’m sorry for not asking for the memory.” He drops his hand to my shoulder. “You’d better get to class.” And then he squeezes my shoulder gently before walking away.
I let out a shaky breath and turn back to the door for Carr’s class. The hallway is empty.
I head into Carr’s room, a massively long chamber with padded walls and no windows. The entire length is lit by chandeliers of mage lights bright enough to emulate daylight over three dozen students from Third and Fourth Wing, who are seated in rows on the floor, evenly spaced to give one another the most room.
Rhiannon and Liam meet me at the door and Professor Carr raises his bushy white brows at me when we approach where he’s positioned at the front of the room, dominating the space by doing nothing more than standing there. The man isn’t just imposing, he’s intimidating as fuck.
I swallow, remembering how he snapped Jeremiah’s neck.
“Finally ready to join us, Cadet Sorrengail?” There’s no kindness in his eyes, merely shrewd, clinical observation.
“Yes, sir.” I nod.
He studies me like I’m a bug pinned to the wall in the biology room. “Signet power?”
“Not yet.” I shake my head, keeping the whole time-stopping thing to myself like Xaden suggested. You trust him more than you trust me. In this regard, Dain is right, and guilt drops my stomach.
“I see.” He clucks his tongue, glancing over at me. “You know your siblings were both gifted by extraordinary signet powers. Mira’s ability to manifest a ward around her and her squad has been an absolute asset to her wing, and she’s been highly decorated for her valor behind enemy lines.”
“Yes. Mira is an inspiration.” I force a smile, more than aware of my sister’s prowess on the battlefield.
“And Brennan…” He looks away. “Menders are so very rare, and to lose one so young was tragic.”
“I think losing Brennan is the tragedy.” I heft my satchel up higher on my shoulder. “But the loss of his signet was a definite blow to the wings.”
“Hmm.” He blinks twice and turns his chilling gaze back on me. “Well, it seems the Sorrengail line is blessed, even in a rider as…well, delicate as you are. With Tairn having chosen you, we’ll expect nothing but an earth-shattering signet from you. Take a seat. You can at least start with the lesser magics through your relic.” He waves me off.
“No pressure,” I mutter as we walk to obviously empty places in the line with the rest of our squad.
“Don’t stress,” Rhiannon says as we take our seats on the padded floor. “That’s what I was trying to remind you of earlier. You are Tairn’s rider.”
“What do you mean?” I set my satchel down next to me.
“You’re all worried about the integrity of the wing because Riorson might have to visit to keep his dragon happy but, Violet, he’s not the most powerful rider of our generation. You are.” She holds my gaze just long enough to let me know she means it.
My heart lurches into my throat.
“Now let’s begin!” Carr calls out.
…
December turns to January.
Ground. Shield. Imagine closing your door. Build your wall. Sense who and what has access around you. Trace the bond to your dragon. Dragons in my case. Build a second entrance—a window—into the archive of my power for Andarna’s golden energy. Block those bonds as far as you can.
Visualize.
Imagine a knot of power—not too intricate; no one’s ready for that yet—in front of you, then untangle it. Unlock the door.
Visualize.
Keep one foot firmly grounded at all times. You’re useless unless you’re connected to your power, and you’re dangerous if you can’t contain it. There is only the in-between that makes you a great rider.
Envision your power like a hand, gripping that pencil and bringing it toward you. Pick it up. No. Not like that. Try again. No, again.
VISUALIZE.
I study for tests. I prep for flights. I lift weights with Imogen. I wonder how long Xaden is going to make me put in hours on the mat with Rhiannon. I win my first challenge, earning a dagger from a girl in Second Wing. But the most exhausting assignment is spending endless hours in the archive of my mind, learning which door is Tairn’s and which belongs to Andarna, then working diligently to separate the two.
It turns out that while my power might flow from my dragons, the ability to control it comes from my own exertion, and there are nights I fall into bed, plunging into sleep before I even remove my boots.
By the end of the second week in January, I’m not only pissed that Xaden hasn’t bothered to talk to me about that kiss but exhausted, and that’s without a signet power manifesting, draining my energy to control it.
Ridoc can wield ice, which might be a more common signet, but it’s impressive to see.
Sawyer’s metallurgy powers grow every day.
Liam can see a single tree miles away.
I guess I can stop time, but I’m not willing to drain Andarna just for the sake of trying again, not when it took her more than a week of straight sleeping to recover. Without a signet, all I can wield are the lesser magics. I finally use an ink pen, lock a door, and open it. I’m a party trick.
By the third week in January, I earn yet another dagger in a challenge against a guy in Third Wing, my second without weakening my opponent with poisons. It leaves me with a sore wrist, but my joints are intact.
And in the fourth week, during the coldest weather I’ve ever experienced at Basgiath, I sneak out in the middle of the night to see the challenge board.
Jack has finally been given the chance to end me on the mat tomorrow.
“He’s going to kill me.” That’s all I can think as I dress for the morning, sheathing all of my daggers in the most advantageous places.
“He’s going to try.” Tairn is up early.
“Any advice?” I know Liam is waiting for us to make the library run before breakfast.
“Don’t let him.”
I scoff. He makes it sound so damned simple.
We’re already on our way back from the library when I finally work up the nerve to talk to Liam about it. “If I tell you something, will you report it to Xaden?”
His head whips in my direction as he pushes the cart over the bridge between the quadrants. “Why would you think—”
“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes. “We both know you report just about everything I do. I’m not ignorant.” Snow pelts the windows, making a dull, chiming sound.
“He worries. I alleviate worries.” He glances at me again before looking forward. “I know it’s not fair. I know it’s a breach of your privacy. But it’s nothing compared to what I owe him.”
“Yeah. I got that part.” I hurry ahead and open the thick, heavy door into the citadel so he can pass through. “Maybe I should rephrase my question. If I were to tell you something and ask you specifically to keep this one thing between the two of us, would you agree? Are we friends, or am I just your assignment?”
He pauses while I shut the door, and I can tell he’s thinking by the way he drums his fingers on the handle of the cart. “Would me keeping it to myself alter your safety in any way?”
“No.” I catch up to him and we start along the incline that will eventually split into two tunnels—one toward the dormitory and the other toward commons. “There’s nothing you can do, and that’s the point.”
“We’re friends. Tell me.” He grimaces. “I’ll keep it to myself.”
“Jack Barlowe is going to be allowed to challenge me today.”
He stops walking, so I do, too. “How do you know that?”
“And that is why I’m asking you to keep it to yourself.” I cringe. “Just…try to trust that I know.”
“The instructors can’t let that happen.” He shakes his head, panic creeping into his eyes.
“They’re going to.” I shrug, forcing a tight smile. “He’s been asking since the first day, so it’s not like we didn’t see this coming. Point is, Jack is going to challenge me today, and when he does, you can’t step in, no matter what.”
His blue eyes widen. “Vi, if we tell Riorson, he can put a stop to it.”
“No.” I reach for his hand and lay mine on top of it. “He can’t.” My stomach twists, but at least I’m not puking like I did when I found out. “There’s only so much Xaden can do to protect me both here and once we’re on the front lines. You and I both know that if he stops this, there will be an uproar in the quadrant after what happened to Amber.”
“And you expect me to stand there and watch whatever happens…happen?” he asks, incredulous.
“Just like you have the last two challenges.” I force another smile. “Don’t worry. I’m going to use everything I have to my advantage.” And everything I have is currently in a vial tucked into the tiny pocket at my waist.
“I don’t like this.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
There’s no flight field today—the dragons have deemed it too cold to fly over the last week, which means we’re all headed to the sparring gym after formation. I don’t bother with breakfast, but I pay close attention to every single thing on Jack’s tray as I walk by, noting what’s there…and what isn’t.
My heart pounds a chaotic, nauseating rhythm by the time all eighty-one of the surviving first-years gather in the gym.
Professor Emetterio calls out the challenges one by one, assigning them to a mat. At least we’ll all fight at once, which means not every rider will be watching.
At least Xaden isn’t here, which means Liam kept his word.
“Mat seventeen, Jack Barlowe from First Wing versus…” His eyebrows rise, and he takes a deep breath. “Violet Sorrengail.”
Thank gods Rhiannon’s already across the floor, ready to challenge a woman from Third Wing, so she doesn’t have to see how the blood drains from Liam’s face. She shouldn’t have to see any of this. Sawyer’s gone, too, over at mat nine.
“No fucking way,” Ridoc mutters, shaking his head.
“Finally!” Jack throws his hands in the air like he’s already won.
“Let’s do this.” I roll my shoulders and head for the mat. Neither Liam nor Ridoc is called to the mat today, so they walk at my sides.
“Tell me I can break the promise,” Liam begs, and the pleading look in his eyes tells me exactly what a shitty position I’ve put him in.
“The third-years are off doing third-year things,” I tell him as my toes touch the mat. “You can’t get him here in time, but I know what it means to you to keep your word. Especially with him. Go ahead.”
He looks from me to Ridoc. “Guard her like you’re me.”
“You mean like I’m six inches taller and built like a bull?” Ridoc gives him a thumbs-up. “Sure. I’ll do my best. In the meantime, you’d better run.”
Liam’s gaze finds mine. “Stay alive.”
“Working on it, and not just for my sake.” I give him a smile. “Thanks for being a great shadow.”
His eyes widen a split second before he sprints out of the gym.
“Barlowe and Sorrengail,” Emetterio calls from the opposite side of the mat. “Weapons?”
Jack bounces like a kid who’s just been given a gift. “Anything she can hold in those puny hands of hers.” The look in his eyes sends a shiver of apprehension down my spine.
I step onto the mat, and Jack does the same, walking forward until we’re at the center, facing each other.
“No wielding,” Emetterio reminds us. “Tap out or knockout earns you a victory.”
Pretty sure everyone gathered around this mat knows that Jack isn’t going for either of those options. If he gets his hands around my neck, I’m dead.
“That whole I-die-Xaden-dies thing is really just a hypothesis, right?” I ask, unsheathing the daggers that are hardest to reach during a fight, the ones in my boots.
“One I’d rather not put to the test,” Tairn growls.
I stand, gripping the handles of my daggers, as Jack faces me with a single knife. “You’re kidding, right? Only one?”
“I only need one.” He grins with sickening excitement.
“Go for the gullet,” Tairn suggests.
“I don’t have the energy to block you out right now, so I’m going to need you to be quiet for a few minutes here.”
An answering growl is the only response I get.
“Keep it clean,” Emetterio warns. “Go.”
My heart drums so loudly, I can hear it in my ears as we begin to circle each other.
“Offense. Now. Strike first,” Tairn snaps.
“Not helping!”
Jack lunges, striking out with his knife, and I slice my dagger across the back of his hand, drawing first blood.
“Shit!” He jumps back, his cheeks blotching.
That’s what I want, what I need to win this match, for him to get so angry that he acts without thinking and makes a mistake.
He dances forward and then kicks out, aiming for my midsection, and I stumble back, narrowly avoiding the blow. “Bet you wish you could throw that blade, don’t you?” he taunts, knowing I won’t break a rule when it can hurt someone in the matches going on around us.
“Bet you wish you didn’t know what it feels like to dig out one of my knives, don’t you?” I retort.
His lips press into a thin line before he comes at me in a series of punches and swipes with his dagger. I can’t deflect—he’s too strong for me, as evidenced by the dagger he easily kicks out of my hand—so I use my speed, ducking and diving while getting in another cut, this one along his forearm.
“Damn it!” he rages, twisting to follow as I come around his back. He catches me off guard, locking onto my arm and flipping me over his back to the mat.
I take the blow on my shoulder and wince, but there’s no sound of tearing or snapping. Thanking Imogen will be my first order of business if I make it out of this.
Keeping my arm locked, Jack thrusts his knife straight at my chest, but it’s deflected by my vest, skimming along my ribs to lodge in the mat.
“He’s using death blows!” Ridoc shouts. “That’s not allowed!”
“Pull it back, Barlowe!” Emetterio bellows.
“What do you think, Sorrengail?” Jack whispers in my ear, holding me immobile with my arm behind my back. “Admit it. You and I both knew it would be like this between us. Quick. Embarrassingly easy. Fatal. Your precious wingleader isn’t here to save you.”
No, but Xaden will suffer…if not worse if Jack achieves his goal. The thought spurs me to action. Ignoring the pain, I throw my weight into a roll, subluxating my shoulder but freeing myself from his grip when he gets tangled in my legs.
Then I kick him straight in the balls.
He hits his knees as I gain my feet, clutching himself as his mouth opens in a silent scream.
“Tap out,” I order, picking up the dagger I dropped. “I can cut you open at any second. Both you and I know if this were real life, you’d be done.”
“If this were real life, I would have killed you the second you stepped onto the mat,” he seethes through gritted teeth.
“Tap. Out.”
“Fuck off!” He throws his dagger.
I throw up my hands to block, but it lodges in my left fucking forearm. Blood streams and pain sears the nerves along my arm, erupting with alarming poignancy, but I know better than to remove it. Right now, it’s holding that wound as shut as it can.
“No throwing!” Emetterio shouts from the sidelines, but Jack is already moving, barreling toward me with a series of kicks and punches that I’m not ready for. His fist slams into my cheek, and I feel the skin split.
His knee forces the air from my body when he rams it into my stomach.
But I stay on my feet until his hands clasp my face. Agony fills every cell in my body as violent, vibrating energy rips through me with an intensity that makes it feel like he’s cleaving ligament from bone, muscle from tendon.
I scream as I’m shaken by an internal force I don’t understand, as though he’s forcing his own power into my body, shocking me with a thousand stings of vibrating energy.
Now. If I don’t do it now, he’ll kill me. My vision is already darkening at the edges.
I reach a trembling hand into the pocket of my leathers and thumb open the stopper on the vial.
His sadistic grin and a red rim around his eyes are all I can see as he forces more and more power into my body, but his hands are occupied and he’s too obsessed with his victory to hear that I’ve stopped screaming, to see that I’m moving.
“He’s using his powers!” Ridoc roars, and from the corner of my decreasing vision, I see movement on both sides.
I shove the vial against Jack’s smile so hard, I feel one of his teeth break.
Hands reach for us both, and I hear Ridoc and Emetterio cry out, jerking their hands away after contact. Whatever Jack is doing is transferring from me to them by touch.
My teeth rattle as the pain consumes me, my body fighting to pass out, to escape the unbearable torture, but I refuse to succumb to the darkness until Jack wheezes.
His eyes fly impossibly wide, and he drops his hands, clutching his own neck as his airway closes.
My knees give way, my body still shuddering as I hit the mat, but so does Jack, heaving and clawing at his neck as his face turns purple.
Ridoc’s face is in mine within seconds. “Breathe, Sorrengail. Just breathe.”
“What the hell is wrong with him?” someone asks as Jack writhes.
“Oranges,” I whisper to Ridoc as my body finally gives out. “He’s allergic to oranges.” I fall into nothingness.
When I wake, I’m not on the mat, and I can tell by the windows of the Healer Quadrant infirmary that night has fallen. I’ve been out for hours.
And that’s not Ridoc lounged in the chair next to my bed, glaring at me like he’d like to kill me himself.
It’s Xaden. His hair is tousled, like he’s been tugging at it, and he’s flipping a dagger end over end, catching it by the tip without so much as looking at it before sheathing it at his side. “Oranges?”
I know you don’t want to hear this, but sometimes you have to know when to take the death blow, Mira. It’s why you have to be sure that Violet enters the Scribe Quadrant. She’ll never be able to take a life.
—Page seventy, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
I move to scoot up the bed so I can sit, but the pain in my arm reminds me that there was a dagger in it a couple of hours ago. Now it’s bandaged. “How many stitches?”
“Eleven on one side and nineteen on the other.” He arches a dark brow and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You turned oranges into a weapon, Violence?”
I wiggle to a sitting position and shrug. “I worked with what I had.”
“Seeing as it kept you alive—kept us alive—I can’t really argue, and I’m not going to ask how it is you always know who you’ll end up challenging.” There’s definite anger in that gaze but a touch of relief, too. “Telling Ridoc allowed Emetterio to get him here in time. Unfortunately, he’s five beds down from you, and he’ll live, unlike the second-year a row over. You could have killed him and saved us all a lot of drama.”
“I didn’t want to kill him.” I roll my shoulder, testing it. Sore, but not dislocated. My face is tender, too. “I just wanted him to stop killing me.”
“You should have told me.” The accusation rips from his lips in a snarl.
“And you could have done nothing about it besides make me look weak.” I narrow my eyes at him. “And you haven’t exactly been around to talk about anything in weeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that kiss scared you.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.
“That’s not up for discussion.” Something flashes in his eyes and is quickly replaced by a cool mask of indifference.
“Seriously?” I should know better, considering he’s avoided it this long.
“It was a mistake. You and I are going to be stationed together for the rest of our lives, never able to escape the other. Getting involved—even on a physical level—is a colossal blunder. No point talking about it.”
I barely keep from clutching at my chest to see if all my organs are where they’re supposed to be, since it feels like he just eviscerated me with four sentences. But he had been just as into it as I was. I was there, and there was no mistaking that kind of…enthusiasm. But maybe it was the churam. “What if I want to talk about it?”
“Then feel free, but it doesn’t mean I have to be a part of the conversation. We’re both allowed our boundaries, and this is one of mine.” The finality in his tone makes my stomach curdle. “I’ll agree that keeping my distance didn’t work out so well, and if today’s little stunt was about getting my attention, then congratulations. It’s yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I swing my feet to the side of the bed. I need my boots and to get the hell out of here before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
“Apparently I can’t trust Liam to report deadly situations or Rhiannon to train you on the mat, seeing how easily Barlowe had you pinned, so as of this moment, I’m taking over.”
“Taking over what?” My eyes narrow.
“Everything when it comes to you.”
…
The next day, during what should be our flight hours if not for the howling, subzero winds outside, Xaden has me on the mat. Fortunately, he has his shirt on, so I’m not distracted by what I know is under it. No, he’s not only wearing fighting leathers and boots, he’s strapped to the nines with what looks to be a dozen different daggers in a dozen different sheaths.
Is it absolutely toxic that I’m attracted to this look on him? Probably. But one look, and my temperature rises.
“Leave your blades off the mat,” he instructs, and nearly a dozen riders glance our way from other mats.
At least Liam has been given the time to go train himself a couple of mats over against Dain—a first. Most of the squads are in here, making use of the unexpected free time, so thankfully everyone is busy training instead of watching us.
“But you’re armed.” I glance pointedly to his sheaths.
“You either trust me or you don’t.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, exposing more of the rebellion relic curving up around his neck. The same relic I caressed with my hand while he had me against the foundation wall more than a month ago.
Nope. Not thinking about that.
But my body has no problem remembering.
I blow out my breath in a long sigh and step to the edge of the mat, unsheathing every dagger I own and the ones I’ve won, then laying them on the floor.
“I’m unarmed. Happy now?” I turn to face him, putting my arms out. My long sleeve covers the bandage on my arm, but the throb is insistent. “Though we probably could have waited a couple of days for my arm to heal up before doing this.” The stitches pull, but I’ve had worse.
“No.” He shakes his head, unsheathing one of his daggers and walking forward. “The enemy doesn’t give a shit if you’re wounded. They’ll use it to their advantage. If you don’t know how to fight in pain, then you’ll get us both killed.”
“Fine.” I shift my body weight in annoyance. Little does he know, I’m almost always in pain. It’s pretty much my comfort zone. “That’s actually a good point, so I’ll let you have it.”
“Thank you for being so gracious.” He smirks, and I ignore the immediate surge of warmth low in my belly. He flips his palm upward, showing me the dagger with an oddly short blade. “The problem isn’t necessarily your fighting style. You’re fast, and you’ve become pretty damned formidable since August. The problem is you’re using daggers that are too easy to pluck out of your hands. You need weaponry designed for your body type.”
At least he didn’t say weaknesses.
I study the blade in his hand. It’s beautiful, with a solid black hilt engraved with Tyrrish knots, old, mythical runes of intricate swirls and ties. The blade itself is clearly honed to lethal perfection. “It’s spectacular.”
“It’s yours.”
My head snaps up, but there’s no lie in his onyx eyes.
“I had it made for you.” His lips curve slightly.
“What?” My mouth opens, and my chest tightens. He took the time to have it made? Shit. That gives me feelings I really don’t want to have. Soft, confusing feelings.
“You heard me. Take it.”
Swallowing the illogical lump in my throat, I take the blade from him. It feels solid in my palm but is infinitely lighter than my other daggers. There’s no strain on my wrist, and my fingers comfortably wrap around the hilt, making it much more secure than the knives I’ve left on the floor. “Who made it?”
“I know someone.”
“In the quadrant?” My eyebrows shoot up.
“You’d be surprised how resourceful you get after three years here.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I openly stare before remembering where we are.
“It’s incredible.” I shake my head and hand it back to him. “But you know I can’t take it. The only weapons we’re allowed to have are the ones we earn.” Only challenges or weapons qualifications are acceptable. There’s a crossbow I have my eye on that I’m not quite expert at yet.
“Exactly.” He smiles for a flash of a second before moving with a speed I’ve never dreamed possible. He’s even faster than Imogen as he sweeps my feet from under me with one strike, taking me to the mat in a single move.
The ease with which he has me on my back is simultaneously appalling and…ridiculously hot, especially with the weight of his hips settled between my thighs. It takes all my willpower not to reach up and brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead. It was a mistake.
Well, if that memory doesn’t cool me right off.
“And what point are you making with this little move?” I ask, well aware that he’s done it all without knocking the wind out of me.
“There are a dozen of these daggers strapped to my body, so start disarming me.” He lifts a sardonic brow. “Unless you don’t know how to handle an opponent on top of you, and if so, that’s a whole other issue.”
“I know how to handle you on top of me,” I challenge quietly.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “You won’t like what happens if you push me.”
“Or maybe I will.” I turn just enough that my lips brush the shell of his ear.
He jerks up, and the heat in his gaze makes me all too aware of everywhere our bodies connect. “Disarm me before I test that theory in front of everyone in this gym.”
“Interesting. I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist.”
“Keep pushing, and I guess you’ll find out.” His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I thought you said kissing me was a mistake.” I don’t care if the entire quadrant is watching if that means he’ll kiss me again.
“It was.” He smirks. “I’m just teaching you that blades aren’t the only way to disarm an opponent. Tell me, Violence, are you disarmed?”
Arrogant ass.
I scoff and start plucking knives from their sheaths, flinging them across the mat while he watches with impatient amusement. Then I lock my legs around his hips and force a roll to the left, putting Xaden on his back. Willingly, of course—there’s no way I’m kneeling on top of him if he doesn’t want it that way—but I throw a forearm against his collarbone with the pretense of pinning him anyway and proceed to steal the other daggers he has sheathed along his side.
“And lastly,” I say with a smile, leaning forward, our heated bodies nearly flush as I snatch the dagger right out of his hand. “Thank you.”
The final blade secure, Xaden throws his palms to the mat and shoves with unnatural strength, arching us straight back until my spine kisses the mat again.
“That’s.” I suck in a breath, the move shocking me to my toes and lodging him firmly between my thighs. It takes everything I have not to arch up against him and see if he really thinks that kiss was a mistake. “Not fair to use your powers on the mat.” Magical. Sexual. Whatever. It’s all unfair.
“That’s the other thing.” He jumps to his feet and offers his hand. I take it, my head rushing as I stand. Not now. Do not get dizzy now. “Emetterio doesn’t allow powers in order to level the playing field when it comes to challenges. But out there? The field is anything but level, and you need to learn to use whatever you’ve got.”
“I can’t do much beside ground, shield, and move a piece of parchment.” I sheathe the new dagger, then collect the others and do the same. They really are lovely, all marked with different runes. It’s a shame there are so many parts of Tyrrish culture that were lost centuries ago during the unification, including most runes. I don’t even know what they all mean.
“Well, looks like we’re going to have to work on that, too.” He sighs and takes up a fighting stance. “Now, earn your nickname and try your best to kill me.”
…
February flies by in a blur of exhaustion. Xaden takes every unscheduled moment of my day, and Dain’s gritted his teeth more than once when the wingleader has pulled me out of squad training because he has something infinitely more important for me to do.
Which usually ends with me getting my ass handed to me repeatedly on the mat.
But I have to say, he doesn’t baby me like Dain, and he doesn’t take it easy on me like Rhiannon does. He pushes me to my physical limit every session but never further, usually leaving me a boneless, sweaty heap on the sparring gym floor, gasping for breath.
That’s usually when Imogen reminds me that I’m needed in the weight room.
I hate them both.
Kind of.
It’s hard to argue with the results when I’m learning to take down the strongest fighter in the quadrant. I have yet to beat him, but I’m all right with that. It means he doesn’t let me win.
He also doesn’t kiss me again, even when I push.
March arrives with uncountable feet of snow that have to be shoveled before morning formation every day. And the moments the relic burns in my back and I feel like I might crawl out of my own skin if the power building within me doesn’t release reminds me that I still don’t have a signet. It’s already almost been three months.
Every morning I wake up wondering if today is the day I’ll spontaneously combust.
“Sharla Gunter,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, his gloved hands slipping on the frozen parchment. It’s warmer this week, but not by much. “And Mushin Vedie. We commend their souls to Malek.”
“Vedie?” I ask Rhiannon, my eyebrows shooting up as formation ends. I didn’t know him well, since he was in Second Wing, but the name is still a shock, considering he was rumored to be one of the best among us.
“You didn’t hear?” She pulls her fur-lined cloak closer around her neck. “His signet manifested in the middle of Carr’s class yesterday, and he burst into flames.”
“He…burned himself to death?”
She nods. “Tara said Carr thinks he was supposed to be able to wield fire, but it just overwhelmed him in that first rush and…”
“He went up like a torch,” Ridoc adds. “Kind of makes you glad your signet’s still hiding, huh?”
“Hiding is one way to put it.” Other than the ability I’m not supposed to even whisper about, I’m proving to be the one thing my mother hates—average. And it’s not as though I can go to Tairn or Andarna for help. The signet is all about me, and I’m apparently not delivering, as the stinging relic on my back constantly reminds me. There’s a tiny, secret part of me that hopes my signet hasn’t manifested yet because it’s different than the others, not only useful but…meaningful, like Brennan’s was.
“Definitely makes me want to skip class today,” Rhiannon mutters, blowing on her hands to keep them warm.
“No skipping class,” Dain admonishes, pinning us with a stare. “We’re weeks away from the Squad Battle and we need every single one of you at your best to win.”
Imogen snorts. “Come on, Aetos, I think we all know Second Wing has that squad in Tail Section that’s going to smoke the rest of us. Have you ever seen them sprint up the Gauntlet? Pretty sure they’ve been out there even though it’s still covered in ice.”
“We’re going to win,” Cianna, our executive officer, proclaims with a decisive nod. “Sorrengail here might slow us down on the Gauntlet”—she wrinkles her hawkish nose—“and probably in the wielding department, too, at the rate she’s advancing—”
“Gee, thanks.” I fold my arms across my chest. Bet I can shield better than all of them combined.
“But Rhiannon’s skills more than make up for that,” Cianna continues. “And we all know Liam and Heaton are both going to decimate on the mat for the challenge competition. That only leaves flight maneuvers and whatever task the wingleaders come up with to judge this year.”
“Oh, is that all? Man, I thought it was going to be hard.” The sarcasm rolling off Ridoc is thick enough to earn him a glare from Dain.
“We’re down to ten of you,” Dain says, glancing over our group. “Twelve of us in total, which puts us at a slight disadvantage against a couple other squads, but I think we’ll manage.”
We lost two of the new additions last week when the smaller one’s signet manifested in Battle Brief and they both froze to death in seconds, nearly taking out Ridoc with the exposure, too. He was treated for frostbite but didn’t have any permanent damage. Now Nadine and Liam are the only ones left from the batch we acquired after Threshing.
“But in order to manage, I need you guys to get to class.” He lifts his brows at me. “Especially you. A signet would be great, you know. If you can maybe make that happen.” It’s as if he can’t decide how to treat me lately, as the first-year who’s struggling but still here or the girl he grew up with.
I hate how unsettled everything feels between us, all wrongly sticky, like putting on clothes before you can dry after a bath, but it’s still Dain. At least he’s finally being supportive.
“She’s going to miss Carr’s class today,” Xaden interrupts, appearing behind Sawyer, who hurries to clear a path.
“No I’m not.” I shake my head and ignore the quick jump of my pulse at the sight of him.
“She needs to go,” Dain argues, then grits his teeth. “I mean, unless the wing has more pressing matters for Cadet Sorrengail, her time is best spent developing her wielding skills.”
“I think we both know she’s not going to manifest a signet in that room. She would have already if that was the key.” I wouldn’t wish the look Xaden levels Dain with on my worst enemy. It’s not anger or even indignation. No, he looks…annoyed, as if Dain’s complaints are entirely beneath him, which, according to our chain of command, they are. “And yes, the wing has more pressing matters for her.”
“Sir, I’m just not comfortable with her going a day without at least practicing her wielding, and as her squad leader—”
He doesn’t know that Xaden’s been giving me extra wielding sessions while we spar.
“For Dunne’s sake.” Xaden sighs, invoking the goddess of war. He reaches into the pocket of his cloak and takes out a pocket watch, holding it in his outstretched palm. “Pick it up, Sorrengail.”
I glance at the two men and wish they’d just sort their shit out between themselves, but there’s about a zero percent chance of that happening. For the sake of expediency, I throw my mental feet into the floor of the Archives. White-hot power flows around me, raising goose bumps on my arms and lifting the hair at the back of my neck.
Raising my right hand, I envision that power twining between my fingers, and little shocks blossom along my skin as I give form to the energy, making it a hand of its own as I ask it to stretch the few feet that separate me from Xaden.
There’s an abrupt halt, as though my tendrils of raw magic hit a wall, but then it gives, and I push forward, keeping tight control of the blazing hand. There’s a crackle in my head, like the dying embers of a fire, as my power brushes Xaden’s hand, but I close my mental fist around the pocket watch and then pull.
It’s fucking heavy.
“You got this,” Rhiannon urges.
“Let her concentrate,” Sawyer chides.
The watch plummets for the ground, but I snap my hand back, yanking on my power as though it’s a rope, and the watch flies toward me. I catch it with my left hand before it can smack me in the face.
Rhiannon and Ridoc clap.
Xaden walks forward and plucks the watch from my fingers, dropping it into his cloak. “See? She’s practiced. Now, we have things to do.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me out of the crowd.
“Where are we going?” I loathe the way my body demands I lean back into his touch, but I miss it the second it’s gone.
“I’m assuming you’re not wearing flight leathers under that cloak.” He opens the door to the dormitory for me, and I walk inside. The motion is so easy that I know it’s not only practiced but second nature, which is at complete odds with, well…everything I’ve come to know about him.
I pause, looking at him like we’re meeting for the first time.
“What?” he asks, closing the door behind us and shutting out the blustering cold.
“You opened the door for me.”
“Old habits die hard.” He shrugs. “My father taught me that—” His voice dies abruptly, and his gaze falls away, every muscle in his body locking as though he’s preparing for an attack.
My heart aches at the look that crosses his face, recognizing it well. Grief.
“Don’t you think it’s a little cold for flying?” I ask, changing the subject in an attempt to help. The pain in his eyes is the kind that never dies, the kind that rises like an unpredictable tide and floods the shoreline without mercy.
He blinks, and it’s gone. “I’ll wait here.”
I nod and hurry to change into the fur-lined leathers we’re issued for winter flight. He has that unreadable mask on when I return, and I know there won’t be any more doors held on my account today.
We walk out across the emptying courtyard as cadets scurry off to classes. “You didn’t answer me.”
“About what?” He keeps his eyes on the gate to the flight field path and I have to damn near scurry to keep up with his strides.
“About it being cold for flight.”
“Third-years have flight field this afternoon. Kaori and the other professors are just taking it easy on you guys, since the Squad Battle is coming up and they know you need the practice in wielding.” He pushes open the gate, and I hurry after him.
“But I don’t need the practice?” My voice echoes in the tunnel.
“Winning the Squad Battle is nothing in the scheme of keeping you alive. You’ll be on the front lines before the rest of them come next year.” The mage lights play off the harsh angles of his face, casting sinister shadows as we pass each one.
“Is that what’s going to happen next year?” I ask as we come out the other side, the snow whiting out my vision momentarily. It’s piled high on each side of the path, the result of this heavy winter. “I’m going to the front lines?”
“Inevitably. There’s no telling how long Sgaeyl and Tairn will tolerate being separated. My best guess is that we’ll both have to sacrifice to keep them happy.” He’s clearly not so happy about it himself, but I can’t blame him. After three years in the quadrant, I’d want to get the hell out, too. My stomach sinks as I realize I’ll be in his shoes when I graduate as well, with no real control on how our dragons’ bond dictates my future posts.
I nod, not knowing what else to say, and we walk to the Gauntlet in companionable silence.
“Second Wing,” I note, watching the squad from Tail Section slip and slide their way across the Gauntlet. “You sure you don’t want your own squads out here practicing?”
A corner of his mouth lifts, and that inhuman facade of his cracks. “When I was a first-year, I thought winning was the pinnacle, too. But once you’re in your third year, and you see the things that we do…” His jaw flexes. “Let’s just say that the games are a lot more lethal.”
We head toward the staircase that leads to the flight field, but there’s already a group coming down, so I move back to let them descend first.
My heart launches into my throat as they come closer, and I snap my frame to an attention stance, my spine stiffening. It’s Commandant Panchek and Colonel Aetos.
Reaching the ground first, Dain’s dad offers me a smile. “At ease. You’re looking well, Violet. Nice flight lines,” he says, gesturing to the ones on his own cheekbones that come from flight goggles. “You must be getting a lot of airtime.”
“Thank you, sir, I am.” I relax my posture and can’t help but return the favor, but my lips are tight. “Dain is doing well, too. He’s my squad leader this year.”
“He’s told me.” He grins, his brown eyes just as warm as Dain’s. “Mira asked about you while we were touring the Southern Wing last month. Don’t worry, you’ll get your letter privileges in second year, and then you can keep in touch more often. I’m sure you miss her.”
“Every day.” I nod, pushing past the swell of emotion the admission brings. It’s so much easier to pretend there’s nothing outside the walls than to wallow in how much I miss my sister.
Xaden stiffens at my side as Mom steps out of the stairwell. Oh shit.
“Mom,” I blurt, and her head turns, her eyes meeting mine. It’s been more than five months since I’ve seen her, and even though I want to be as composed as she is, as compartmentalized, I just can’t. I’m not built like she is, like Mira is. I’m my father’s daughter.
Her assessing gaze sweeps over me with all the familiarity of a commanding general and a Basgiath cadet, and there’s no warmth in her expression as she finishes her perusal. “I hear you’re having trouble wielding.”
I blink and step backward, as though physical distance is going to shelter me from the icy rebuke. “I have the best shields in my year.” For the first time, I’m actually glad I haven’t manifested a signet, haven’t given her something to brag about.
“With a dragon like Tairn, I would certainly hope so.” She cocks an eyebrow. “If not, all of that incredible, enviable power will have been…” Her sigh is a puff of steam in the air. “Squandered.”
I try my best to swallow the growing knot in my throat. “Yes, General.”
“You have been the topic of some conversation, though.” Her gaze skims the top of my head, and I know she’s looking at the silver-tipped braid she thinks marks me as cursed, the hair she told me I was better off cutting.
“Oh?” She actually talks about me?
“We’re all wondering what powers—if any—you’re wielding from the golden dragon?” Her lips form a smile I’m sure she thinks is soft, but I know her too well to fall for it.
“No.” The single word from Tairn rumbles through my entire body. “Do not speak of it.”
“Nothing yet.” I drag my tongue over my chapped lower lip. Winter is hell on the skin during flight. “Andarna told me that feathertails are known for being unable to channel power to their rider.” Only their direct gifts, but I’m not about to say that. “It’s why they don’t bond often.”
“Or ever,” Dain’s dad chimes in. “We were actually hoping that you might ask your dragon to allow us to study her. For purely academic purposes, of course.”
My stomach sours. The group of them would poke and prod Andarna for gods know how long to appease their academic curiosity, and they might stumble onto the untapped power of young dragons. No thank you. “Unfortunately, I don’t see her being comfortable with that. She’s pretty private, even with me.”
“Pity,” Colonel Aetos says. “We’ve had the scribes on it since Threshing, and the only reference they can find in the Archives about the power of feathertails is hundreds of years old, which is funny because I remember your father doing a bit of research about the second Krovlan uprising, and he mentioned something about feathertails, but we can’t seem to find that tome.” He scratches his forehead.
Mom looks at me with expectation, as though to ask me without actually asking.
“I don’t believe he finished his research on that particular historical event before he died, Colonel Aetos. I couldn’t even tell you where his notes are.” The words are as true as I can make them. I know exactly where his notes are—in the one location he spent the majority of his after-hours time. But there’s something about Tairn’s warning that makes me simply unable to tell them.
“Too bad.” Mom forces another smile. “Glad to see you’re alive, Cadet Sorrengail.” Her gaze flashes sideways and instantly hardens to steel. “Even if the company you’re forced to keep is more than questionable.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t step in front of Xaden and make him look weak. I can’t even glance his way without telling my mother where my allegiance lies…without telling myself.
“I always felt that we resolved any of those questions years ago,” Xaden says, his voice low, but he’s gone taut as a bowstring next to me.
“Hmm.” Mom turns toward the citadel in clear dismissal. “Do see if you can master some kind of signet, Cadet Sorrengail. You have a legacy to live up to.”
“Yes, General.” The informal words cost more than I’m prepared to admit, ripping into the confidence it’s taken me nearly eight months to build with talon-sharp precision.
“Good to see you, Violet.” Dain’s dad offers me a sympathetic smile, and Panchek outright ignores us, running to catch up with Mom.
I don’t say a word to Xaden before I climb the stairs, each step making me only angrier until I’m a ball of rage by the time I reach the top of the cliffside.
“You didn’t tell her about how you got out of the attack in your bedroom,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question. “And I’m not talking about me showing up.”
I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“I don’t ever see her. And you told me not to tell anyone.”
“Didn’t realize it was quite like that between you,” Xaden says, his tone surprisingly soft as we start down the box canyon toward the flight field.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” I toss out, intentionally making my tone as flippant as possible. “She spent almost an entire year ignoring me when Dad died.” A self-deprecating laugh slips past my lips. “Which was almost as wholesome as the years she spent barely tolerating my existence because I wasn’t perfect like Brennan or a warrior like Mira.” I shouldn’t be saying these things. These are the thoughts families keep behind their doors so they can wear their polished, perfect reputations like armor when in public.
“She doesn’t know you very well, then,” Xaden remarks, keeping pace with my furious strides.
I scoff. “Or she sees right through me. Problem is, I’m never quite sure which it is. I’m too busy trying to live up to whatever impossible standard she sets to ask myself if they’re even standards I give a shit about.” My narrowed gaze swings to him. “And what was that about anyway? Saying that you resolved questions years ago?”
“Just reminding her that I paid the price for my loyalty.” His brow furrows, but he stares ahead of us.
“Paid what price?” The question slips out before I can stop my foolish tongue. I can’t help but remember what Dain said, that Xaden has reasons to never forgive my mother.
“Boundaries, Violence.” His head lowers for the span of a heartbeat, and when it rises, he’s wearing that polished give-no-fucks mask he’s so good at donning.
Lucky for us, the strain of the moment is broken as Tairn and Sgaeyl land across the field ahead, accompanied by a shiny smaller dragon who makes me instantly smile.
“We’re all flying today?” I ask, following as he walks toward the trio.
“We’re all learning today. You need to learn how to stay on, and I need to learn why the hell it’s so hard for you,” he answers. “Andarna needs to learn how to keep up. Tairn needs to learn how to share his space in a tighter flight formation, and every other dragon but Sgaeyl is too scared to fly closer.”
Tairn chuffs in agreement as we approach.
“And what is Sgaeyl learning?” I ask, eyeing the giant blue dragon.
Xaden grins. “She’s been leading for almost three years now. She’s going to have to learn how to follow. Or at least practice.”
Tairn’s chuff sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and she snaps at him, baring her teeth and coming within inches of his neck.
“Dragon relationships are absolutely incomprehensible,” I murmur.
“Yeah? You should try a human one sometime. Just as vicious, but less fire.” He mounts with an ease I envy. “Now let’s go.”
The Squad Battle is more important than the wingleaders will let on. They like to joke that it’s a game, that it’s just bragging rights for the squad leaders and the winning squad, but it’s not. They’re all watching. The commandant, the professors, the commanding officers—they’re watching to see who will rise to the top. They’re salivating to see who will fall.
—Page seventy-seven, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
“Tap out!” Rhiannon screams as a rider out of Second Wing fights to drag himself forward on the mat, his hands splayed wide, his fingernails digging in as Liam holds him in a leg lock, forcing his back into what should be an impossible arch.
My heart pounds as the excitement of today’s matches reaches a fever pitch.
It’s the last challenge of this portion of the Squad Battle, and the crowd pushes at our backs, forcing me to continuously struggle not to fall over onto the mat. After two events, we’re in seventh out of twenty-four on the leaderboard, but if Liam wins, we’ll jump to third.
My flight time in the gauntlet sky race was the slowest in squad, but that’s because I kept forcing Tairn to release his magical hold on me—and then we’d lose precious seconds while he had to dip to catch me and toss me back in the saddle. Over and over and over again. I swear, the bruises on my ass from landing in the hard divot hurt less than Tairn’s scoff that I’d humiliated his entire family line as we crossed the finish line last.
Mikael cries out in pain, the sound sharp, near earsplitting, and pulling my attention back to the action in front of me. Liam holds fast and presses his advantage.
“Fuck me, that looks like it hurts,” I mutter over the cheering first-years.
“Yeah, he’s not walking for a while,” Ridoc agrees, cringing as the arc of Mikael’s back looks like a broken spine waiting to happen.
With another cry, Mikael slams his palm into the mat three times, and the crowd roars.
“Yes! Go, Liam!” Sawyer screams from behind me, and Liam drops Mikael to the mat, where he sprawls out, exhausted.
“We won!” Liam rushes for us, and I’m swept up into a tangle of arms and shouting and joyous squadmates.
I’m pretty sure I even see Imogen in this little melee.
But I don’t see Dain. Where the hell is Dain? He would never miss this.
“Your winner!” Professor Emetterio shouts, his voice ringing through the gym and quieting the zealous energy as Liam steps out of our crushing hug. “Liam Mairi from Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing!”
Liam puts up both hands in victory and turns in a small circle, and the sound of cheering makes my ears ring in the best way.
Commandant Panchek steps onto the mat, and Liam joins the rest of our squad, sweat pouring off his skin. “I know you were all expecting the last portion of the Squad Battle to happen tomorrow, but the cadre and I have a surprise.”
He has every single rider’s attention now.
“Instead of telling you what the final, unknown task will be and giving you tonight to plan for it, your final task will begin this hour!” He grins, throwing out his hands and turning just like Liam had.
“Tonight?” Ridoc whispers.
My stomach hits the ground. “Dain isn’t here. Neither is Cianna.”
“Oh shit,” Imogen whispers, looking over the crowd herself.
“As you may have noticed, your squad leaders and their executive officers have been…shall we say, sequestered with your section leaders and wingleaders, and no, before someone asks, your task is not to find them.” He continues to walk in a small circle, addressing each side of the mat. “You are to break into your squads and accomplish a unique mission this evening without the leadership and instruction of your squad leaders.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of having squad leaders?” someone asks across the mat.
“The purpose of a squad leader is to form a tightly knit unit that can carry on with a mission after their demise. Consider your leaders…demised.” Panchek shrugs with a gleeful smile. “You’re on your own, riders. Your mission is simple: find and acquire, by any means necessary, the one thing that would be most advantageous to our enemies regarding the war effort. Leadership will serve as unbiased judges, and the winning squad will be awarded sixty points.”
“That’s enough to put us into first!” Rhiannon whispers, linking her arm with mine. “We could win the glory of going to the front!”
“What are the boundaries?” someone to the right asks.
“Anything within the walls of Basgiath,” Panchek answers. “And don’t you dare let me see you trying to haul a dragon back here. They’ll incinerate you out of sheer annoyance.”
The squad to our left mutters their disappointment.
“You have”—Panchek pulls out his pocket watch—“three hours, at which time we’ll expect you to present your stolen treasures in the Battle Brief room.”
We all stare at him in silence. Out of everything I imagined the third and final task to be…well, this wasn’t anywhere near that list.
“What are you waiting for?” Panchek shoos his hands at us. “Go!”
Pandemonium ensues.
This is what happens when you remove our leadership. We’re…a hot freaking mess.
“Second Squad!” Imogen yells, putting her hands up. “Follow me!”
Sawyer and Heaton make sure we’re all ducklings, following in Imogen’s wake as she leads us across the gym to the weight room.
“You did great,” I tell Liam as he walks at my side, still struggling to catch his breath.
“It was epic.” Ridoc hands Liam a waterskin, which Liam promptly drains.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Imogen says, ushering us through the open door. She does a quick head count and then closes the door, wielding to lock it.
I find a seat on one of the benches, flanked by Rhiannon and Liam.
“First thing. Who wants to be in command?” Imogen asks, looking at the ten of us.
Ridoc throws his hand in the air.
Rhiannon turns and forces it back down. “No.” She shakes her head. “You’ll turn this into some kind of prank.”
“Fair point.” He shrugs.
“Liam?” Quinn asks, lifting her eyebrows.
“No.” He shakes his head, but his gaze darts in my direction, giving his reasoning away.
“No one is going to try and off me while we’re out tonight,” I argue.
He turns back toward Imogen and shakes his head one more time.
Of course she nods. They’re both on Team Xaden.
“You keep command,” Rhiannon suggests, looking at Imogen. “You’ve gotten us this far.”
A murmur of agreement goes around the room.
“Emery? Heaton?” Imogen asks. “As third-years, it’s your right.”
“No thanks.” Heaton leans back against the wall.
“Nope. There’s a reason neither of us wanted to be in leadership,” Emery adds, sitting next to Nadine. “Any reason you wouldn’t be all right following Imogen’s command for a few hours, Nadine?”
Every one of us turns to face the first-year who hasn’t been remotely subtle about her hatred of marked ones. Knowing now that she’s from a northern village on the border of the provinces of Deaconshire and Tyrrendor, I can see her reasoning. I just don’t agree with it, hence why I’m not exactly friendly with her.
She visibly swallows, her nervous gaze skittering over all of us. “I’m fine with it.”
“Good.” Imogen folds her arms across her chest, the wrist with her rebellion relic peeking out from under her tunic. “We have a little less than three hours. What are your ideas?”
“What about a piece of weaponry?” Ridoc suggests. “A cross-bolt would be deadly to any of our dragons in the hands of our enemies.”
“Too big,” Quinn says decisively. “There’s only one in the museum, and honestly, it’s not even the bolt that’s deadly, it’s the launching system.”
“Next?” Imogen glances at each of us.
“We could steal Panchek’s underw—” Ridoc starts before Rhiannon slams her hand over his mouth.
“And that’s why we don’t let you lead.” She arches a brow at him.
“Come on, guys! Think! What’s the most useful thing to our enemy?” Imogen’s brow puckers over her pale green eyes.
“Information,” Liam answers. He swings his gaze toward me. “Violet, what about stealing the news missives from the Archives? The ones that come in from the front?”
I shake my head. “It’s after seven. The Archives are locked, and it’s the kind of vault that even wielding isn’t going to touch. The whole room is sealed up airtight in case of fire.”
“Damn.” Imogen sighs. “That was a good one.”
The entire room breaks into conversation, each voice louder than the next as suggestions are hurled into the open.
Information. My stomach twists as an idea takes form. It would be a showstopper, something no one else could compare to. But… I shake my head. It’s too risky.
“What are you thinking, Sorrengail?” Imogen asks and the room falls silent. “I can see the little gears turning in your mind.”
“It’s probably nothing.” I glance at the members of our squad. But is it nothing?
“Get up here and work it out in your head,” Imogen orders.
“Seriously, it’s mad. Like, undoable. We’d get thrown in the brig if we’re caught.” I snap my mouth shut before I say anything more.
But it’s too late—Imogen’s eyes are sparkling with interest.
“Get. Up. Here. And. Work. It. Out,” she orders, making sure I know it’s not a suggestion.
“We can wield, right?” I stand, brushing my hands down my sides and the hilts of the six daggers sheathed there.
“By all means necessary,” Heaton repeats, nodding.
“All right.” I rock back on my heels, letting my mind whirl through a plan. “I know Ridoc can wield ice, Rhiannon can retrieve, Sawyer can manipulate metal, Imogen can mind-wipe recent memories—”
“And I’m fast,” she adds.
Something she has in common with Xaden.
“Heaton, what about you?” I ask.
“I can breathe underwater,” they answer.
I blink. “Awesome, but I don’t think that’s going to come in handy if we do this. Emery?”
“I can control wind.” He grins. “A lot of wind.”
All right, that one could be defensively useful, but not quite what I’m looking for.
My boots squeak on the floor as I turn to face her. “Quinn?”
“I can astral project. Keep my body in one place and then walk around somewhere else.”
My mouth hangs open, matching about half the squad.
“I know, it’s pretty awesome.” She winks, pulling her curls up into a bun.
“Yes. That we can use.” My head bobs as I parcel through the easiest way to do this.
“What are you thinking, Sorrengail?” Imogen prompts, tucking the short hair on one side of her shaved head behind her ear.
“You’re going to tell me I’ve lost my mind, but if we pull it off, we’ll win for sure.” I might not be enough like my mother to win her approval, but I know where she keeps the most valuable information.
“And?”
“We’re going to break into my mother’s office.”
…
“You are so fucking creepy.” Ridoc squirms two hours later, leaning away from Quinn, well, from Quinn’s astral form. Her body is currently with Heaton, guarded in the weight room.
The rest of us are sneaking through the hallways past the Healer Quadrant. We’ve already run into a squad from Second and another from Third, but none of us had time to question or deter the others.
We’ll rise or fall on our own merit with this timeline, and we’ve wasted the last two hours waiting for night to fall so it would even be possible.
“I’ve never been farther than this,” Emery says as we pass the last door to the clinic.
“You’ve never even been to the Archives?” Imogen asks.
“I avoid that duty like the plague,” Emery answers. “Scribes freak me out. Quiet little know-it-alls, acting like they can make or break someone by writing something down.”
I grin. There’s more truth to that statement than most people realize.
“Infantry is still out camping.” Rhiannon points out the windows to the dozens of campfires illuminating the field below.
“Must be nice to get a break,” Nadine remarks, but there’s no snotty tone I’ve come to expect, just the same exhaustion I think we all feel. “Scribes will all go home for the summer. Healers get to spend their weekends on those mind-body-health retreats, and the infantry might have to practice making and breaking camp in the snow through winter, but at least they spend those months around a campfire.”
“We’ll get to go home,” Imogen argues.
“After graduation,” Rhiannon retorts. “For what? A couple of days?”
We come to a fork in the path, where we can follow the tunnel down to the Archives or climb into the fortress of the war college.
“There’s no turning back from here,” I say to the group, looking up the spiral staircase I’ve climbed so many times that I know each step by heart.
“Lead on!” Quinn orders, and we all jump about a foot in the air.
“Shhh!” Imogen hisses. “Some of us can get caught, you know.”
“Right. Sorry.” Quinn cringes.
“Everyone, remember the plan,” I whisper. “No one deviates. No one.”
They all nod, and we begin our silent climb up the dark stairs, then cling to the shadows as we cross the stone courtyard of Basgiath.
“Sure could use Xaden right about now.”
“You’re doing great,” Andarna assures me in the happiest of tones. I swear, nothing bothers her. She’s the most fearless kid I’ve ever met, and I grew up with Mira.
“It’s six flights straight up,” I whisper when we reach the next set of stairs, and we continue to climb as fast as we can without making any noise. Anxiety spikes, and my power rises in response, the relic in my back heating to an uncomfortable burn. It’s always there lately, simmering beneath my skin, reminding me that performing lesser magics isn’t going to be enough to vent it if I don’t manifest a signet soon.
Eventually, we reach the top of the steps, and Liam leans out just far enough to see down the length of what’s always felt like the world’s longest hallway. “There are mage lights in sconces,” he whispers. “And you were right.” He withdraws into the safety of the stairwell. “There’s only one guard stationed at the door.”
“Was there any light under the door?” I ask quietly. My heart sounds like it’s loud enough for the whole college to hear, even the infantry cadets sleeping hundreds of feet below us.
“No.” He turns to Quinn. “The guard looks about six feet tall, but he seems pretty athletic. The other stairwell is down the hallway to the left, which means you’ll have to get his attention and then book it.”
Quinn nods. “No problem.”
“Everyone else know what they’re doing?” I ask.
There are eight nods.
“Then let’s do this. Quinn, you’re up. Everyone else, circle back down so he can’t see us if he looks this way.” I can’t believe we’re actually about to do this. If she catches us, there won’t be any mercy. It’s not in her nature.
We retreat, and Quinn charges up the stairs. Her voice is muffled by the stone walls, but we hear the guard’s pounding footsteps clear as day as he charges past the stairway.
“Get back here! You can’t be here!”
“Now!” Imogen orders.
We launch, leaving Rhiannon and Emery in the stairwell as we fly into the hallway. Sawyer rushes toward the opposite staircase, throwing the door shut and twisting the metal joints with his powers as we bolt down the hall.
I’ve never run this fast in my life, and Nadine is already at the door, trying to unweave whatever wards my mother has used.
Liam steps into the spot where the guard stood and lifts his chin in the air, taking the same posture. “Are you all right?”
“Yep,” I answer, my chest heaving as Imogen steps in to help Nadine. Nadine’s signet is the ability to unweave wards, which I never thought would come in this handy. Riders are always out there building the wards, keeping the shields up around Navarre. Then again, not many riders try to break into the commanding general’s office. “And I’ll be fine in there,” I assure him, a smile tugging at my lips. “Which is funny, since I didn’t think the same way the last time I was standing here.”
“Got it!” Nadine whispers, nudging the door open.
“If you hear me whistle—” Liam starts, worry lining his forehead.
“We’ll go out the window or something,” I assure him as Ridoc and Sawyer rush past. “Relax.” Leaving Liam to stand watch, I join the others in Mom’s office.
“Don’t touch the mage lights or she’ll know,” I warn them. “You have to make your own.” I flick my wrist, twisting my power into a bright blue flame and letting it drift over me. It’s one of the things I’m actually good at.
“How nice is this?” Ridoc flops down onto the red couch.
“We don’t have time for you to be…you,” Sawyer lectures, heading for the bookcase. “Help me search for something useful.”
“We’ll take the table.” Imogen and Nadine start sorting through papers on the six-seater conference table.
“Which leaves me and the desk,” I mutter, walking around the intimidating piece of furniture and praying I don’t trigger any wards she’s set. There are three folded missives in the middle, and I pick up the first, revealing a sharp dagger with an alloy-infused hilt and what looks to be a Tyrrish rune in the handle that she must be using as a letter opener or something. I unfold the letter with as much care as I can.
General Sorrengail,
The raids around Athebyne have spread the wing too thin. Being posted beyond the safety of the wards comes with considerable hazards, and though I am loath to request reinforcements, I must. If we do not reinforce the post, we may be forced to abandon it. We are protecting Navarrian citizens with life, limb, and wing, but I cannot adequately relay how dire the situation is here. I know you receive the dailies from our scribe attachment, but I would be remiss in my duties as executive officer of the Southern Wing if I did not write to you personally. Please find us reinforcements.
Sincerely,
Major Kallista Neema
I breathe past the ache that erupts in my chest at the plea in her letter. We’ve discussed nearly daily attacks in Battle Brief, but nothing on that scale.
Maybe they don’t want to scare us.
But if it’s that terrifying out there, we have every right to know—we’ll likely be called into service before we graduate. Maybe even this year.
“These are all…numbers,” Imogen says, rifling through the conference table papers.
“It’s April,” I say, reaching for the next missive. “She’s working on next year’s budget.”
Everyone stops and turns to look at me, all wearing expressions of varying degrees of disbelief.
“What?” I shrug. “Did you think this place ran itself?”
“Keep looking,” Imogen orders.
I unfold the next missive.
General Sorrengail,
Protests regarding conscription laws are growing within the province of Tyrrendor. Knowing that due to Tyrrendor’s size, it provides the majority of our conscripts to replenish our front lines, we cannot afford to lose the support of the people again. Perhaps an influx of defensive spending on outposts here would not only bolster the province’s economy and remind the Tyrrish how needed they are to the defense of our kingdom, but also ease the unrest. Please consider this solution as an alternative to suppressing the unrest with force.
Sincerely,
Lieutenant Colonel Alyssa Travonte
What the hell? I close the letter and put it back on Mom’s desk, then turn to the giant map hanging on the wall directly above me.
Unrest isn’t new to Tyrrendor, nor is the sentiment against conscription, but we certainly haven’t heard any political rumblings in Battle Brief. Other than to quell discontent, it would make no sense to increase defensive spending there, especially since it holds our fewest number of outposts due to the natural barrier provided by the Cliffs of Dralor, which are unscalable by gryphons. Tyrrendor should already be one of the safest provinces on the Continent. Well, except Aretia. Where that capital should be, there is only a scorch mark, as though the burning of the city has singed the map as well.
I study the map for precious seconds, noting the battlement markers dotted along the countryside. Logically, there are more outposts along our more active border zones and, according to this map, more troops in those locations.
It shows all of Navarre, Krovla to the south, Braevick and Cygnisen to the southeast, and even the barriers of the Barrens, the ruined deserted lands at the southern tip of the Continent. It also shows each of our outposts and supply routes within Navarre.
A slow grin spreads across my face.
“Hey, Second Squad. I know what we need to steal.”
It takes a matter of minutes for us to haul the map down and cut it away from its frame, then another to roll it, securing it with leather ties Imogen pulls out of her satchel.
Liam whistles, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
“Shit!” Ridoc races to the door and cracks it open as we all prepare to flee. “What’s going on out there?”
“He’s pounding at the hall door! It’s going to give any second. We have to go now,” Liam whisper-shouts, holding the door open as we all race into the hallway. The map is too big for one person to carry, and Sawyer and Imogen struggle through the doorway as the guard kicks in the door farther down the hall.
My stomach hits the floor, and panic threatens to overwhelm logical thought.
“And we’re fucked,” Nadine announces.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the guard shouts, charging toward us.
“We’re dead if he catches us with the map.” Ridoc bounces on his toes like he’s preparing to fight. On any given day, I’d argue that riders are the superior fighters—we have to be—but that Basgiath guard might just give us a run for our money.
“We can’t hurt him,” I protest.
The guard barrels past the first stairwell and Rhiannon steps into the middle of the hallway, her arms outstretched.
“Please work. Please work. Please work,” Imogen chants.
The map disappears out of her hands and reappears down the hallway in Rhiannon’s.
I barely have time to register that it worked as the guard stumbles, but he keeps running. Any closer and he’ll see my face.
“This was not part of the plan.” Liam moves to my side.
“Adapt! Emery!” Imogen hisses, and the third-year steps to the front of our little raiding party.
“I’m so sorry, man.” He holds out his hands and pushes. A torrent of air rushes down the hallway, ripping tapestries from the walls and knocking into the guard, sending him flying against the stone wall. “Run!”
We sprint down the hall toward where the guard lies limp. “Put him in here,” I hiss, forcing open the next door, the one that belongs to one of my mother’s undersecretaries.
Liam and Ridoc haul the guard in, and I put my fingers to his neck. “Good strong pulse. He just knocked him out. Open his mouth.” I snag the vial hidden in the pocket of my leathers, uncork it, and then let the tonic flow into the guard’s mouth. “He’ll sleep the rest of the night.”
Liam’s wide eyes meet mine. “You’re kind of terrifying.”
“Thank you.” I grin, and we get out of there, running as fast as we can.
Fifteen minutes later, our chests are still heaving as we skid into the Battle Brief room, just under the clock.
We’re the last to arrive, and the tick of Dain’s jaw from where he sits in the top row with the other leadership tells me we’re going to get an earful about it.
I drag my gaze away, and we find our seats as presentations begin in order of squad, giving us enough time to recover from our sprinting session before we have to take the stage.
A squad in First Wing stole Kaori’s handwritten manual on the personal habits and flaws of all active dragons. Impressive.
A squad in Second Wing elicits an appreciative murmur when they reveal the uniform of one of the Infantry professors, fully intact with something riders never bear—a name tag. That would grant any enemy access to our outposts, given the rank on the shoulder.
Third Wing’s best offering is a stunned, wide-eyed scribe, stolen straight from his bed, and given the way his mouth isn’t moving… Yep, someone’s signet power takes away speech. The poor thing is going to be traumatized when they finally let him go.
When it’s our turn to take the stage, Sawyer and Liam, the two tallest in our squad, hold the top corners of our map so it’s visible to all as it unrolls.
I stand back next to Imogen and search the leadership for a certain pair of onyx eyes. There he is.
Xaden is leaning against the wall near the other wingleaders, watching me with a pulse-quickening mix of curiosity and expectation.
“It was your idea,” Imogen whispers, nudging me forward. “Present.”
Markham’s eyes flare wide as saucers as he forces himself to stand, followed quickly by Devera, whose mouth hangs so wide, it’s almost comical.
I clear my throat and gesture to the map. “We have brought the ultimate weapon for our enemies. An up-to-date map of all current outposts of Navarrian wings, to include troop strength of infantry battlements.” I point to the forts along the Cygnisen border. “As well as the locations of all current skirmishes in the last thirty days. Including last night.”
A murmur rips through the quadrant.
“And how do we know this map is, in fact, current?” Kaori asks, holding his reclaimed journal under one arm.
There’s no stopping the smile that spreads across my face. “Because we stole it from General Sorrengail’s office.”
Absolute mayhem breaks out, some of the riders rushing the stage as professors battle their way toward us, but I ignore it all as Xaden tilts one corner of that beautiful mouth and tips an imaginary hat to me, bowing his head for a heartbeat before bringing his gaze back to hold mine. Satisfaction fills every ounce of my being as I smile up at him.
It doesn’t matter how the vote comes down.
I’ve already won.
There is no stronger bond than that between two mated dragons. It goes beyond the depth of human love or adoration to a primal, undeniable requirement for proximity. One cannot survive without the other.
—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Flying for short distances is something I manage.
Flight maneuvers—the dips and dives that come with combat formations—send me spinning through the sky unless Tairn holds me on with bands of his own power.
But flying for six hours straight for our prize, a weeklong tour of a forward outpost, might just be the death of me.
“I’m pretty sure I’m dying.” Nadine bends over, bracing her hands on her knees.
“I feel that.” Every vertebra in my spine screams as I stretch, and the hands that were freezing only a few minutes ago start to sweat inside my leather gloves.
Naturally, Dain is minimally affected, his posture only slightly stiff as he and Professor Devera greet a tall man in rider black, who I assume is the outpost commander.
“Welcome, cadets,” the commander says with a professional smile, folding his arms across the chest of his lightweight leathers. His salt-and-pepper hair makes it hard to determine his age, and he has that gaunt, weathered look all riders get when they’ve been stationed on the border for too long. “I’m sure you’d all like to get settled and into something a little more appropriate to the climate. Then we’ll show you around Montserrat.”
Rhiannon inhales sharply, her gaze sweeping over the mountains.
“You all right?”
She nods. “Later.”
Later arrives in exactly twelve sweat-soaked minutes as we’re shown to our double-occupancy barracks rooms. They’re sparse, only furnished with two beds, two wardrobes, and a single desk under a wide window.
She’s quiet the entire time we make our way through the bathing chamber to wash off the ride and alarmingly silent while we dress in our summer leathers. It may only be April here at Montserrat, but it feels like Basgiath in June.
“You going to tell me what’s up?” I ask, stowing my pack beneath the bed before making sure all my daggers are where they’re supposed to be. The hilts are barely visible in the sheaths I wear at my thighs, but I doubt many people this far east would recognize the Tyrrish symbols.
Rhiannon’s hands tremble with what looks like nervous energy as she straps her sword to her back. “Do you know where we are?”
I mentally bring up a map. “We’re about two hundred miles from the coast—”
“My village is less than an hour away on foot.” Her eyes meet mine in an unspoken plea, so much emotion swirling in their dark-brown depths that my throat clogs, choking my words.
Taking her hands in mine, I squeeze, nodding. I know exactly what she’s asking and exactly what it will cost if we’re caught.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper, even though it’s just us in the tiny room. “We have six days to figure it out and we will.” It’s a promise and we both know it.
Someone pounds on our door. “Let’s go, Second Squad!”
Dain. Nine months ago, I would have relished this time away with him. Now I find myself avoiding his constant expectations of me—or just avoiding him in general. Funny how much can change in such a short time.
We join the others, and Major Quade gives us the grand tour of the outpost. My stomach growls, but I ignore it, taking in the hectic energy of the base.
The fortress is basically four massive walls, filled with barracks and various chambers with turrets on each corner and a large, arched entrance that boasts a spiked portcullis that looks ready to drop at any second. On one end of the courtyard, there’s a stable with a blacksmith and armory for the company of infantry stationed here, and on the other is the dining hall.
“As you can see,” Major Quade tells us as we stand in the middle of the muddy courtyard, “we’re built for siege. In the event of attack, we can feed and house everyone within for an adequate amount of time.”
Adequate? Ridoc mouths, lifting his brows.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, and Dain gives him a look that promises retribution from where he stands beside me. My smile falls away.
“As one of the eastern outposts, we have a full twelve riders stationed here. Three are out on patrol now, three wait, standing by in case they’re needed, and the other six are in various stages of rest,” Quade continues.
“What is that look for?” Dain whispers.
“What look?” I ask as the distinct roar of a dragon echoes off the stone walls.
“That should be one of our patrols returning now,” Quade says, smiling like he wants to mean it but can’t quite find the energy.
“The one where someone just sucked the joy out of your world,” Dain responds, bending his head slightly and keeping his voice low enough that only I can hear him.
I could lie to him, but that would make our semi-truce even more awkward. “I was just remembering the guy I used to climb trees with, that’s all.”
He startles like I’ve slapped him.
“So we’ll get you riders fed and put to bed, and then we’ll work on who you’ll be shadowing while you’re here,” Quade continues.
“Will we get to participate in any active scenarios?” Heaton asks, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Absolutely not!” Devera snaps.
“If you see combat, then I’ve failed as this being the safest place on the border to send you,” Quade answers. “But you get bonus points for enthusiasm. Let me guess. Third-year?”
Heaton nods.
Quade turns slightly and smiles at three indistinct figures in rider black as they walk under the portcullis. “There they are now. Why don’t you three come and meet—”
“Violet?”
My head whips toward the gate, and my heart combusts in a series of erratic beats that leaves me clutching my chest with the best kind of shock. No way. There’s no way. I stumble for the gate, forgetting to be stoic, to be emotionally untouchable, as she breaks into a run, her arms opening just before we collide.
She sweeps me up, yanking me against her chest and squeezing tight. She smells like dirt and dragon and the coppery tang of blood, but I don’t care. I hug her back just as hard.
“Mira.” I bury my face against her shoulder, and my eyes burn as she rests her hand on top of the very braid she taught me how to do. It’s as if the weight of everything that’s happened over the last nine months comes crashing down, slamming into me with the force of a cross-bolt.
The wind of the parapet.
The look in Xaden’s eyes when he realized I was a Sorrengail.
The sound of Jack swearing he’d kill me.
The smell of burning flesh that first day.
The look on Aurelie’s face when she fell from the Gauntlet.
Pryor and Luca and Trina and…Tynan. Oren and Amber Mavis.
Tairn and Andarna choosing me.
Xaden kissing me.
Our mother ignoring me.
Mira pulls me back just long enough to look me over, as if she’s checking for damage. “You’re all right.” She nods, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”
I nod, but she blurs in my vision because I might be alive, thriving even, but I’m not the same person she left at the base of that turret, and from the heaviness in her eyes, she knows it, too.
“Yeah,” she whispers, tucking me in tight again. “You’re all right, Violet. You’re all right.”
If she says it enough times, I might start to believe her.
“Are you?” I jerk back to study her. There’s a new scar that stretches from her earlobe to her collarbone. “Gods, Mira.”
“I’m fine,” she promises, then grins. “And look at you! You didn’t die!”
Irrational, giddy laughter bubbles up. “I didn’t die! You’re not an only child!”
We both burst into laughter, and tears track down my cheeks.
“Sorrengails are weird,” I hear Imogen state.
“You have no idea,” Dain answers, but when I turn to look, his lips are curved into the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him in months.
“Shut up, Aetos,” Mira barks, throwing her arm over my shoulder. “Catch me up on everything, Violet.”
We might be hundreds of miles from Basgiath, but I’ve never felt more at home.
…
It’s early evening two days later, just after dinner, when Rhiannon and I climb out our first-story window and drop to the ground. Mira’s out on patrol, and as wonderful as it’s been to have her close, this is our only chance.
“We’re on our way.”
“Don’t get caught,” Tairn warns.
“Trying not to.” Rhiannon and I sneak along the battlement wall, turning the corner toward the field—
I run into Mira so hard that I bounce backward.
“Shit!” Rhiannon exclaims as she catches me.
“Don’t you at least check the corners?” Mira lectures, folding her arms over her chest and staring me down in a way I might deserve. Fine, I definitely deserve.
“In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be there,” I say slowly. “Because you’re supposed to be on patrol.”
“You were acting super weird at dinner.” She tilts her head to the side and studies me just like we’re kids again, seeing way too much. “So I switched shifts. Do you want to tell me what you’re doing outside the walls?”
I glance at Rhiannon, and she looks away.
“Neither of you? Really?” She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “You two need to sneak out of a heavily fortified defensive position because…?”
I look up at Rhiannon. “She’s going to figure it out anyway. She’s like a bloodhound with stuff like this. Trust me.” My stomach clenches.
Rhiannon tilts her chin. “We’re flying to my family’s house.”
Mira blanches. “You think you’re what?”
“We’re flying to her village. It’s like a five-minute flight, according to Tairn, and—” I start.
“Absolutely not.” Mira shakes her head. “Nope. You cannot fly off like you’re on vacation. What if something happens to you?”
“At her parents’ house?” I ask slowly. “Because there’s some major ambush planned on the off chance that we might just be dropping in?”
Mira’s eyes narrow.
Shit. This is not going well and, given the death grip Rhiannon has on my arm now, she doesn’t think so, either.
“We’d be in less danger visiting her parents than we are at Basgiath,” I argue.
Mira’s lips purse. “Fair point.”
“Come with us,” I blurt. “Seriously. Come with us, Mira. She just wants to see her sister.”
Mira’s shoulders dip. She’s softening, and I mercilessly go in for the kill.
“Raegan was pregnant when Rhiannon left. Can you imagine not being there with me if I had a kid? Wouldn’t you do anything, including escape a heavily fortified defensive position, if that meant holding your niece or nephew?” My nose scrunches as I brace for her answer. “Besides, with the hero of Strythmore at our side, what could possibly go wrong?”
“Don’t even start with that.” She looks at me, then Rhiannon, then back at me again before groaning. “Oh, fucking fine.” Her finger comes out swinging when we both grin. “But if you even think about telling anyone, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your natural life.”
“She means it,” I whisper.
“I believe it,” Rhiannon answers.
“You’re here two days and already breaking the rules,” Mira mutters. “Come on, it’s quicker to cut down this path.”
An hour later, Mira and I are stretched out on the cushioned benches that flank both sides of the dining table at Raegan’s house, watching Rhiannon rock her nephew by the fireplace, lost in conversation with her sister as her parents and brother-in-law look on from the nearby couch.
Watching them reunite is worth everything.
“Thank you for helping us.” I glance over the table at Mira.
“You would have done it with or without me.” Her smile is soft as she watches the family, curling her hand around the pewter mug of wine Rhiannon’s mom was kind enough to bring earlier. “Figured at least this way I’d know you’re safe. What other rules have you broken, sis?” She sips her wine and cuts a look my way.
A smirk tugs at my mouth as I lift one shoulder. “Maybe a few here and there. I’ve gotten very good at poisoning my opponents before challenges.”
Mira nearly spits out her wine, slamming her hand over her mouth.
I laugh, crossing one booted ankle over the other. “Not what you were expecting?”
Respect shines in her eyes. “I honestly don’t know what I expected. I was just desperate for you to live. And then you went and not only bonded one of the most powerful dragons alive but a feathertail, too.” She shakes her head. “My baby sister is a badass.”
“Not sure Mom would agree with that.” I rub my thumb over the handle of my mug. “I’m not exactly manifesting a signet yet. I’m solid at grounding and can hold a pretty strong shield, but…” I can’t tell her the rest, the gift Andarna has given, at least for now, to me. “If I don’t manifest my signet soon…”
We both know what will happen.
She quietly studies me in that way she has, then says, “Here’s the thing. If you want your signet to manifest, then stop blocking it by thinking it has anything to do with Mom. Your power is yours and yours alone, Vi.”
I squirm under her scrutiny and change the subject, my gaze dropping to her neck. “How did that happen?”
“Gryphon,” she answers, nodding. “Near the village of Cranston about seven months ago. Thing came out of nowhere in the middle of a village raid. The wards went down, and usually my signet gives me a little immunity from the enemy wielders, but not their fucking birds. Took the healers hours to stitch me up. But it gave me a pretty cool scar.” She tilts her chin to show it off.
“Cranston?” I think back over the Battle Briefs. “We never learned about that one. I…” Common sense tells me to shut my mouth.
“You what?” She takes another drink.
“I think there’s way more going on along the borders than what we’re told,” I admit quietly.
Mira lifts her brows. “Well, of course there is. You don’t expect Battle Brief to relay classified information, do you? You know better than that. And honestly, at the rate our borders are being attacked, they’d have to devote all day to Battle Brief in order to dissect each assault.”
“That makes sense. Do you guys get all the information?”
“Only what we need. Like, I could have sworn I saw a riot of dragons across the border during this attack.” She shrugs. “But questions about secret operations are above my pay grade. Think of it this way—if you were a healer, would you need to know the details about everyone else’s patients?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Exactly. Now tell me, what the fuck is going on between you and Dain? I’ve seen less tension on a crossbow, and I don’t mean the good kind.” She gives me a look that leaves no room for excuses.
“I needed to change in order to survive. He wouldn’t let me.” It was the simplest explanation for the last nine months. “I got his friend Amber killed. She was a wingleader. And honestly, everything with Xaden just pushed us so far apart that I don’t know how to repair our friendship. Not to what it was, at least.”
“The execution of that wingleader is common knowledge. You didn’t get her killed. She got herself killed by breaking the Codex.” Mira studies me for a quiet moment. “Is it true Riorson saved you that night?”
I nod. “Xaden is a complicated subject.” So complicated that I can’t identify my own feelings. Thinking of him only jumbles me in a way that leaves me tangled in knots. I want him, but I can’t trust him, not in the ways I want to. And yet in other ways, he’s the person I trust most.
“I hope you know what you’re doing there.” Her grip tightens on her mug. “Because I distinctly remember warning you to steer clear of that traitor’s son.”
My stomach turns at Mira’s description of Xaden. “Tairn clearly didn’t heed the warning.”
She snorts.
“But really, if Xaden hadn’t shown up that night, or if I hadn’t been sleeping in the armor…” I pause and lean forward to touch her hand. “I can’t even begin to tell you how many times you’ve saved my life without even being there.”
Mira smiles. “Glad it worked. I swear it took an entire molting season to collect all those scales.”
“Have you thought of telling Mom about it? Getting them made for all riders?”
“I told my leadership.” She leans back and takes another drink. “They said they’re looking into it.”
We watch Rhiannon kiss her nephew’s perfect chubby cheeks. “I’ve never seen a family this happy,” I admit. “Even when Brennan and Dad were alive, we weren’t like…that.”
“No, we weren’t.” A sad smile curves her mouth as she looks at me. “But I can remember plenty of nights we spent curled around the fire with Dad and that book you love.”
“Ah yes, the book you made me leave in my old bedroom.” I arch a brow.
“You mean the book I snagged just in case Mom got a wild hair and decided to clean out your things while you were in the quadrant?” Her smile morphs into a grin. “I have it at Montserrat. Figured you’d be pissed if you graduated and it was gone. I mean, whatever would you do if you forgot a minute detail of how the gallant riders took out the army of wyvern and the venin who sucked the land dry of magic?”
I blink. “Shit. I can’t remember. But I guess I’ll be able to read it again soon!” A bubble of joy rises in my chest. “You are the best.”
“I’ll give it to you at the outpost.” She leans back and gives me a thoughtful look. “I know they’re just stories, but I never used to get why the villains would choose to corrupt their souls and become venin, and now…” Her brow furrows.
“Now you empathize with the villain?” I tease.
“No.” She shakes her head. “But we have the kind of power people would kill for, Violet. Dragons and gryphons are the gatekeepers, and I’m sure that to someone jealous enough, ambitious enough, risking a soul would be a fair price for the ability to wield.” Her shoulders rise as she shrugs. “Just makes me glad our dragons are so discerning and our wards keep the gryphon riders at bay. Who the hell knows what kind of people those furry creatures choose?”
We stay another hour, until we know we’re risking exposure if we stay a minute longer. Then Mira and I give Rhiannon some privacy to say goodbye to her family and head out of the house into the humid night. Tairn has been uncharacteristically quiet the last couple of hours.
“Have you been stationed with any riders of mated pairs?” I ask Mira as I close the door behind us.
“One,” she answers, her eyes narrowing on the darkened path in front of the house. “Why?”
“I’m just wondering how long they can be separated.”
“Turns out, about three days is their max.” Xaden steps out of the shadows.
For valor above and beyond the call of duty in the battle of Strythmore, where her bravery resulted not only in the destruction of a battery behind enemy lines but also saved the lives of an entire company of infantry, I recommend Mira Sorrengail receive the Star of Navarre. But if the criterion is not met, which I assure you it has been, downgrading to the Order of the Talon would be a shame, but sufficient.
—Recommendation for Award from
Major Potsdam to General Sorrengail
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
“So all we do is wait for something to happen?” Ridoc asks the next afternoon, leaning back in his chair and putting his boots on the end of the wooden table that runs the length of the briefing room.
“Yes,” Mira says from the head of the table, then flicks her wrist and sends Ridoc flying backward. “And keep your feet off the table.”
One of the Montserrat riders laughs, changing the markers on the large map that consumes the only stone wall in the curved, windowed room. This is the highest turret in the outpost, offering unmatched views of the Esben mountain range around us.
We’ve been split into two groups for the day. Rhiannon, Sawyer, Cianna, Nadine, and Heaton spent the morning with Devera in this room, studying previous battles at the outpost, and are now out on patrol.
Dain, Ridoc, Liam, Emery, Quinn, and I spent the morning on a two-hour flight around the surrounding area, with one extra tagalong—Xaden. He’s been the worst kind of distraction since arriving last night.
Dain won’t stop glaring at him and making snide remarks.
Mira keeps one eye on him at all times as well, suspiciously quiet since last night.
And me? I can’t seem to keep my eyes to myself. There’s a palpable energy in every room he enters, and it brushes over my skin like a caress each time our eyes meet. Even now, I’m aware of every breath he takes as he sits next to me midway down the table.
“Consider this your Battle Brief,” Mira continues, side-eyeing Ridoc as he scrambles back into his chair. “This morning was about a quarter of the patrol we’d regularly fly, so normally we’d just be getting back about now and reporting our findings to the commander. But for the sake of killing time, since we’re in this room as the reaction flight for this afternoon, let’s pretend we’d come across a newly fortified enemy outpost crossing our border”—she turns to the map and sticks a pin with a small crimson flag near one of the peaks about two miles from the Cygnisen borderline—“here.”
“We’re supposed to pretend it just popped up overnight?” Emery asks, openly skeptical.
“For the sake of argument, third-year.” Mira narrows her eyes on him, and he sits up a little straighter.
“I like this game,” another one of the Montserrat riders says from the end of the table, lacing his fingers behind his neck.
“What would our objective be?” Mira glances around the table, noticeably skipping Xaden. Last night, she’d taken one look at the rebellion relic on his neck and walked by without saying a word. “Aetos?”
Dain startles from where he was glowering across the table at Xaden and turns to face the map. “What type of fortifications are there? Are we talking a haphazard wooden structure? Or something more substantial?”
“Like they had time to build a fortress overnight,” Ridoc mutters. “It has to be wooden, right?”
“You are all so fucking literal.” Mira sighs and rubs her thumb over her forehead. “Fine, let’s say they occupied a keep that’s already established. Stone and all.”
“But the civilians didn’t call for help?” Quinn asks, scratching her pointed chin. “Protocol calls for a distress signal this far into the mountains. They should have lit their distress beacon, alerting patrolling riders, at which time the dragons on patrol would have told all available dragons in the area. The very riders in this room would have mounted first as the reaction force and the others would have been woken from their rests, allowing the riders to prevent the loss of the keep in the first place.”
Mira scoffs and braces her hands on the end of the table, staring us all down. “Everything you’re taught at Basgiath is theory. You analyze past attacks and learn those very…theoretical combat maneuvers. But things out here don’t always go according to plan. So why don’t we talk about all the ways things can go sideways, so you’ll know what to do when they do, as opposed to arguing that the keep shouldn’t have fallen?”
Quinn shifts her weight uncomfortably.
“How many of you have been called out as third-years?” Mira stands straight, folding her arms over her black leathers and the strap that holds her sword to her back.
Emery and Xaden raise their hands, though Xaden’s is barely a gesture.
Dain looks like his head is about to explode. “That’s not correct. We’re never called into service until graduation.”
Xaden presses his lips in a tight line and nods, giving him a sarcastic thumbs-up.
“Yeah, all right.” Emery laughs. “Just wait until next year. I can’t count how many times we’re the ones sitting in these very rooms in the midland forts because their riders have been called to the front for an emergency.”
The color drains from Dain’s face.
“Now that’s settled.” Mira reaches under the table and pulls out a set of models, putting a six-inch stone keep in the center of the table. “Catch.” One by one, she tosses painted wooden models of dragons at us, keeping one for herself. “Pretend Messina and Exal don’t exist back there, and we’re the only squad available to take back that keep. Think of the power in this room. Think of what each individual rider brings to the table and how you’d use those powers in unison to conquer your objective.”
“But they don’t teach that to first-years,” Liam says slowly from the other side of me.
Mira glances at the whirls of magic on his wrist, but to Liam’s credit, he doesn’t tug his sleeve down. It’s hard to remember sometimes that the third-years are the first riders who will serve with the children of the leaders of the Tyrrish uprising—an uprising that could have left our borders eventually defenseless and the innocent people of Navarre war casualties. Everyone in this room has become accustomed to Liam, Imogen…even Xaden. But those in active service have never flown with anyone marked by a rebellion relic.
The Tyrrish riders who remained loyal to Navarre during the uprising were promoted, not punished, and the riders who turned against king and country were killed or executed. And just like my grief at Brennan’s loss was directed at Xaden that first day at the parapet, there will be more than one rider who misdirects their own anger at marked riders.
I clear my throat.
Mira’s gaze meets mine, and I lift an eyebrow at her in clear warning.
Don’t fuck with my friends.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and she directs her attention back to Liam. “They might not teach you this battle strategy as first-years because you’re all busy trying to stay on your dragons. You had your first taste of strategy during the Squad Battle, and it’s almost May, which means final War Games should be beginning, right?”
“Two weeks,” Dain answers.
“Good timing, then. Not all of you will survive the games if you’re not prepared.” She holds my gaze for a beat. “This kind of thinking will give your squad—your entire wing—an advantage, since I guarantee your wingleader is already assessing every rider for their own abilities.”
Xaden flips his dragon model over his knuckles but doesn’t reply. He hasn’t spoken a word to Mira since arriving.
“So let’s do this.” Mira stands back. “Who is in command?” She glances toward Quinn. “And let’s pretend that I don’t have three years of seniority on even the highest-ranked of you.”
“Then I’m in command.” Dain sits up straight, his chin rising a good inch.
“Our wingleader is here,” Liam argues, pointing at Xaden. “I would say that puts him in command.”
“We can pretend I’m not here, just for the sake of the exercise.” Xaden sets his dragon on the table and leans back in his chair, draping his arm across the back of mine, a move that makes Dain grit his teeth. “Give Aetos here the position we all know he craves.”
“Don’t be a dick,” I whisper.
“You haven’t even seen me start to be a dick.”
My head turns so fast that it swims, and my mouth drops open as I stare at the side of Xaden’s face. That was his voice…in my fucking head.
He turns, the golden flecks in his eyes catching the light, and I swear I hear him laughing in my mind, though his lips are closed, tilted in that pulse-quickening smirk of his.
“You’re staring. It’s going to get awkward in about thirty seconds if you don’t stop.”
“How?” I hiss.
“The same way you talk to Sgaeyl. We’re all gloriously, annoyingly linked. This is just one of the perks. Though I’m starting to wish I’d tried it sooner. The look on your face is priceless.” He winks and turns back to the table.
He. Fucking. Winked. And is that a hint of a smile?
“You’re. The. Wingleader.” Every word Dain speaks comes out through clenched teeth.
“I’m not even supposed to be here.” Xaden shrugs. “But if it makes you feel better, for the purpose of War Games, you’d be getting your orders from your section leader, Garrick Tavis, which he’d get from me. You’ll be carrying out your maneuvers as a squad for the good of the wing. Just pretend I’m another member of your squad and use me as you wish, Aetos.” Xaden folds his arms across his chest.
I glance at Mira, who’s watching the play-by-play with raised brows.
“Why are you even here?” Dain challenges. “No offense, sir, but we weren’t exactly expecting senior leadership on this trip.”
“You’re more than aware that Sgaeyl and Tairn are mated.”
“Three days?” Dain fires back, leaning in. “You couldn’t make it three days?”
“It has nothing to do with him,” I interrupt, setting my dragon down with a little more force than necessary. “That’s up to Tairn and Sgaeyl.”
“You never considered that it was you I couldn’t stay away from?”
I crook my right arm and jab it into Xaden’s biceps. He doesn’t mean that. Not when he’s still adamant that kissing me was a mistake. And if he does… I’m not going there.
“Now, now, you’ll give our little communication secret away if you can’t keep from being so…violent.” He barely restrains a smile, obviously loving that he gets the last word.
I need to figure out how the hell he’s doing it so I can mentally argue back.
“Of course you rush to defend him.” Dain hurls a hurt glare at me. “Though how you can forget that this guy wanted to kill you six months ago is beyond me.”
I blink up at him. “I cannot believe you went there.”
“Good job remaining professional, Aetos.” Xaden scratches the relic on his neck I’m all but certain doesn’t actually itch. “Really shows those leadership qualities to their best advantage.”
One of the riders down the table whistles low. “Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster.”
Liam smothers a laugh, but his shoulders shake.
“Enough!” Mira slams her hands on the table.
“Oh, come on, Sorrengail,” the rider down the table whines with a wide smile.
Both Mira and I look his way.
“I mean…the older Sorrengail. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in ages.”
I shake my head and look around the table. “Mira has the ability to extend the shield if the wards are down, so the first thing I would do is send her to scout the area with Teine. We need to know if we’re dealing with infantry or gryphon riders.”
“Good.” Mira moves her dragon closer to the castle. “Now let’s assume there are gryphons.”
“You want to do your job?” I ask Dain, smiling sweetly. “I mean, how you can forget you’re the squad leader is beyond me.”
His hand clenches around his own dragon as he rips his gaze from mine. “Quinn, can you astral project from the back of your dragon?”
“Yes,” she answers.
“Then I would have you project into the fortress to check for signs of weakness,” Dain orders. “And have you report back. Same with Liam. We’d use your farsight to see if you can locate where the gryphon riders are and if there are any traps.”
“Good. The weaknesses are the wooden gate,” Mira notes as Quinn and Liam move their dragons into position, “and the Navarrian citizens they have captive in the dungeons.”
“So much for blasting the whole place,” Ridoc says.
“You’re an air wielder, right?” Dain asks Emery. “So you can shape your dragon’s flames, lead them through the occupied parts of the keep without killing civilians.”
“Yes,” Emery answers. “But I’d have to be in the keep.”
“Then you’ll have to get into the keep,” Mira says with a shrug.
Emery’s eyes widen. “You want me to leave my dragon and go on foot?”
“Why do you think we get all that hand-to-hand training? Or are you going to leave all those innocent people to die?” Mira flicks her wrist and Emery’s dragon goes flying out of his hand and into hers. She puts it in the center of the keep. “The real question is, how do we get you close enough without getting you killed?” She glances around the table. “Since I’m guessing the others will be busy fighting off the gryphons that launch once the fireworks start.”
“What’s your signet, Aetos?” Quinn asks.
“Above your pay grade,” Dain answers, glancing around the table and skipping over Xaden, then making the rounds again, finally sighing. “Any ideas?”
Is the quadrant really making Dain keep the memory reading secret? Had him reaching for my head the day Amber burned been a loss of control? How has he gotten this far without telling anyone what his signet is? I shake my head.
“Sure.” I pick up Xaden’s dragon and shove it toward the keep, planting one mental foot in the Archives where I keep my power and using it to lift the dragon figurine into a hover above the structure. “You stop ignoring that you have an incredibly powerful shadow wielder at your disposal and ask him to black out the area so no one sees you land.”
“She’s not wrong,” Mira agrees, but her words are clipped.
“You can do that?” Dain begrudgingly looks at Xaden.
“Are you seriously asking?” Xaden retorts.
“Just wasn’t sure you could cover an area that—”
Xaden lifts a hand a few inches above the table, and shadows pour from underneath our seats, filling the room and turning it dark as midnight in a blink. My heart jumps as my sight goes black.
“Relax. It’s just me.” A ghost of a touch skims my cheek.
Just him is slightly…terrifying. I shove that thought at him, but there’s no response. Maybe we have a one-way-communication thing going on over here, because I don’t think I can talk to him the way he does me.
What had Sgaeyl said about signets? It reflects who you are at the core of your being. It makes sense. Mira is protective. Dain has to know everything. And Xaden…has secrets.
“Fuck me,” someone says.
“I can surround this entire outpost, but I think that might freak some people out,” Xaden says, and the shadows disappear, racing back under the table.
I draw in a full breath, noting that everyone at the table besides Emery—who has no doubt seen Xaden pull this kind of trick before—looks slightly greenish.
Even Mira, who’s staring at Xaden like he’s a threat she needs to assess.
My stomach turns.
“I hope you didn’t get any ideas while we were in the dark there,” Xaden teases, and just like that, my sympathy for the ass evaporates. I don’t bother to face him, just raise one finger.
He chuckles, and I grit my teeth.
“Get him out of my head,” I toss in Tairn’s direction.
“You’ll get used to it,” Tairn responds.
“Is this normal with all mated pairs and their riders?”
“For some. It’s a great advantage in a battle.”
“Well, it’s a pain in my ass right now.” I miss Andarna. We’re so far apart that I can barely feel her.
“Then shield him out the same way you do me—or start talking back,” Tairn grumbles. “You have the power to be a pain in the ass, too. Trust me.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to talk back at him?” I give Xaden a heavy dose of side-eye, but he’s engrossed in the ongoing battle we’ve waged against an imaginary keep.
“Figure out which pathway into your mind is his.”
Oh joy. That should be easy.
We finish the hypothetical operation, each of us using our power to its best ability…everyone except me. But when it’s time to take the gryphons out in the air, Tairn overpowers every other dragon in the room.
“Good job,” Mira says, glancing at her pocket watch. “Aetos, Riorson, and Sorrengail, I want to see you in the hallway. The rest of you are dismissed.”
It’s not like any of us has an option, so we follow Mira out to the spiral staircase.
She shuts the door behind us and throws up a line of blue energy that covers the entrance.
“Sound shield,” Dain says with a smile. “Nice.”
“Shut up.” Mira spins on the top step, putting her finger in Dain’s face. “I don’t know what bug has crawled up your ass, Dain Aetos, but have you forgotten that you’re a squad leader? That you have a very real chance of becoming a wingleader next year?”
Oh shit, she’s pissed, and that’s not anything I want a part of. I retreat another step, but with Xaden beneath me on the stairs, there’s nowhere left to go.
“Mira—” Dain starts.
“Lieutenant Sorrengail,” Mira responds. “You’re blowing it, Dain. I know how badly you want his job next year.” She points a finger at Xaden. “Don’t forget that we’ve grown up about ten feet apart. And you are blowing it, because what? You’re pissed that Violet bonded his dragon’s mate?”
Heat stings my cheeks. She’s never been one to mince words, but just…damn.
“He is the worst possible thing for her!” Dain counters.
“Oh, I’m not arguing that.” She leans into his space. “But there’s nothing anyone can do about the choices of dragons. They don’t bother with the opinions of mere humans, do they? But whatever is going on between the two of you”—that finger swings between Dain and me—“is fucking up your squad. If I can see it after four days with you, then they sure as hell can tell. And if I’d known that you were going to be such a hard-ass with zero flexibility for the things she can’t control, I never would have told her to find you after crossing the parapet.” She glances at me, then back at him. “You two have been best friends since you were five years old. Figure your shit out.”
Dain is so tense, he looks like he might crack in half, but he glances at me and nods.
I do the same.
“Good, now get back in there.” She motions toward the door with her head, and Dain leaves, walking through the shield. “And as for you.” She walks down two steps and pins Xaden with a glare. “Is this what she can expect next year?”
“Aetos being an asshole?” Xaden asks, leaving his hands loose at his sides. “Probably.”
Mira’s eyes narrow. “Mated dragons typically bond riders in the same year for a reason. You cannot expect your assigned wing or her instructors to let you both fly off every three days.”
“Wasn’t my choice.” He shrugs.
“What are we supposed to do? Tell the giant, flame-throwing dragons how it’s going to be?” I ask my sister.
“Yes!” she exclaims, turning toward me. “Because you can’t live this way, Violet. You’ll be the one who ends up missing the training you need, because he’s the more powerful of the two of you right now. But if you don’t get to focus on your training, then that’s how it will always be. You won’t ever become who Tairn can push you to be. Is that what you’re after, Riorson?”
“Mira,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You’re wrong about him.”
“Listen to me.” She grasps my shoulders. “He might wield shadows, Violet, but give him his way, and you’ll become one.”
“That won’t happen,” I promise her.
“It will if he has anything to say about it.” Her gaze flickers behind me. “Killing someone isn’t the only way to destroy them. Keeping you from reaching your potential seems like a great path to the retribution he swore against our mother. Think long and hard. How well do you even really know him?”
I suck in a breath. I trust Xaden. At least, I think I do. But Mira’s right; there are infinite ways to demolish someone without ending their life.
“That’s what I thought.” The look in her eyes turns to something worse than anger. It’s pity. “Do you even know why he hates our mother so much? Why the kids like him are put on the para—”
“I’m right here,” Xaden interrupts, rising to the same step to stand at my side. “In case you didn’t notice.”
“You’re kind of hard to miss,” she retorts.
“You’re not listening.” His voice lowers. “I. Am. Here. Tairn didn’t drag her back to Basgiath. He didn’t break through her shields and pour his emotions into her. He didn’t demand she fly across the fucking kingdom. Your sister is still right here. I’m the one who left my post, my position, and my executive officer in charge of my wing. She’s not missing out on shit.”
“And next year? When you’re a brand-new lieutenant? What shit is she going to miss out on then?” Mira asks.
“We’ll figure it out.” I reach for her hand and squeeze. “Mira, he’s taken every spare minute he has to train me on the mat for challenges or take me flying in hopes I’ll finally figure out how to keep my damned seat without Tairn holding me in place. He’s—”
She flinches. “You can’t keep your seat?”
“No.” It’s barely a whisper, and the heat of embarrassment scorches my skin.
“How the hell can you not?” Her mouth hangs open.
“Because I’m not you!” I shout.
She rears back like I’ve slapped her, our hands breaking apart. “But you…you look so much stronger now.”
“My joints and muscles are stronger because Imogen makes me lift these horrible weights, but that doesn’t…fix me.”
Mira blanches. “No. I didn’t mean it like that, Vi. You’re not anything that needs to be fixed. I just didn’t know you couldn’t hold your seat. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because there’s nothing you can do about it.” I force a wry smile. “There’s nothing anyone can do about the way I’m made.”
A long, uncomfortable silence stretches between us. For as close as we are, there’s still so much we don’t share.
“She’s getting better,” Xaden offers, his voice calm and even. “The first few weeks were…disastrous.”
“Hey, he caught me before I hit the ground,” I argue.
“Barely,” Xaden grumbles before turning back to Mira. “You don’t have to trust me—”
“Good, because I don’t,” she says. “All of that power in the hands of someone with your history is bad enough, but to know your dragons are so tangled up that you can’t be more than three days from Violet is unacceptable in every possible way I can think—” She goes completely still, her eyes un-focusing.
“There’s a drift of gryphons headed this way!” Tairn bellows.
“Fuck! The wards are down,” Mira mutters, apparently receiving the same alarm from Teine. She clutches my shoulders and yanks me into a hug. “You have to go.”
“We can help!” I argue, but she holds me so tightly that I can’t move.
“You can’t. And if Tairn is using his power to keep you seated, then he’s diminished as well. You have to go. Get out of here. If you love me, Violet, you’ll go so I don’t have to worry about you, too.” She releases me, looking to Xaden as our squad pours out of the door above, thundering by as they run down the steps. “Get her out of here.”
“Let’s go!” Dain shouts. “Now!”
“Even if you don’t trust me, I’m the best weapon you have,” Xaden snarls at Mira.
“If what you say is true, then you’re the best weapon she has. The other half of the squad will be here in moments, and Teine thinks we have about twenty minutes until the gryphons arrive.” Mira’s eyes meet mine. “You have to get to safety, Violet. I love you. Don’t die. I’d hate to be an only child.” There’s no cocky grin like when she left me at Basgiath on Conscription Day.
Xaden hauls me against his side as Mira runs up the remaining stairs toward the roof.
This can’t be happening. There’s no way I can flee to safety and leave my sister here, with absolutely zero way of knowing if she’s alive or dead. This feels like the exact sort of thing we’d never hear about in Battle Brief.
No fucking way. Every cell in my body rebels at the thought.
“No!” I fight, but there’s no point. He’s too strong. “Mira! What if you get hurt? Tairn’s speed could be the only thing that saves you. At least let us stay.”
She looks over her shoulder at the doorway, but there’s steel in her expression. “You want me to trust you, Riorson? Get her the fuck out of here and find a way for her to keep her seat. We both know she’s dead if she doesn’t.”
“Mira!” I scream, clawing at Xaden’s arms, but he’s already half carrying me down the stairs with an arm clamped around my waist as if I weigh less than the sword on his back. “I love you!” I call up the turret, but there’s no way of knowing if she heard me.
“Can I trust you to get your own pack?” Xaden asks as he marches down the hallway of the barracks. “Or am I going to have to carry you out of here without whatever you brought?”
“I’ll get it myself.” I shove at him, and he lets me go.
It takes mere minutes to grab my pack and Rhiannon’s, since we’ve left them intact, even cramming in our cloaks. Then I’m back in the hallway where Xaden waits, his own pack slung over his shoulder. It looks considerably smaller than the one he arrived with, and I don’t want to even think about what he’s left behind in order to force me out faster.
I don’t bother looking at him, marching for the door, but he grabs my elbow and spins me around. “Nope. It’s too dangerous to leave the fortress walls. We’re going up.” He wraps his arm around my waist and all but hauls me to the nearest turret. “Climb.”
“This is bullshit!” I yell at him, uncaring that every other member of our squad who’s climbing the same turret can hear. “Tairn could help them!”
“Your sister is right. You have to make it out, so we’re leaving. Now fucking climb.”
“Dain,” I argue, realizing he’s right in front of us.
He turns around and takes Rhiannon’s pack, slinging it over his own shoulder. “For once, Riorson and I agree. It’s not just you we have to get out, Violet. Think of every other first-year.” The plea in his eyes shuts my mouth. “Are you going to sentence an entire untrained squad to death? Because I’ll make it. Cianna, Emery, and Heaton will, too. And we all fucking know Riorson will. But what about Rhiannon? Ridoc? Sawyer? You want their deaths on your hands?” he asks, his words choppy as we race upward toward the open door.
This isn’t about me.
We burst onto the roof as Emery mounts his dragon, who is precariously perched on the thinner-than-quadrant wall.
Oh gods, I’m never going to be able to mount Tairn at this angle.
“Ridoc and Quinn are already in the air,” Liam tells us as Emery launches skyward, where Cath and Deigh hover, their wings beating the air.
“You’re next!” Xaden shouts at Liam, and Dain nods.
Deigh crumbles the masonry with the force of his landing, and Liam takes off down the narrow walkway toward the large Red Daggertail.
“You next, Aetos,” Xaden barks.
“Vi—” Dain starts to argue.
“That’s an order.” There’s no room for argument in that tone, and we all know it, especially when Cath takes Deigh’s place on the wall. “I’ve got her. Go.”
“Go,” I urge. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to Dain on my account. He may have been an ass the last few months, but that doesn’t negate the years he’s been my best friend.
Dain looks like he’s about to fight but finally nods, turning to Xaden. “I’m trusting you to get her out.”
“There’s a lot of that going around today,” Xaden retorts. “Now get on your dragon so I can get her on hers.”
Dain gives me a long, intense look, then turns and runs, racing up Cath’s foreleg in a way that’s so reminiscent of the Gauntlet that I get flashbacks.
“Where are you?” I ask Tairn, seeing empty skies above us.
“Almost there. I was doing what could be done.”
“I can’t do this,” I say to Xaden, turning in his arms to face him. “The others are gone. Call it the favor you owe me, I don’t care. We can stay. I can’t just leave her here. It’s wrong, and it’s something she’d never do to me. I have to stay for her. I just have to.”
There’s so much compassion, so much understanding in his eyes, that when he lets go of my waist, I think he might just let me stay. Then his hands are on my cheeks, sliding back to cup the base of my neck as he brings his mouth to mine.
The kiss is reckless and consuming, and I give it my all, knowing it might be the last one. His tongue licks into my mouth with an urgency I return, angling to take him deeper.
Gods, it’s not just as good as I’d been fantasizing about, remembering that night. It’s so much better. He was careful with me against that wall, but there is nothing hesitant about the way he lays claim to my mouth, nothing cautious about the ache that pulses low in my stomach. He only breaks the kiss when we’re both panting, then rests his forehead against mine. “Leave for me, Violet.”
“Almost there,” Tairn says.
Xaden’s been stalling to give Tairn and Sgaeyl time to arrive. My heart sinks like a rock, pinning my feet in place. “I will hate you for this.”
“Yeah.” He nods, a flash of pure regret crossing his face as he draws away. “I can live with that.” His hands fall away from my face and reach for my arms, lifting them so I’m shaped like a T. “Arms up. Hold tight.”
“Fuck. You.”
The enormous shape of Tairn appears behind him, and Xaden drops to the stone floor just as Tairn flies directly above, his shadow falling over me a second before his foreclaw scoops me up like he’s done countless times when I’ve fallen midflight.
“You have to take us back!”
“I have done everything I can and will not risk your life.” He climbs in altitude, then throws me up onto his back in a practiced maneuver. “Now, hold on so we can outfly them.”
I look over my shoulder and see Xaden on Sgaeyl, approaching quickly, and farther behind them, hundreds of feet below, a dozen gryphons envelop the keep.
Winning the War Games isn’t about strength. It’s about cunning. To know how to strike, you have to understand where your enemies—your friends—are most vulnerable. No one stays friends forever, Mira. Eventually those closest to us become our enemies in some way, even if it’s through well-intentioned love or apathy, or if we live long enough to become their villains.
—Page eighty, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
The stone wall outside Professor Markham’s office in the Riders Quadrant digs into my back, irritating my relic as I brace all my weight next to the closed door. I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin with worry and the insufferable buildup of power that’s threatening to combust at any moment.
It’s been two days since we left Montserrat. One day of flight back to Basgiath and one excruciatingly long day of silence.
The sun is barely up. I haven’t done library duty since returning, and I’ve somehow managed to get out the door before Liam even knows I’m gone. Breakfast doesn’t matter. I couldn’t give a shit if I miss formation. This is the only place I can contemplate being.
Footsteps on the circular staircase to the left make my stomach tense, and my pulse jumps as my gaze flies to the doorway, looking for the first sign of a cream tunic.
Instead, Xaden walks into the hallway, holding two steaming pewter mugs as he heads straight for me. “Still hate me?”
“Absolutely.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s easy to blame all the guilt I’ve been eating for two straight days on him.
“Figured you’d already be waiting.” He holds out one of the mugs as an offering. “It’s coffee. Sgaeyl says you haven’t slept.”
“It’s none of Sgaeyl’s business if I’m sleeping,” I snip. “But thanks.” I take the cup. He looks like he’s had a full eight hours and a vacation since yesterday. “I bet you’re sleeping like a baby.”
“Quit telling Sgaeyl about my sleep habits,” I grumble at Tairn.
“I’m not dignifying that demand with a response.”
“Andarna is my favorite.”
Tairn snorts.
Xaden leans back against the wall across from me and sips his coffee. “I haven’t slept well since the night my father left Aretia to declare the secession.”
My lips part. “That was more than six years ago.”
He stares at his coffee.
“You were—” I pause. “I don’t even know how old you are now.” Mira was right. I know almost nothing about him. And yet…I feel like I know who he is in the very marrow of his bones. Could my emotions be any more scattered when it comes to him?
“Twenty-three,” he answers. “My birthday was in March.”
And I didn’t even know. “Mine is in—”
“July,” he answers with a ghost of a smile. “I know. I made it my business to know everything there was to know about you the second I saw you on the parapet.”
“Because that’s not creepy.” I let the coffee warm my freezing hands.
“Can’t know how to ruin someone without understanding them first,” he says quietly.
I lift my gaze to find that his is already on me. “And is that still your plan?” Mira’s words have haunted me for two days.
He flinches. “No.”
“What changed?” Frustration tightens my grip on the mug. “When exactly did you decide not to ruin me?”
“Maybe it was when I saw Oren holding a knife to your throat,” he says. “Or maybe it was when I realized the bruises on your neck were fingerprints and wanted to kill them all over again just so I could do it slowly. Maybe it was the first time I recklessly kissed you or when I realized I’m fucked because I can’t stop thinking about doing more than just kissing you.” My breath catches at his admission, but he just sighs, lets his head fall back against the wall. “Does it even matter when, as long as it changed between us?”
“Don’t do that,” I whisper, and he lifts his head again to hold my gaze.
“Don’t do what? Tell you I can’t get you out of my head? Or speak directly into yours?”
“Either.”
“You could learn to do it, too.” Why the hell is it so impossible to look away from him? To remember that kiss on that tower had been a game to him, that this all might be a game to him? To quell this impossible ache that swirls in my stomach every time I think about him? “Come on, give it a try.”
As I stare into his gold-flecked eyes, I decide he’s right. I could at least meet him halfway and try. I put one mental foot in my Archives and feel power ripple through my veins. Bright orange, crackling energy streams in from the door behind me, and there’s a golden light that shines from the window I created just for Andarna. I take a deep breath and turn slowly.
And there, swirling along the edge of the roofline, is a shadow of sparkling night. Xaden.
Footsteps sound on the stairs, and we both look.
“Guess you two had the same idea,” Dain says when he sees us, coming to stand along the wall beside me. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Not long,” Xaden answers.
“Hours,” I say simultaneously.
“Damn, Violet.” Dain runs a hand through his damp hair. “Are you hungry? Do you want to get breakfast?”
“No, dumbass, she doesn’t, obviously.” Xaden’s snide commentary fills my head.
“Knock that the fuck off,” I toss back. “No thank you.”
“Look who figured it out.” Xaden’s mouth quirks upward for a heartbeat.
Another set of footsteps echoes up the staircase and I hold my breath, my eyes locked on the doorway.
Professor Markham pauses when he sees the three of us outside his office, then continues toward us. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Just tell me if she’s dead.” I move into the center of the hall.
Markham looks at me with more than his fair share of disapproval. “You know I can’t give out classified information. If there’s anything to be discussed, we’ll do it in Battle Brief.”
“We were there. If it’s classified, then we already know about it,” I counter, my hands starting to tremble as I squeeze the pewter harder and harder.
Xaden takes the mug from me.
“It’s hardly appropriate for me to—”
“She’s my sister,” I plead. “I deserve to know if she’s alive, and I deserve not to hear about it in a room full of riders.”
His jaw tightens. “There was considerable damage to the outpost, but we lost no riders at Montserrat.”
Thank gods. My knees give out and Dain catches me, pulling me into his familiar hug as relief floods my system.
“She’s fine, Vi,” Dain whispers into my hair. “Mira’s fine.”
I nod, fighting against a swell of emotions to keep my control. I will not break down. I will not cry. I will not show weakness. Not here.
There’s only one place I can go, one person who won’t chide me for crumbling.
The second I have myself in hand, I step out of Dain’s arms.
Xaden is gone.
I skip breakfast and miss formation to head to the flight field, holding myself together long enough to get to the middle of the meadow, where I drop to my knees.
“She’s all right,” I cry, my head falling into my hands. “I didn’t leave her to die. She’s alive.” There’s a ruffle of air and then the hard feel of scales against the backs of my hands. I lean forward into Andarna’s shoulder, sagging against her. “She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.”
I repeat it until I believe it.
…
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask Xaden the next time we’re on the mat. Maybe it’s Mira’s comment about me not knowing enough about him, or maybe it’s my own conflicting emotions, but he knows way more about me than I do him, and I need to level this playing field.
“No.” He pauses in surprise. “Why?”
“Just asking.” I take a fighting stance. “Let’s go.”
The next day, I ask him what his favorite food is in the middle of Battle Brief, using our mental connection. Pretty sure I hear him drop something at the back of the room before he answers.
“Chocolate cake. Stop being weird.”
I grin.
A day later, after Tairn puts me through an absolutely draining set of advanced flight maneuvers most third-years couldn’t stay seated through, either, we’re perched on a mountain peak with Tairn and Sgaeyl when I ask him how he knows Liam, just to see if he’ll tell me the truth.
“We were fostered together. What is with all the questions lately?”
“I barely know you.”
“You know me well enough.” He shoots me a look that says he’s over it.
“Hardly. Tell me something real.”
“Like what?” He turns in his seat to face me.
“Something like what those silver scars on your back are from.” I hold my breath, waiting for the answer, waiting for him to say anything that might let me in.
Even from twenty feet away, I can see him tense. “Why do you want to know?”
My grip tightens on the pommel scales. I instinctively knew the scars were private, but his reaction says there’s more to them than just a painful memory. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”
Sgaeyl startles, then launches into the air, leaving Tairn and me behind.
“Are you pushing for a reason?” Tairn asks.
“Can you give me one not to?”
“He cares for you. That’s already hard enough for him.”
I scoff. “He cares about keeping me alive. There’s a difference.”
“Not for him there isn’t.”
…
The afternoon skies above Basgiath are crystal clear in the middle of May for the first battle of the War Games that signify the approach of graduation. As much as I want to feel excitement that I’m so close to actually surviving my first year in the Riders Quadrant, my stomach is tight with anxiety.
Battle Briefs are getting more redacted. Professor Carr is getting more anxious that I haven’t manifested a signet like almost the entire first-year cadets. Dain is acting weird as fuck—friendly one minute and indifferent the next. Xaden is getting more secretive—if that were even possible—canceling some of our training for unexplained reasons. Even Tairn feels like there’s something he’s not telling me.
“What do you think our assignment is going to be?” Liam asks from my right as we stand in formation in the center of the courtyard with the rest of Fourth Wing. “Deigh thinks we’re on offense. He won’t stop going on about getting to kick Gleann’s ass—” He pauses, as if listening to his dragon. “Guess dragons hold grudges,” he finally whispers.
Leadership is gathered ahead of us, getting their assignments from Xaden.
“We’re definitely on offense,” Rhiannon answers from my left. “Otherwise, we’d already be in the field. I haven’t seen a single rider from First Wing since lunch.”
My stomach bottoms out. First Wing. Go figure they’d be our first opponent. Anything goes out there during War Games, and Jack Barlowe hasn’t forgotten that I put him in the infirmary for four days. He gave me a wider berth for weeks after Xaden executed Oren and the other kids who had attacked me—and of course everyone stopped fucking with me after Amber Mavis. But still, I’d catch a look from him as we passed in the halls or in the cafeteria, pure hatred burning in the glacial blue depths of his eyes.
“I think she’s right,” I tell Liam, struggling not to fidget as the sun bakes through my flight leathers. It’s been a while since I’ve envied the scribes and their cream uniforms, but this weather has me feeling like we got the shorter end of the uniform stick. It also doesn’t help that I must have slept wrong, because my knee is killing me, and the stabilizing wrap feels like it’s a million degrees. “Why do you think riders wear black anyway?”
“Because it’s badass,” Ridoc answers from behind me.
“So it’s harder to see when we bleed,” Imogen chimes in.
“Forget I asked,” I mumble, watching for any signs that the leadership meeting will be over soon. Bleeding is the last thing I want to do today. “Are we on offense or defense?” I ask Xaden.
“Little busy right now.”
“Oh no, am I distracting you?” A smile curves my mouth.
Shit, am I flirting? Maybe.
Do I care? Oddly enough…no.
“Yes.” His tone is so gruff that I have to press my lips in a tight line to keep from laughing.
“Come on. You’re taking forever over there. Give a girl a hint.”
“Both,” he growls, but he doesn’t shut me out with his shields—which I know he can do—so I have a little mercy on him and the meeting he’s supposed to be leading and leave him be.
Offense and defense? This afternoon should be interesting.
“You hear from Mira?” Rhiannon whispers, shooting me a quick glance.
I shake my head.
“That’s just…inhumane.”
“Did you honestly think they’d break the no-correspondence rule? Even if they tried, Mom would have shut that down with a quickness.”
Rhiannon sighs, and I don’t blame her. There’s not much more to say on the subject.
The leadership meeting breaks up, and Dain heads over with Cianna. He’s practically beaming, his hands clenching and unclenching with nervous energy.
“Which is it?” Heaton asks. “Offense or defense?”
“Both,” he says as the other squad leaders report back to their riders.
I fake surprise and glance past him, but Xaden and the section leaders are nowhere to be seen.
“First Wing has taken a defensive position in one of the practice forts in the mountains, and they’re guarding a crystal egg,” Dain tells us, and the older riders in our squad murmur with excitement.
Makes sense. It’s probably a symbolic nod to the different breeds of dragons bringing their eggs to Basgiath when Navarre unified.
“What are we missing?” Ridoc asks. “Because you guys seemed thrilled about an egg.”
“From past years, we know that eggs are worth more points,” Cianna says, grinning enthusiastically. “Flags have statistically been the lowest, and captured professors rank somewhere in the middle.”
“But they like to switch it up,” Dain adds. “The same way we could be going for a real objective on the line only to discover it’s not as valuable as we thought.”
“So how is this both offense and defense?” Rhiannon asks. “If they have the egg, then clearly we should go get the egg.”
“Because we’ve also been given a flag to defend and no outpost to do it in.” He grins. “And our squad has been assigned to carry it.”
“You gave Dain the mission to defend Fourth Wing’s flag?”
“I’m hoping he learned something from your sister’s lesson at Montserrat,” Xaden replies, but his voice is quieter, which I’m starting to learn means he’s farther away. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll have the ability to communicate this way in a few months when more distance separates us.
My chest aches at the thought that he won’t be here. He’ll be risking his life on the front lines.
“And who is going to carry this flag?” Imogen asks.
Dain somehow manages to smile even wider. “That’s going to be the fun part.”
Over the next twenty minutes, we’re drilled in strategy during the walk over to the flight field, and from the sound of it, Dain was paying attention to Mira.
The plan is simple: play to our individual strengths and pass the flag often, never giving First Wing a chance to spot who is carrying it.
When we get to the flight field, there are dozens upon dozens of dragons filling the muddy field, all positioned as though they had formation in their squads, too. It’s easy to spot Tairn, seeing as his head rises above all others.
There’s a palpable air of anticipation as we walk by the other squads, all mounting as the squad and section leaders give out last-minute orders.
“We’re going to win,” Rhiannon says with confidence, linking her arm with mine as we approach our section of the field.
“What makes you so sure?”
“We have you, Tairn, Riorson, and Sgaeyl. And obviously—me.” She grins. “There’s no way we’re losing this.”
“You are certainly—” My words die as Tairn comes into full view.
He stands tall and proud at the front of our section, not bothering to give deference to Cath as Dain’s dragon, but it’s not his position that steals my breath. It’s the saddle strapped across his back that has me gawking.
“I hear it’s all the fashion,” Tairn brags.
“That’s…” I don’t even have words. The black metal bands look to be intricately linked as they loop around each foreleg and come together at the front of his chest, forming a triangular plate before rising above his shoulders to a saddle with strapped, secure stirrups. “That’s a saddle.”
“That’s cool, that’s what that is.” Rhiannon thumps my back. “And it looks way more comfortable than Feirge’s bony spine, I’ll tell you that. See you up there.” She walks past Tairn toward her own mount.
“I can’t use that.” I shake my head. “It’s not allowed.”
“I decide what’s allowed and what’s not,” Tairn growls, lowering his head to my level and blasting me with a chuff of steam. “There is no rule that says a dragon cannot modify their seat to serve their rider. You have worked just as hard—if not harder—than every rider in this quadrant. Just because your body is built differently than the others doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to keep your seat. It takes more than a few strips of leather and a pommel to define a rider.”
“He’s right, you know,” Xaden agrees as he approaches, and I briefly wonder where he’d gone that he’s back so quickly.
“No one asked you.” My pulse jolts and my skin flushes at the sight of him. Our uniforms make every rider look good, but Xaden takes even that up a notch with the way it cuts across the muscled lines of his body.
“If you don’t use it, I’ll take personal offense.” He folds his arms across his chest and studies the rigging. “Considering I had it made for you and just about got myself burned alive in the process of trying to get it on him.” He lifts a brow at Tairn. “Even though he helped design it, I might add.”
“The first models were unacceptable, and you had the gall to pinch my chest scales when clumsily assembling it this morning.” Tairn’s golden eyes narrow on Xaden.
“How was I to know the leather from the prototype would burn so easily? And it’s not like there are a lot of manuals on fitting a saddle to a dragon,” Xaden drawls.
“It doesn’t matter because I can’t use it.” I turn to face Xaden. “It’s beautiful, a marvel of engineering…”
“And?” His jaw locks.
“And everyone here will know I can’t keep my seat without it.” Heat stings my cheeks.
“Hate to break it to you, Violence, but everyone already knows that.” He gestures to the saddle. “That right there is the most practical way for you to ride. It has straps across your thighs to buckle yourself in once you’re up, and theoretically, you should be able to change positions on long flights without unbuckling, since we built in a lap belt, too.”
“Theoretically?”
“He wasn’t amenable to me giving it a test flight.”
“You can ride me when the flesh rots off my bones, wingleader.”
Well, that’s descriptive.
“Look, there’s no rule against it. I checked. And if anything, you’ll be doing Tairn a favor by freeing all his power and taking the weight of worry off his mind. Mine too, if that helps matters.”
My fingernails bite into my palms as I search for another reason, another excuse, but there isn’t one. I might not want to appear different than every other rider on this field, but I already am.
“Fuck, that stubborn, feisty look always makes me want to kiss you.” Xaden’s expression remains bland, bored even, but his eyes heat as his gaze drops to my mouth.
“And you say this now, where people will see if you actually do.” My breath catches.
“When did I ever give you the impression that I give a fuck what people think about me?” A corner of his mouth rises, and now it’s all I can concentrate on, damn him. “I only care what they think about you.”
Because he’s a wingleader.
Nothing is worse than cadets gossiping that you’ve slept your way to safety. That’s what Mira warned at Parapet.
“Mount up, Sorrengail. We have a battle to win.”
I rip my gaze from his and study the exquisite, intricate structure of the saddle. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Xaden.”
“You’re welcome.” He turns but leans into my space, and a shiver dances down my spine when his lips brush my ear. “Consider my favor fulfilled.”
“Is that a saddle?”
I jump back from Xaden, but he doesn’t budge an inch as Dain interrupts, holding a giant yellow flag on a four-foot pole, his eyes wide as he stares at Tairn.
“No, it’s a collar,” Tairn snips, snapping his teeth together.
Dain backs up a few steps.
“Yes,” Xaden answers. “Have a problem with it?”
“No.” Dain looks at Xaden like he’s being unreasonable. “Why would I have an issue with it? I’m fine with whatever keeps Violet safe, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Good.” Xaden nods once and turns toward me. “Bet it would be even more awkward if I kissed you now, huh?”
Yes, please.
“The next time we kiss had better not be just to piss off Dain.” The next time had better only be because we want it.
“Next time, huh?” His gaze lowers to my mouth again.
And of course, now that’s all I’m thinking about, the feel of his lips on mine, the way his hands always cradle the nape of my neck, the slide of his tongue. I stop myself from leaning in. Barely. “Go lead your wing—or do whatever it is you do.”
“I’ll be stealing an egg.” His smile flashes before he turns back to Dain. “Keep our flag out of First Wing’s hands.”
Dain nods and Xaden leaves, heading across the field to where Sgaeyl waits.
“It’s a great saddle,” Dain says.
“It is,” I agree, and Dain offers me a smile before walking toward Cath.
Moving toward Tairn’s foreleg, I have to laugh as he dips his shoulder for me. “What? No ladder?”
“We thought about it and decided it would make you too vulnerable.”
“Of course you thought about—” I pause before climbing when a flash of gold gallops toward me. “Andarna?”
“I want to battle, too.” She skids to a halt directly in front of me.
My mouth opens and shuts. Andarna has been flying with us, and for short times, she can keep up with Tairn, but the way those scales shine in the sun is a beacon for…everyone.
But if I can have a saddle, then—
“Got it.” My eyes sweep the flight field, which is at the height of its muddiest since the runoff season from the snowy peaks above. “Go roll.” I point to the mud. “Unless that’s going to mess with your wings? It’s the scales on your belly I’m most worried about being easily spotted.”
“No problem!” She races off, and I mount Tairn, finding the actual saddle covering the seat at the base of his neck and the pommel scales.
“I thought you said leather was bad?” The saddle itself is sumptuous black leather, complete with two raised pommels for my hands, and when I settle in, it fits like a dream. I bend and adjust the stirrups with the buckle system on the straps.
“The leather is a hazard on my chest if we take a fire attack, since your saddle would slide right off. But if you take a direct blast up there, sitting on a piece of metal isn’t going to save you.”
I don’t bother pointing out that the only fire we’d be taking is from other dragons, which is a problem that doesn’t exist, since gryphons are all beak and claw. Instead, I find the straps for my thighs and buckle in.
“This is ingenious,” I say to Xaden.
“Let me know if it needs modifications after we win today.”
Arrogant ass.
We’re airborne moments later, Andarna keeping up and staying tucked close to Tairn just like we’ve practiced.
Our mission is to keep the flag out of enemy hands, so we skirt the perimeter of the hundred-mile battlefield that encompasses most of the central range while the other squads handle reconnaissance and retrieval.
About an hour into the afternoon, I’m wondering if this assignment is actually meant as punishment for Dain and not an honor. The twelve of us are split into two tight formations of six, seven when taking Andarna into account. Dain has the flag in his group just ahead of us, and when we reach yet another peak in the range, he splits to the right.
Tairn banks to the left, and my stomach pitches as we sweep down the side of the mountain. The wide straps dig into my thighs, holding me firmly in place, and my heart thunders as pure exhilaration hits as hard as the rush of wind against my face and goggles as we dive, and dive, and dive.
And for the first time, there’s no fear that I’ll tumble off his back. Slowly, I unclench my hands from the pommels and a heartbeat later, my hands are above my head as we plummet toward the valley below.
I’ve lived twenty years and never felt as alive as I do in this moment. Without even grounding in my Archives, power surges in my veins, crackling with a life all its own, jolting every single one of my senses to a degree that nears pain.
Tairn flares his wings, catching air and pulling out of the dive.
“You’re going to have to work on those shoulder muscles, Silver One. We’ll practice this week.”
Leaning as far as I can out of the saddle, I see Andarna clutched in Tairn’s claw as we level out in a glide along the valley floor.
“Thanks! I’ve got it now,” Andarna says, and Tairn lets her free.
Power rattles my bones, as if it’s looking for a way out, and I force myself upright. It’s different than usual…like instead of standing ready to be molded by my hands, it wants to mold me.
A moment of fear skitters along my spine. What if the backlash of power from not manifesting a signet has chosen today to finally release? I shake my head. I do not have time to worry about what might happen—not in the middle of the War Games. My power is just feeling free because I’m finally not so focused on falling out of my seat. That’s all it is.
Sitting tall in the saddle, I sweep my unsteady gaze along the landscape as Tairn begins to climb again, and my heart stutters. Up high on the western ridgeline is a gray tower that almost blends in to the cliffside. I would have missed it if not for the—
“Is that what I think it is?” Fear only feeds the uncontrollable energy prickling my skin.
Tairn’s head is already turned in that direction. “Dragons.”
I glance over my shoulder toward Liam and Rhiannon and see that Tairn must have relayed the message, because we break formation, scattering as three dragons launch from the cliff above us, diving in different directions.
We’ve given them multiple targets, but now we’ll face them one-on-one.
A hail of ice pellets strikes my skin, bouncing off Tairn’s scales, but he’s forced to tuck his wings in tight to avoid damage.
My stomach launches into my throat as we free-fall, the valley floor rising up at us at an alarming rate. Heat and energy threaten to devour every inch of my body, and even my eyes feel like they’re on fire. Oh fuck, my signet is going to backlash against me during the games.
“Ground now!” Tairn roars.
I slam my eyes shut, throwing both mental feet onto the marble floor of the Archives and throwing up the walls around me, only leaving entrances for Tairn’s torrent of power, Andarna, and access to Xaden, and I immediately feel more in control.
When I open my eyes, we’re ascending, Tairn’s wings beating with so much force that I slide back in the saddle with every push.
He’s left the ice-wielding First Wing cadet in a dive behind us, and I cringe as the dragon barely controls the descent, banking in the opposite direction we’re headed.
“That’s where they’re guarding the egg.” It has to be, considering another three dragons have taken the place of the others at the edge of the cliff, ready to launch.
“Agreed. Hold tight.” Tairn barely has a second to shout before a dragon flies out of the valley to the right and blasts a stream of fire at us.
“Tairn!” I scream, watching in horror as the flames barrel toward us.
Tairn banks, taking the blast straight to his belly, shielding me from all but the sizzling heat that blazes by.
What the actual fuck?
“Andarna?” If something happens to her because First Wing is out for blood…
“Fireproof, remember?”
I let out a shaky breath. One worry down, but the other dragon is on our heels, opening its mouth and curling its tongue.
Tairn jerks and his tail swings, catching the offending dragon in the side, just below its wing. The other dragon roars, falling sideways, losing altitude at an alarming rate.
But I don’t focus on the descent. Instead, I use the time to scan the mountainside for the outpost I spied earlier. My heartbeat quickens as I spot it peeking out from a ridge, only one remaining dragon guarding it.
“Xaden! The egg is here!” I relay.
“Already on my way. We’re twenty miles out.” The edge of panic lacing his tone puts a knot of fear in my throat, which only grows when I see Deigh and Liam locked in battle above us with a familiar Orange Scorpiontail—Baide.
Jack.
“We have to help Liam.”
“On it.” Tairn accelerates and Andarna falls away. Once I see her tuck into the mountainside where she’ll be safe, I hunker down on Tairn’s neck, giving him less wind resistance to fight as we climb faster than ever before. Wind yanks at the halo braid of my hair, the loosened strands whipping at my face as I keep my eyes locked on Deigh and Liam.
Baide snaps her tail at Deigh, the venomous bulb perilously close to Deigh’s throat.
“His scales are thicker than you think. It’s Liam who’s in danger,” Tairn warns, climbing higher.
We’re almost there when Jack unsheathes his sword and jumps from Baide’s back to Deigh’s, catching Liam by surprise as the dragons grapple close to the tower we’re approaching at breakneck speed.
There’s barely time for Liam to gain his feet before Jack thrusts the sword through his side.
“Liam!” The scream tears from my throat as Jack kicks his boot into Liam’s stomach, forcing Liam’s body off the blade…and Deigh.
No. No. No.
Liam falls, his arms flailing as he plummets ahead of us.
“Catch him!” I demand, afraid we won’t make it.
Deigh and Baide collide with the tower, and I glimpse Jack rolling to safety on the highest turret, his sadistic grin wide enough to see from here as Tairn changes course with a dramatic right roll.
Only the leather straps across my thighs keep me seated as we chase Liam’s tumbling body, Tairn’s wings tucked in tight, but the outcroppings are too close, and we’re too high.
No. My throat closes. I refuse to lose him. Not when he’s dedicated so many months of his life to keeping me alive. Failing isn’t an option. It’s just…not.
“Andarna?” I cry, already throwing open the window in my mind to where her glittering gift lies in wait.
“Do it,” she answers. “Focus on everything except you and Tairn!”
She’s right. There’s no point in me catching up to Liam if Tairn is frozen.
“Do it!”
I reach for the golden power and my back arches as it barrels down my spine, flooding through my fingers and toes, enveloping every cell in my body before blasting outward in a shock wave that passes over Tairn.
Suddenly, we’re the only ones moving, plunging through a windless sky toward Liam’s frozen body, mere feet from the rugged outcropping of rocks below.
Heartbeats, that’s all we have. My entire body trembles with the effort to hold it, the power flowing from Andarna ebbing as Tairn extends his wings and claw, snatching Liam’s body from midair and taking out the rocks with the force of his tail as we barely escape death ourselves.
“Got him.”
Time snaps back, wind blasting me in the face as we climb, turning tightly to avoid colliding with the ridgeline.
“Andarna?”
“Safe.” Her voice is barely a whisper in my head.
Wrath and fury boil my blood as my eyes lock onto the figure on top of that tower. This is the last time this asshole will come after my friends or me.
Feirge appears from below, Rhiannon’s arms outstretched as they rise beneath us. Tairn slows just enough to transfer Liam to her. He’s alive—he has to be. It’s the only outcome I’ll accept.
In my peripherals, I see Cath and other dragons arrive from the north just as another squad launches from the cliff above.
Baide is airborne behind us, racing toward her asshole of a rider, who is still gloating on the top of that fucking tower.
“Climb!” I order, unsheathing a blade at my ribs and leaving one hand free to unsnap the buckles when it’s time.
“You will not unseat yourself!” Tairn bellows at me as we surge forward, leaving the smaller orange dragon behind us. He swivels his head left, blasting a stream of fire toward the line of First Wing dragons to warn them off and succeeding as we barrel past.
A growing power sizzles in my chest as I lock my gaze on Jack. I can see the sick pleasure on his face as we fly closer, the blood that drips from his sword. Liam’s blood.
An enormous dragon appears on the horizon. I don’t need to look or even open my feelings to know it’s Xaden, but I can’t spare a moment for him. Tairn is climbing faster than we’ve ever climbed, and power is racing along my skin, scorching my blood.
If this is it, if my power is backlashing, then I’ll be damned if I don’t take that asshole with me. Tairn is fireproof—but not Jack.
“Faster!” I shout, my voice desperate with worry we won’t make it in time.
Tairn charges the tower, his wings beating faster and faster, and I instinctually throw my hands forward, as though I can project all this power lashing within me toward the enemy who just tried to kill my friend, who has done his best to kill me at every opportunity.
That sizzle of magic grows to a lethal, swirling vortex of energy, and though my feet are still firmly grounded, the power rises to a breaking point and the roof of my Archives disintegrates. Power crackles above me, swirls around me, wraps along my feet below me.
I am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been.
I am infinite.
A scream rips from my throat just as lightning splits the sky with a terrifying crack of thunder.
The bluish streak of silver death slams into the tower, and sparks flare as it explodes in a blast of stone. Tairn banks to avoid the blast, and I pivot in the saddle.
Jack falls down the mountainside in an avalanche of rock that I know he can’t survive.
From the way Baide cries beneath us, she knows it, too.
My hand trembles as I sheathe the clean dagger at my ribs. The only blood to be found is on the rocks below, though I look at my hands as though they should be covered in death.
Tairn roars with the unmistakable sound of pride.
“Lightning wielder.”
The death of a cadet is an inevitable yet acceptable tragedy. This process thins the herd, leaving only the strongest riders, and as long as the cause of death does not break the Codex, any rider involved in extinguishing another’s life shall not be punished.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
We land in the flight field what feels like minutes later. Or maybe it’s been a lifetime. I’m not sure.
The ground shakes as dragons arrive to the left and right, the field quickly filling with celebrating riders from Fourth Wing and angry ones from First. The dragons take off as soon as their riders dismount, with the exception of Andarna, who waits between Tairn’s forelegs as I fumble with the buckles.
Jack is dead.
I killed him.
I’m the reason his parents will get a letter, the reason his name will be etched into stone.
Across the field, Garrick lifts the crystal egg above his head as Dain waves the flag, and those in Fourth Wing cheer, rushing toward the pair like they’re gods.
Tairn’s weight shifts beneath me as the last buckle slips through my fingers, and I slide out of the saddle. My head swims, stress no doubt bringing on the dizzy spell that makes it hard to keep my balance as I make my way to his shoulder and dismount.
I stumble in the mud, hitting my knees when I reach where Andarna lies between Tairn’s forelegs, clearly exhausted.
“Tell me Liam is alive. Tell me it was worth it.”
“Deigh says that he lives. The sword went through his side,” Tairn says.
“Good. Good. That’s good. Thank you, Andarna. I know how much that cost you.” I look up into her golden eyes, and she blinks slowly back.
“Worth it.”
Nausea holds me in its grip, and my mouth waters. Killed him. I killed him.
“Damn, Sorrengail!” Sawyer calls out. “Lightning? You’ve been holding out on us!”
Lightning I used to take a life.
My stomach heaves and a dark shadow envelops me, but it’s not Xaden. Tairn has folded his wings over us, closing out the world while I retch up everything I’ve eaten today.
“You did what was necessary,” Tairn says, but it doesn’t stop my stomach from clenching and tightening again, trying its best to force up what’s not even there.
“You saved your friend,” Andarna adds.
Finally, my stomach settles, and I force myself to my feet, dragging the back of my hand over my mouth. “You need to get some rest, don’t you?”
“I’m proud you’re mine.” Andarna’s voice wavers, the blinks of her eyes becoming slower. “Even if I need a bath.”
Tairn draws back his wings, and Andarna walks forward, then launches into the sky with steady wingbeats toward the Vale.
I stare up at the saddle. I need to get him out of this so he can rest, too. But all I can think is that I finally have a signet, a real, true signet, and the first thing I did with it was kill a man.
“Violet?” Dain appears on my left. “That was you with the lightning strike? The one that took down the tower?”
The one that killed Jack.
I nod, thinking of all the times I aimed for the shoulder instead of the heart. The poisons I used to incapacitate, not murder. I left Oren unconscious on the ground at Threshing and didn’t even go for the throat when he invaded my room.
All because I didn’t want to be a killer.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think there’s been a lightning wielder in more than a century—” He pauses. “Violet?”
“I killed him,” I whisper, studying the central chest plate of the saddle. That has to be where everything connects, right? He has to get out of this thing somehow.
Mom will be so proud to know I’m just like the others now. Just like her. My empty belly turns over again, and I retch like my body is trying to expel the guilt.
“Shit.” He rubs his hand over my back. “It’s all right, Vi.”
It stops sooner this time, and Dain pulls me against his chest, rocking gently as his hand makes soothing motions up and down my spine.
“I killed him.” Why the hell is that all I can say? I’m a broken music box, repeating the same melody over and over, and everyone can see me. Everyone knows I can’t handle the consequences of my own signet.
“I know. I know.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “And if you don’t want to use that kind of power again, you don’t have to—”
“Get the fuck away from her with that nonsense.” Xaden pushes Dain’s chest and tugs me out of his arms, then grips my shoulders, turning me to face him. “You killed Barlowe.”
I nod.
“Lightning. Your signet is lightning, isn’t it?” He looks at me with such intensity, as though my answer is the key to whatever he needs.
“Yes.”
His jaw flexes and his head bobs once. “I thought so, but I wasn’t sure until I saw you take that tower down.”
He thought so? What the hell does that even mean?
“Listen to me, Sorrengail.” He lifts one hand to stroke loose tendrils of hair behind my ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. “The world is a better place without Barlowe in it. We both know that. Do I wish I’d been the one to end his miserable life? Absolutely. But what you did will save countless others. He was nothing more than a bully and was only going to get worse as he grew more powerful. His dragon will choose another rider when she’s ready. I’m glad he’s dead. I am glad you killed him.”
“I didn’t mean to.” It’s barely a whisper. “I was just so fucking mad, and we’d just caught Liam. I thought my relic was backlashing finally.” My eyes widen. “It was close, Xaden. It was too close. I had to do something.”
“Whatever you did is what kept him alive.” His thumb strokes over my cheek, the motion completely at odds with his tone, and his eyes flare just enough that I know he’s aware of what I did.
“I don’t want this,” I blurt. “Rhiannon can move objects through space, and Dain has retrocognition—”
“Hey,” Dain snaps.
“You think I didn’t know that already?” Xaden barks over his shoulder.
“Kaori can bring his imagination to life, and Sawyer can bend metal. Mira can extend the wards. Everyone has a signet that isn’t just useful for battle. They’re tools for good in the world. And what the hell am I, Xaden? I’m a fucking weapon.”
“You don’t have to use your power, Vi,” Dain starts, his voice soft and comforting.
“Stop. Fucking. Coddling. Her.” Xaden bites out every word at Dain. “She is not a child. She’s a full-grown woman. A rider. Start treating her like one and at least have the decency to give her the truth. You think Melgren or any other general—to include her own mother—is going to let her sit on a power like this? It’s not like she can hide it, not the way she just demolished one of the practice forts.”
“You just want her to be like you,” Dain argues. “A cold-blooded killer. Soon you’ll be telling her that it’s all right, you get used to the killing.”
I inhale a sharp breath.
Xaden nails him with a glare. “The blood in my veins is as warm as yours, Aetos, and if it’s my job you want next year, then you’d better start understanding that you never get used to killing, but you do understand that it’s necessary.” He turns back to me, his dark gaze boring into mine. “This isn’t primary school. This is war—and you heard me say it once before, but the ugly truth those not on the front lines choose to forget is there are always body bags in war.”
I start to shake my head, but his eyes narrow on mine. “You might not like it, might even loathe it, but it’s power like yours that saves lives.”
“By killing people?” I cry. If Sgaeyl is right, and signets reflect who we are at our core, then I’m exactly as Xaden nicknamed me…Violence.
“By defeating invading armies before they get the chance to hurt civilians. You want to keep Rhiannon’s nephew alive in that little border village? This is how. You want to keep Mira alive when she’s behind enemy lines? This. Is. How. You are not just a weapon, Sorrengail. You are the weapon. You train this ability, own it, and you’ll have the power to defend an entire kingdom.” He smooths back more wind-loosened tendrils of my hair behind my ears, clearing my vision so I have no excuse but to see the honesty in his eyes. When he’s sure I’m not going to argue further, he looks to his side. “Rhiannon, can you get her back to the citadel?”
“Absolutely.” Rhiannon hustles over.
Dain scoffs and walks toward the other squad leaders, leaving us.
“The saddle—” I start.
“Tairn can get it off himself. It was one of his many design stipulations.” Xaden turns to leave but pauses. “Thank you for saving Liam. He’s important to me.”
“You don’t have to thank…” I sigh at his back. “And he’s already gone.”
“You two have the weirdest relationship,” Rhiannon says, linking her arm with mine.
“We’re not in a relationship.” I look up at Tairn, who’s surprisingly held his tongue through whatever that was with Xaden and Dain.
“Go,” Tairn urges. “But do not wallow in guilt, Silver One. Whatever you feel is natural. Allow yourself to feel it but then let it go. The wingleader made a valid point. With a signet like that, you are the best hope the kingdom has against the hordes of evil that seek to harm it. Rest and I will see you tomorrow. I’ll get my own saddle off.”
“You’re most definitely in a relationship,” Rhiannon continues, tugging me off the field. “I just can’t figure out if it’s the opposites-attract partnership that has you two baring claws or the slow, lethal burn of scalding sexual tension.” She glances sideways at me. “Now tell me how the hell you two moved that fast out there.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Liam was falling, Feirge and I flew as fast as we could, but I knew we’d be too slow given our angle and speed, and I thought you…” She shakes her head. “It just looked like you were high above him one second and had him in the next. I’ve never seen a dragon fly that fast. It’s like I blinked and missed it.”
Now guilt bites into me for a whole other reason. Rhiannon is my friend, my closest one here, if I’m being honest about what Dain and I have become. Of everyone, she should know—
“Do not feel guilt that you cannot tell her. This secret belongs to dragonkind, not you,” Tairn warns. “No one has the right to risk our hatchlings. Not even you, Silver One.”
“Tairn is really fast,” I say in way of explanation. It’s not a lie, but it isn’t the full truth, either.
“And thank gods for it. Zihnal must really love Liam, cheating death twice today.”
But it wasn’t Liam who cheated death.
It was me.
And I can’t help but wonder if somewhere, on some plane of existence, Malek sits on his throne, angry that I stole a soul from his grasp.
But then again, I gave him Jack’s.
Of course, it might have broken mine forever.
…
The wooden target in my room wobbles as one of my daggers sinks into the wood beside the last one I threw. I might be angry with the world, but at least my aim isn’t off. If I miss, there’s a good chance the blade is flying out the window, considering where I have the target propped up on the wall.
I throw three more, rapid-fire, and hit the throat of the person-shaped target every single time.
What’s the point of going for shoulders anymore if I’m already taking people out with bolts of lightning? What was my restraint for? With a flick of my wrist, I send the next dagger soaring, putting it straight through the figure’s forehead just as there’s a knock at my door.
It’s either Rhiannon asking for the tenth time if I want to talk about what happened today or it’s Liam—
I pause. It can’t be Liam, checking to see if I’m actually turned in for the night, because Liam is still in the infirmary, healing from the sword he took to the side.
“Come in.” Who cares if I’m in nothing but my dressing gown? It’s not like I can’t strike an intruder dead with a knife. Or lightning.
The door opens beside me, but I don’t bother looking as I throw another dagger. That height? That hint of dark hair I catch in my peripheral vision? That incredible scent? I don’t even need to look fully—my body tells me it’s Xaden.
Then my body reminds me exactly what it feels like to have his mouth on mine, and my stomach flutters. Shit, I’m too on edge to deal with him or the way he makes me feel tonight.
“Imagining that’s me?” he asks, shutting my door and leaning back against it, folding his arms across his chest. Then he does a double-take, his heated gaze roaming over my body.
Suddenly, the spring breeze coming through the open window isn’t enough to cool my skin, not when he’s looking at me like that.
My long braid swings across my back as I take another dagger off my dresser. “No. But it was you about twenty minutes ago.”
“Who is it now?” He raises a brow, crosses one ankle over the other.
“No one you know.” With a flick of my wrist, the next blade goes through the sternum. “Why are you here?” I glance his way just long enough to note that he’s bathed and wearing our standard uniform instead of flight leathers, and definitely not long enough to note how fucking good he looks. Just once, I’d love to see him disheveled or unnerved, anything outside that calm control he wears like armor. “Let me guess. Since Liam is out of commission, it’s your duty to lecture me about sleeping in plain cotton.”
“I didn’t come to lecture you,” he says softly, and I can feel the warmth of his gaze like a caress as it rakes over the thin black straps of my dressing gown. “But I can definitely see that you’re not wearing your armor.”
“No one is going to be ridiculous enough to attack me now.” I take another dagger from the dresser, my pile dwindling. “Not when I can kill them from fifty yards away.” Tapping the end of the razor-sharp weapon, I pivot slightly, just enough to face him. “Do you think it works inside? I mean, how does someone wield lightning if there’s no sky?” Keeping my eyes locked on his, I fling the dagger at the target. The satisfying sound of split wood tells me I hit true.
“Fuck, that’s hotter than it should be.” He pulls in a deep breath. “I think that’s something you’ll have to figure out.” His gaze drops to my mouth and his arms tense.
“You’re not going to step in and say you can train me? You can save me?” I click my tongue and have the absolutely ridiculous urge to run it up the lines of the relic on his neck, tracing the intricate pattern. “How very un-Xaden of you.”
“I have no clue how to train a lightning wielder, and from what I witnessed today, you don’t need saving.” There’s pure longing in his eyes as he scans the length of my body from my bare toes to the hemline that skirts my thighs, over my breasts to my neck, finally reaching my eyes.
“Only from myself,” I mutter. The things I think about doing to him when he looks at me like that would surely ruin me, and tonight I’m not sure I care. That’s a dangerous combination. “So then why are you here, Xaden?”
“Because I can’t seem to stay away.” He sounds anything but pleased by the admission, but my breath catches anyway.
“Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating?” Everyone else is.
“We won a battle, not a war.” He pushes off the door and takes a single step, closing the distance between us, and lifts my braid from over my shoulder, slowly rubbing his thumb along the strands. “And I figured you might still be upset.”
“You told me to get over myself, remember? So why the fuck would you care if I’m upset?” I fold my arms across my chest, choosing anger over lust.
“I told you that you’d have to develop a stomach for killing. I never said you’d get over it.” He drops my braid.
“I should, though, right?” I shake my head and retreat into the center of the room. “We spend three years here learning how to become killers, promoting and praising those who do it best.”
He doesn’t even flinch, just watches me in that observant, infuriatingly calm way of his.
“I’m not mad that Jack is dead. We both know he’s wanted to kill me since Parapet, and eventually he would have. I’m mad that him dying changes me.” I tap my chest right above my heart. “Dain told me that this place strips away the niceties to reveal who someone really is.”
“Not going to argue there.” He watches me as I begin to pace.
“And I just keep thinking that when I was younger, I asked my dad what would happen if I wanted to be a rider like Mom or Brennan, and he told me that I wasn’t like them. That my path was different, except this place has peeled away my civility, my niceties, and it turns out my power is more destructive than any of theirs.” I stop right in front of him and hold up my hands. “And it’s not like I can blame this power on Tairn, not that I would. Signets are based on the rider, just fueled by the dragon, which means this has always been there under the surface, just waiting to be unleashed. And to think—” A knot forms in my throat. “All this time, I had this tiny, driving hope that I would be like Brennan, and that would be the twist in my little fable. That my signet would be mending, and I could put all the broken things back together. But instead, I’m made to split them apart. How many people will I kill with this?”
His eyes soften. “As many as you choose. Just because you gained power today doesn’t mean you lost agency.”
“What is wrong with me?” I shake my head, my hands clenching into fists. “Any other rider would be thrilled.” Even now, I feel the power simmering just beneath my skin.
“You’ve never been like any other rider.” He moves closer but doesn’t touch me. “Probably because you never wanted to be here.”
Gods, I want him to touch me, to wipe away the ugliness of the day, to make me feel something‚ anything but this welling shame.
“None of you wanted to be here.” I glance pointedly at the rebellion relic on his neck. “You’re all doing just fine.”
He looks at me, really looks, and it feels like he sees entirely too much. “Most of us would burn this place to the ground if we had the option, but every marked one wants to be here because it’s our only path for survival. It’s not the same for you. You wanted a quiet life full of books and facts. You wanted to record the battles, not be in them. There is nothing wrong with you. You get to be angry that you killed a man today. You get to be angry that man tried to kill your friend. You get to feel however you want within these walls.”
He’s close enough now that I can feel his body heat through the thin cotton of my dressing gown.
“But not outside them.” It’s not a question.
“We’re riders,” he says, as if that’s explanation enough. He takes hold of my hands and brings them to his chest. “So do whatever you need to get it out. You want to yell? Yell at me. You want to hit something? Hit me. I can take it.”
Hitting him is the last thing I want to do, and suddenly, I’m done fighting it.
“Come on,” he whispers. “Show me what you’ve got.”
I surge up on my toes and kiss him.
Though not forbidden, cadets are strongly encouraged not to develop strong romantic attachments while studying in the quadrant for the efficiency of the unit.
—Article Five, Section Seven
The Dragon Rider’s Codex
CHAPTER
THIRTY
His body goes rigid for one beat, two, and then he spins us impossibly fast, putting my back against the door, jostling the frame. Whoa. He captures my wrists in one hand and holds them prisoner above my head. “Violet,” Xaden groans against my mouth. The plea in his tone floods my veins with a whole different form of power. Knowing he’s just as affected by our attraction as I am is a rush. “This isn’t what you want.”
“It’s exactly what I want,” I counter. I want to replace the anger with lust, the death of the day with the pulse-pounding assurance of my own life, and I know he’s capable of delivering all that and more. “You said to do whatever I need.” I arch my back, pressing the tips of my breasts against his chest.
His breathing changes, and there’s a war in his eyes that I’m determined to win.
It’s time to stop dancing around this unbearable tension and break it.
He leans down, his mouth only inches from mine. “And I’m telling you that I’m the last thing you need.” The barely leashed growl of his voice rumbles up through his chest, and every nerve ending in my body flares to life.
“Are you suggesting someone else?” My heart races as I chance calling his bluff.
“Fuck no.” The unmistakable flare of jealousy narrows his eyes for a heartbeat before his hips pin mine to the door, and my instant relief at his answer is replaced by a jolt of pure lust. I can see that infamous control of his hovering on the edge, balancing precariously on the point of a knife. All he needs is one. Little. Push. And I’m about to shamelessly shove.
“Good.” I tilt my head up to his and draw his bottom lip between mine, sucking before gently nipping him with my teeth. “Because I only want you, Xaden.”
The words breach something within him, and he gives.
Finally.
Our mouths collide, and the kiss is hot and hard and completely out of our control. Need streaks down my spine as he takes my ass in his hands and hauls me against his hips, my back raking the ridges of the door behind me as I use it as leverage to push closer to his strength.
I wrap my legs around his waist and lock my ankles. My dressing gown rises with the motion, but I don’t care, not with the all-consuming way he’s kissing me. The caress of his mouth and the strokes of his wicked tongue steal every logical thought, and my world narrows to this kiss, this minute, this man. Mine. In this moment, Xaden Riorson is mine.
Or maybe I’m his. Who fucking cares as long as he keeps kissing me?
Heat floods my body in an addictive rush, setting every inch of my skin aflame as his mouth slides down my neck in a sensual assault that makes me moan.
“Gods,” he says against my throat, and then we’re moving.
Wood scrapes the floor and crashes before my ass hits the desk, and my ankles fall from the small of his back when he leans over me, spearing his fingers through my hair at the nape of my neck as he takes my mouth again. I kiss him back with a hunger I’ve only known with him.
My hands fly back to brace my weight, knocking anything and everything out of my way, sending whatever careening to the floor. The clock stops ticking.
“You’ll hate me in the morning. You. Don’t. Really. Want. This.” He punctuates each word with a kiss along my jaw, making his way to my ear. He bites the lobe, and my core liquefies, going molten.
“Stop telling me what I want.” I breathe raggedly and thread my fingers through the short strands of his hair, tilt my head, giving him better access. He takes it, working his way down my neck to where it curves into my shoulder.
Fuck, that feels good. Every touch of his mouth to my heated skin is flame to kindling, and I suck in a sharp breath when he lingers on a sensitive spot, taking his time. But then he stills again, his breath hot and wet against the side of my neck.
My brow furrows with an unwelcome thought. “Unless you don’t want me.”
“Does this feel like I don’t want you?” He takes my hand and slides it between our bodies, and my fingers curl around his length through his leathers. I whimper with pure want at the feel of how hard he is for me.
“I always fucking want you.” He groans as I squeeze. Then he lifts his head, seizes my gaze with his, and I recognize the wild need in those gold-flecked depths. It mirrors my own. “You walk into a room, and I can’t look away. I get anywhere near you, and this is what happens. Instantly hard. Fucking hell, I can barely think when you’re around.” He rocks his hips into my hand, and my grip tightens along with my stomach. “Wanting you is not the problem here.”
“Then what is?”
“I’m trying to do the honorable thing and not take advantage of you after you’ve had a shit day.” His jaw flexes.
I smile and kiss the side of his mouth. “It’s always a shit day around here. And it’s not taking advantage when I’m asking”—my teeth nip at his lips—“correction, begging you to make my day better.”
“Violet.” He says my name like a warning, as if he’s something I should be wary of. Violet. He only says my name when it’s just the two of us, when all the walls and the pretenses fall away, and gods if I don’t want to hear it again and again, just like that.
“I don’t want to think, Xaden. I just want to feel.” I release him. One tug of the ribbon is all it takes to unravel the long, loose braid of my hair, and I run my fingers through the mass.
His eyes darken, and I know I’ve won.
“Fuck me, this hair,” he says, then hovers his mouth over mine. “And this mouth. All I ever want to do is kiss you, even when you piss me off.”
“So kiss me.” I arch into him and claim his lips, kissing him like this might be the only time I’ll get the chance. This kind of desperation isn’t natural; it’s a wildfire that’s likely to burn us both to the ground if we let it.
The kiss is blatantly, deliciously carnal, and I melt against him, matching every thrust of his tongue with mine. He tastes like mint, and Xaden, and I can’t get enough.
He’s the worst kind of addiction, dangerous and impossible to sate.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his thumb skimming the hypersensitive skin of my inner thigh.
“Don’t stop.” I’ll die if he does.
“Fuck, Violet,” he groans, slipping his hand between my thighs.
Never mind. That is how I want him to say my name from now on. Just like that.
He glides the fabric of my underwear across my clit, and my back arches at the burst of pleasure that radiates through my body, so sweet I can taste it.
He captures my mouth with his again in a hungry assault, his tongue sliding against mine as his fingers stroke me through the fabric, expertly using it for friction. I try to rock my hips against his hand for more, but my feet dangle off the desk, robbing me of leverage. I can only have what he decides to give.
“Touch me,” I demand, my fingernails biting into the back of his strong neck, desire pounding through me like a drumbeat.
His voice is ragged against my mouth. “If I get my hands on you, really, honestly get my hands on you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
He would. I know it in my soul. That’s why I trust him with my body.
My heart? It isn’t playing into this decision.
“Stop being so fucking honorable and fuck me, Xaden.”
His eyes flare, and then he kisses me like I’m the air he’s been missing, like his life depends on it, and I think mine just might. His fingers slide under my underwear and stroke my slickened core, and a moan tumbles from my lips. His touch is electric.
“So damned soft.” He kisses me deeply as his fingers touch and tease, making that sweet coil of pleasure tighten in my core. I dig my nails into his shoulder, my back arching as he makes tighter and tighter circles against my swollen clit. “I bet you taste just as good as you feel.”
Pleasure shudders through me, a living, breathing fire beneath my skin.
“More.” It’s all I’m capable of saying, demanding, as my skin flushes and my pulse skyrockets. I’m going to combust, to burst into flames, and all I can do is whimper against his mouth as he slides one finger inside me. My muscles clench around him, and he works in a second.
“You’re so fucking hot.” His voice drops, sounding like it’s been scraped over coals. “It might damn us both, but I can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”
“Oh gods.” That mouth. I throw my hands back against the wall for leverage, knocking something loose as my hips roll. Something shatters on the floor to the left as I ride his thrusting fingers. He curls them against my inner walls and I gasp, my thighs locking around his leather-clad hips. And when he uses his thumb to stroke my clit, the friction and pressure push me to the edge of mindless bliss.
I cry out, and he covers the sound with his mouth, kissing with devious strokes of his tongue that match the movement of his fingers within me. Power surges, rippling through my bones, and I grab onto Xaden even harder, surprised at the unexpected rush of crackling energy.
“Look at you. You’re fucking beautiful, Violet. Let go for me.” His words curl around my mind, his mouth fused to mine, and the intimacy of it pushes me to the limit of pleasure and then right over it.
He swallows my cry as my back bows, the first wave of my orgasm washing over me, releasing that tight coil of tension in a burst of sparks at the edge of my vision, breaking me into a million scattered stars. Lightning strikes outside my window, flashing light through the room again and again as he strokes me with an expertise that kicks the first climax into a second.
“Xaden,” I moan as the pleasure ebbs and flares again.
He grins and slides his fingers from my body, and I’m nothing but ragged breaths and raw hunger as I reach for his shirt. I want it off now. He accommodates my urgency, ripping off the fabric, and then we’re kissing again, all swirling tongues and roaming hands. The feel of his skin under my fingertips is divine, impossibly soft over yards of hard muscle. I trace the lines of his back, memorizing the dips and hollows as sinew ripples with every move he makes.
“I need you now,” I gasp and reach for the buttons of his leathers.
“You know what you’re saying?” he asks as I shove the fabric—and any cloth beneath—past his hips, freeing the thick length of his cock. It’s hot and hard in my hand, and the moan that rips from his lips makes me feel invincible.
“I’m asking you to fuck me.” I arch up and kiss him.
He groans, dragging my hips to the edge of the desk, then working my underwear down my legs, leaving me bare.
My pulse skyrockets. “I take the fertility suppressant.” Of course, we both do. The last thing anyone wants are little quadrant babies running around. But it’s better said than sorry.
“Same.” He grips my hips, lifting me for a better angle, and the head of his cock rubs against my clit. I gasp and his eyes lock with mine. The hunger I see etched in every tense line of his body is my undoing. I don’t care if it damns us. I need him.
No more holding back. Not anymore.
I reach between us, guiding the head of his cock to my entrance, but this position is shit. He’s considerably taller than the desk, and if I wasn’t so desperate for him, I’d laugh, but I am. I arch, but it doesn’t help. Every second we wait feels like it stretches on for a decade.
“Fucking desk,” he swears.
My thoughts exactly.
His biceps flex as he lifts me by the backs of my thighs, and I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, my dressing gown caught between us as he pivots. Our mouths meet in a ravenous kiss as my back hits the armoire, but I barely blink, too consumed with the stroke of his tongue, the feel of him between my thighs.
“Shit. Are you all right?” he asks.
“I’m fine. You won’t break me.”
He pushes inside that first, tight inch of me, and I gasp at the fit, the stretch.
“More.” I’m too busy kissing him to speak. “I need all of you.”
“You’re going to be the death of me, Violet.” Whatever’s left of his control slips, and he takes me completely with one hard thrust.
I moan into the kiss. Deep. He’s so fucking deep that I feel him everywhere.
“Tell me you’re all right.” He’s already moving, thank gods.
“I’m perfect.” Better than perfect. Power blazes beneath my skin again, buzzing in wordless, frenzied demand.
“You feel so fucking good.” He slams back into me, again and again, as he sets a brutal, steady pace, his mouth sliding down my neck as his hand rises to cup my breast.
I can’t even think around the maddening pleasure as my back pounds the armoire door with every thrust, filling the room with the sound of our straining bodies and creaking wood. Every stroke is better than the last. My breaths stutter.
“Fuck, I’m never going to get enough of you, am I?” he says, his face buried in my neck as I arch into him.
“Shut up and fuck me, Riorson.” Tomorrow is soon enough for regrets.
Reaching up, I grasp the top edge of the armoire with one hand so I can rock back with more force, meeting the drive of his hips, taking him deeper, harder. He drags one of my nightgown’s straps off my shoulder, and the cool night air kisses the hardened peak of my nipple a heartbeat before his hot mouth covers it. The sensations spiral, spinning and coiling, forming a tight knot of pleasure so deep within me, the tension is sublimely unbearable.
The armoire door groans, then splinters off the hinges, and Xaden’s shadows whip out, protecting me as the frame snaps and wood crashes around us. My power flares, rising in answer to his, sizzling beneath my skin as I grab ahold of his shoulders, my mouth finding his.
There’s no stopping. We can’t stop.
“Fuck,” he curses as he takes me over and over, never stopping, turning us again so there’s cloth against my back. But it’s not the bed. It’s the curtains shoved to the side of the window.
Energy crackles again as our mouths meet, and still he drives on, winding that knot inside me painfully tighter with every movement.
And the power…it’s too much. It’s burning me, heating my blood with the need for release. “Xaden,” I cry out, simultaneously writhing yet holding on to him like he’s the only thing anchoring me to the earth.
“I’ve got you, Violet,” he promises, his breath ragged pants against my lips. “Let it out.”
Lightning whips through me, flashing so bright that my eyes slam shut. Heat flares above me as thunder cracks immediately.
And I smell smoke.
“Shit.” Xaden’s power fills the room, eclipsing what light we had, and the curtain falls, but we’re moving before the charred fabric can so much as touch my skin.
That knot of pleasure builds to a breaking point as he takes me to the floor, and finally, I have all of his weight as he drives into me. Shadows fall away and the sight of him above me, his dark gaze locked on mine in intense concentration, is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
“So. Very. Beautiful.” I punctate each word with a kiss.
He draws back, his eyes searching mine for a heartbeat or two before he devastates me with another kiss that has me straining for more, rocking my hips against his.
This man kisses with his whole body, rolling his hips in time with the thrust of his tongue, bracing just enough of his weight so I can breathe while stroking his chest over my hypersensitive nipples. He keeps me on the same edge he’s riding, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it before I set this entire room on fire.
“I need…I need…” My frantic eyes search his. Where are my words?
“I know.” He claims my mouth again and reaches between us, using those talented fingers to stroke me into another orgasm, and light flashes again, followed by thunder and darkness as I come apart under him.
Pleasure takes me in waves, rolling through me again and again until all I can do is clutch Xaden’s shoulders and ride it out in blissful surrender.
“Beautiful,” he whispers.
The second I come down, his rhythm breaks, and he presses my knee up toward my chest and takes me even deeper. I rock my hips up to meet his, sweat beading on our skin as I watch him unravel with rapt fascination. I love his loss of control just as much as I fear my own, and when I swirl my hips, he groans, arching his neck as he thrusts once. Twice.
On the third, he shouts, then shudders within me, and his power lashes out in streaks of shadows, the force splitting the wooden target on the other side of the window.
Pieces fly and Xaden throws out another wave of darkness that lasts just long enough to shield us from the debris. Then the shadows retreat and daggers clatter to the ground behind me.
He looks as shocked, and as enthralled, as I feel as we lay there, staring at each other, our chests heaving in the aftermath of what can only be described as complete and utter madness.
“I’ve never lost control like that,” he says, bracing his weight on one arm and brushing my hair back from my face with the other. The move is so gentle, so at odds with what we’ve just experienced, that I can’t help but blink, then smile.
“Me neither.” The smile morphs into a full-out grin. “Not that I’ve ever had power to lose control of before.”
He laughs and rolls us to his side, keeping me close and cushioning my head with his biceps.
I sniff at the smoke in the air. “Did I…”
“Set the curtains on fire?” He lifts a brow. “Yes.”
“Oh.” I can’t find it in me to be embarrassed, so I brush the backs of my fingers across the stubble along his jaw. “And you put it out.”
“Yes. Right before I destroyed your throwing target.” He grimaces. “I’ll get you a new one.”
I glance over at the armoire. “And we…”
“Yep.” He lifts his brows. “And I’m pretty sure you need a new chair, too.”
“That was…” I didn’t even get the man’s pants entirely off, and my dressing gown is haphazardly hanging from one shoulder.
“Frighteningly perfect.” He cups the side of my face. “We should get you cleaned up and to sleep. We can worry about…your room tomorrow. Ironically, your bed is the only thing we didn’t wreck.”
I sit up to confirm that the bed made it, and Xaden does the same next to me, leaning forward. Immediately, I lose interest in everything but the muscled lines of his back and the navy-blue relic Sgaeyl transferred to him.
I reach out and trace the dragon relic on his back, my fingers lingering on the raised silver scars, and he stiffens. They’re all short, thin lines, too precise to be a whip, no rhyme or reason to their pattern but never intersecting. “What happened?” I whisper, holding my breath.
“You really don’t want to know.” He’s tense but doesn’t move away from my touch.
“I do.” They don’t look accidental. Someone hurt him deliberately, maliciously, and it makes me want to hunt the person down and do the same to them.
His jaw flexes as he looks over his shoulder, and his eyes meet mine. I bite my lip, knowing this moment can go either way. He can shut me out like always or he can actually let me in.
“There’s a lot of them,” I murmur, dragging my fingers down his spine.
“A hundred and seven.” He looks away.
That number makes my stomach lurch, and then my hand pauses. A hundred and seven. That’s the number Liam mentioned. “That’s how many kids under the age of majority carry the rebellion relic.”
“Yeah.”
I shift so I can see his face. “What happened, Xaden?”
He brushes my hair back, and the look that passes over his face is so close to tender that it makes my heart stutter. “I saw the opportunity to make a deal,” he says softly. “And I took it.”
“What kind of deal leaves you with scars like that?”
Conflict rages in his eyes, but then he sighs. “The kind where I take personal responsibility for the loyalty of the hundred and seven kids the rebellion’s leaders left behind, and in return, we’re allowed to fight for our lives in the Riders Quadrant instead of being put to death like our parents.” He averts his gaze. “I chose the chance of death over the certainty.”
The cruelty of the offer and the sacrifice he made to save the others hits like a physical blow. I cradle his cheek and guide his face back to mine. “So if any of them betray Navarre…” I lift my brows.
“Then my life is forfeit. The scars are a reminder.”
It’s why Liam says he owes him everything. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Especially when he wasn’t the one who led the rebellion.
He looks at me like he sees into the very depths of who I am. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
I grab his hand as he moves to stand. “Stay.”
“I shouldn’t.” Two lines appear between his brows as he searches my eyes. “People will talk.”
“When did I ever give you the impression that I give a fuck what people think?” I use his earlier words against him and sit up, curling my hand around the section of his neck that bears his relic. “Stay with me, Xaden. Don’t make me beg.”
“We both know this is a bad idea.”
“Then it’s our bad idea.”
His shoulders dip, and I know I’ve won. He’s mine for the night. We take turns sneaking out long enough to clean up, and then he slides into bed behind me. “Only within these walls,” he says quietly, and I understand what he means.
“Only within these walls,” I agree. It’s not like we’re in a relationship or anything. That would be…disastrous given the chain of command. “We’re riders, after all.”
“I just don’t trust my temper if anyone says—”
I brush a kiss over his mouth, silencing him. “I know what you’re saying. It’s…sweet.”
He nips at my skin. “I’m not sweet. Please don’t mistake any part of me for soft or kind. That will only get you hurt, and whatever you do…” He buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. “Don’t fall for me.”
I stroke my hand over his marked arm and pray that’s not exactly what I’m doing. This overwhelming juxtaposition of longing and satisfaction in my chest has to be the aftereffects of coming not once but three times, right? It can’t be more.
“Violence?”
I look out my window at the infinite black sky and change the topic, my eyelids growing heavier by the second. “Why did you guess I could wield lightning?”
He stretches just enough to tuck my head under his chin. “I thought you did it the first night Tairn channeled power to you, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t say anything.”
“Really?” I blink, thinking back, but my brain is full of a pleasant, dull hum as sleep fights to pull me under. “When?” My eyes drift shut.
His arms tighten around me as he tucks me closer, the backs of my thighs pressed tight against his pants as I start to drift off.
“The first time you kissed me.”
…
When I wake, Xaden is gone, but that’s not exactly a surprise. Him staying the night to begin with? Now that was the shocker.
Finding a jar on my nightstand with a handful of spring violets? My heart swells. I’m in so much fucking trouble.
He even moved all the debris to a pile in the corner, which means he must have used his shadows while I was sleeping because I didn’t hear a thing.
I’m still exhausted, but I dress and pin my hair up quickly, noting the sun has already risen. With Liam in the infirmary, I’ll be solo for my Archives trip today, but I might be able to sneak in to see him on the way back.
I’m lacing my boots when there’s a knock at my door.
“You have to be kidding,” I say loudly enough for the knocker to hear. “Just because Liam is healing doesn’t mean I need another”—I wrench the door open and stumble over the last word—“bodyguard.”
Professor Carr stands in my hallway, his hair standing on end as he looks at me with scientific appraisal, then lifts his eyebrows as he stares past me into the wreckage of my room. “We have work to do.”
“I have Archives duty,” I argue.
He snorts. “You’re off Archives duty until we can be sure you’re not going to burn the place down. Lightning and paper don’t mix well. Trust me, Sorrengail, the scribes aren’t going to want you anywhere near their precious books, and from the looks of it, you can’t even control your powers in your sleep.”
I try to ignore the sting of his words, since he’s far off, but end up following him down the hall when he leaves. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you won’t start a forest fire,” he says without looking back.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the flight field, and to my surprise, Tairn is saddled.
“How the hell did you do that?”
He chuffs in indignation. “As if I’d let them design something I couldn’t figure out how to get on myself. Remember where you get your power from, Silver One.”
“How’s Andarna?” I ask as Professor Carr thrusts a satchel into my hands. “What is this for?”
“Sleeping, but she’s fine,” Tairn promises.
“Breakfast,” Carr answers. “With all the wielding you’re about to do, you’re going to need it.” He climbs onto his Orange Daggertail and, after I mount Tairn and strap in, we’re airborne.
The bite of spring wind stings my cheeks as we fly deep into the mountain range, and I’m thankful I dressed in flight leathers this morning, thinking I’d have a session before lunch.
We land almost a half hour later, high above the tree line.
I shiver and rub my arms to fight off the low temperatures that come with high altitude.
“Don’t worry. You won’t be cold for long,” Carr assures, dismounting and pulling a small tome from his pocket. “According to what I read last night, this particular ability has the power to overheat your system, hence—” He gestures around us.
“Plus, there’s not much to burn up here, is there?” And no witnesses if he decides to break my neck, either. I glance at him quickly before looking away, undoing the buckles of my saddle, then sliding down Tairn’s foreleg. “Don’t leave me.”
“Never. I’ll burn him alive before he takes a single step toward you.”
“Exactly.” He studies me carefully, and I avoid meeting his eyes as I check the wrap on my knee to make sure it hasn’t slipped under my leathers. “It’s always intriguing to me how nature finds the balance.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Professor.”
“This kind of power found in one so…” He sighs. “Would you not call yourself fragile?”
“I am who I am.” I bristle. I’ve never given this particular professor any reason to think of me as different.
“It’s not an insult, cadet.” He shrugs, looking at the saddle. “It’s a balance. In the course of my duties, I’ve found a correlation of sorts that keeps a system of checks on power. Yours seems to be your body.”
A growl rumbles in Tairn’s chest as he edges Carr’s smaller dragon out of his space.
“Your dragon doesn’t trust me,” Carr states, like it’s an academic problem to be solved. “And considering he’s the most powerful of them in the quadrant at the moment—”
“But not the Continent,” Tairn admits.
“—that means you don’t trust me, either, Cadet Sorrengail.” He holds my gaze, and the mountaintop wind makes his white hair dance like feathers. “Why is that?”
“No point lying.”
“Other than you calling me frail?” I stay at the base of Tairn’s foreleg, ready to mount if necessary. “I was there the day you killed Jeremiah. His signet manifested, and you snapped his neck like a twig in front of all of us.”
Carr tilts his head in thought. “Yes, well, he was in a considerable amount of panic, and it’s widely known that inntinnsics aren’t allowed to live. I ended his suffering before he could see the end coming.”
“I’ll never understand why mind-reading is a death sentence.” I place my hand on Tairn’s leg like I can absorb his strength, even though I already feel it flowing through me.
“Because knowledge is power. As a general’s daughter, you should know that. We can’t have someone walking around with unfettered access to classified material. They’re a security risk to the entire kingdom.”
And yet Dain is living.
“Because Aetos will be useful to them as long as they can keep him under their control.” Tairn blasts a puff of steam over my head, and the Orange Daggertail backs up even more. “His power is also limited to touch, so more controllable.”
“Now, you don’t have to trust me, and you can even wield from your seat on your dragon if you like, but I hope you believe me when I tell you that I have no plans on killing you, Cadet Sorrengail. Losing an asset like you would be a tragedy for the war effort.”
An asset.
“And the fact that you bonded Tairn makes you and Riorson the most coveted pair of riders this kingdom has seen in far too long. If I could offer a piece of advice?” His eyes narrow.
“Please do.” At least he’s brutally honest, so I know where I stand with him.
“Keep your loyalties clear. You and Riorson both have exceptional, lethal power that any rider would be envious of. But together?” His bushy brows furrow. “You would be a formidable enemy who command could simply not afford to let exist. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His voice softens.
“Navarre is my home, Professor. I will give my life to defend it just like every Sorrengail who has ridden before me.”
“Excellent.” He nods. “Now let’s get to work. The sooner you can contain the lightning, the sooner we can both stop freezing our asses off.”
“Good point.” I look out over the range. “You just want me to…” I gesture to the mountains around us.
“Preferably anywhere but right here, yes.”
I stare out at the mountains in the distance. “I’m not really sure what I did to call it before. It was an…emotional reaction.” And what happened last night definitely isn’t up for discussion.
“Interesting.” He jots something down in his notebook with a piece of charcoal. “You’ve wielded lightning besides yesterday’s display during the War Games?”
I debate keeping my answer to myself, but my silence isn’t going to help. “A few times.”
“And both times were the result of emotional reactions?”
Tairn snorts, and I smack his foreleg with the back of my hand. “Yes.”
“Well, then start there. Ground in your power and try to feel whatever it was you were feeling.” He goes back to his notebook.
“Should I get the wingleader?” Tairn flat-out laughs in my head.
“Shut up.” I ground both feet in my Archives and power flows around me, through me. Andarna’s golden light is there, too, but it’s softened from having been drained yesterday, and high above me swirl the inky-black shadows I know represent the connection to Xaden.
“Problems?” Xaden asks, as if he feels my inquiry. “And what are you doing so far away?”
“Training with Carr.” My cheeks heat at the sound of his low voice. “And how do you know how far away I am anyway?”
“Get stronger in wielding, and you’ll be able to do it, too. There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, Violence.” The promise should be a threat, but it’s not. It’s too damned comforting for that.
“Right now, I’d settle for wielding some lightning. Carr is staring at me, and it’s about to get really fucking awkward if I can’t figure out how—”
Images of…me flood my mind. It’s last night, except I’m somehow seeing it through Xaden’s eyes, feeling the unmistakable burn of insatiable desire. My control slips—no, it’s Xaden’s control slipping as I moan beneath him, my hips riding his hand, my nails biting into his skin with a pain that borders on pleasure as I writhe. Gods, I need—no—he needs me. His hunger walks the line of starvation to know my touch, my taste, the feel of—
Power floods my entire system, crackling along my skin, and light flashes behind my closed eyes.
The images stop, and my feelings are once again my own.
And fuck if I’m not so turned on that I have to shift my weight to ease the ache between my thighs.
“Good job!” Professor Carr nods, jotting something down.
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
“You’re welcome.”
My cheeks are flaming hot as I lift the backs of my hands to my skin.
“See, I told you.” Carr lifts the notebook. “The last lightning wielder said it made them overheat. Now do it again.”
Tairn chortles.
“Not a single fucking word out of you,” I warn.
This time, I focus on the feeling of the power rush and not what got it there, opening every sense and letting white-hot energy course through me, gathering to a breaking point. Then I release it, and lightning strikes more than a mile away. Well, look at that. I am a certified badass.
“Maybe you could work at aiming it this time?” Professor Carr peers over his notebook. “Just remember not to exhaust the physical strength with which you control the power. No one wants to see you burn out. A power like Tairn’s will eat you alive if you can’t contain it.”
Lightning strikes five more times before I’m exhausted, and none of it hits where I was aiming.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
July first, the anniversary of the Battle of Aretia, is hereby proclaimed Reunification Day and will be celebrated throughout Navarre on this date every year to honor the lives lost during the war to save our kingdom from separatists and those saved by the Treaty of Aretia.
—Royal Proclamation of King Tauri the Wise
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
There’s a knock at my door as I take an armful of clothes from the skeletal remains of what used to be my armoire.
“Come in,” I call out, dumping them on the bed.
The door opens and Xaden walks in, his hair windblown like he’s just come from the flight field, and my pulse jumps.
“I just wanted—” he starts, then pauses, surveying the wreckage of my room from last night. “Somehow I’d convinced myself today that we hadn’t done that much damage, but…”
“Yeah, it’s…”
He looks at me, and we both crack a smile.
“Look, this doesn’t have to be awkward or anything.” I shrug, trying to ease the tension. “We’re both adults.”
His scarred brow rises. “Good, because I wasn’t going to make it that way. But the least I can do is help you clean up.” His attention shifts to the armoire, and he winces. “I swear it didn’t look quite that ruined in the darkness when I left this morning. Turns out you set more than a few trees on fire last night, too. Took two water wielders to get them out.”
My cheeks heat. “You took off early.” I try to make my tone as nonchalant as possible as I walk toward my desk—which miraculously survived—and bend down to gather a few of my books we’d knocked to the floor.
“I had a leadership meeting and needed to get an early start.” His arm brushes against mine as he leans down and picks up my favorite book of fables, the one Mira slipped into my rucksack once we’d gotten back to Montserrat that night.
“Oh.” My chest lightens. “That makes perfect sense.” I stand, putting my texts on the desk. “So it wasn’t because I snore or anything.”
“No.” A corner of his mouth rises. “How did training with Carr go?”
Nice subject change.
“I can wield, but I can’t aim, and it’s completely exhausting.” My mouth purses, thinking back to the first strike I wielded. “You know, you were kind of an asshole on the flight field yesterday.”
His grip tightens on the book. “Yes. I told you what I thought you needed to hear to get through the moment. I know you don’t like other people to see you vulnerable, and you…”
“Were vulnerable,” I finish.
He nods. “If it makes you feel better, I couldn’t keep anything down after the first time I killed anyone, either. I don’t think less of you for having a reaction like that. Just means you still have your humanity.”
“So do you,” I say, gently taking the book from him.
“That’s debatable.”
Says the man who has one hundred and seven scars on his back. “It’s not. Not to me.”
He looks away, and I know he’s going to have his defenses up any second now.
“Tell me something real,” I say, desperate to keep him with me.
“Like what?” he asks, just like he did before when we were flying, when he left me sitting on that mountain when I had the nerve to ask about his scars.
“Like…” My mind races, looking for something to ask. “Like where you went the night I found you in the courtyard.”
His brow furrows. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that. Third-years get sent away all the time.”
“You had Bodhi with you. It was right before the Gauntlet.” I nervously run my tongue over my lower lip.
“Oh.” He picks up another book and sets it on the desk, clearly stalling while he decides whether or not he’ll open up to me.
“I would never tell anyone anything you tell me,” I promise. “I hope you know that.”
“I know. You never told a soul about what you saw under the tree last fall.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Athebyne. You can’t know why or ask anything else, but that’s where we were.”
“Oh.” That definitely wasn’t what I expected, but not out of the ordinary for cadets to run something to an outpost. “Thank you for telling me.” I move to put the book back and see that the binding is definitely worse for wear after we knocked the antique tome off the desk last night. “Damn.” I open the back cover and see that it’s split at the binding.
Something is peeking out.
“What is that?” Xaden asks, looking over my shoulder.
“Not sure.” Balancing the heavy book with one hand, I tug what looks to be a stiff piece of parchment free from where it’s been tucked behind the binding. Gravity shifts as I recognize my father’s handwriting, and it’s dated just a few months before his death.
My Violet,
By the time you find this, you’ll most likely be in the Scribe Quadrant. Remember that folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach us about our past. If we lose it, we lose the links to our past. It only takes one desperate generation to change history—even erase it.
I know you’ll make the right choice when the time comes. You have always been the best of both your mother and me.
Love,
Dad
My brow furrows, and I pass the letter to Xaden, flipping through the book. The tales are all familiar, and I can still hear my father’s voice reading every word, as if I were still a child curled on his lap after a long day.
“That’s cryptic,” Xaden remarks.
“He got a little…cryptic in the years after Brennan died,” I admit softly. “Losing my brother made my father even more reclusive. I only really got to spend time with him because I was always in the Archives, studying to be a scribe.”
The pages flutter as I flip through stories of an ancient kingdom that spanned from ocean to ocean and a Great War among three brothers who fought to control the magic in this mystical land. Some of the fables tell stories of the first riders who learned to bond with dragons and how those bonds could turn on the rider if they tried to consume too much power. Others talk of a great evil that spread across the land as man became corrupted by dark magic and turned into creatures known as venin who created flocks of winged creatures called wyvern and scourged the land of all magic in the thirst for more power. Another talks about the dangers of wielding power from the ground instead of the skies, as one could easily start drawing magic from the earth and eventually be driven mad.
One of the purposes of the fables is to teach children about the dangers of too much power. No one wants to become a venin; they’re the monsters that hide beneath our beds when we have nightmares. And we certainly never want to try to control magic without a dragon to ground us. But that’s all they are, children’s bedtime stories. So why did my dad leave me this cryptic note—and hide it inside the book?
“What do you think he was trying to tell you?” Xaden asks.
“I don’t know. Every fable in this book is about how too much power corrupts, so maybe he felt someone in leadership was corrupt.” I glance up at Xaden and joke, “I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if General Melgren ripped a mask off one day and revealed he was a terrifying venin. That man has always given me the creeps.”
Xaden chuckles. “Well, let’s hope not that. My dad used to say venin were biding their time in the Barrens and one day were coming to get us—if we didn’t eat our vegetables.” He glances out the window to his left, and I know he’s remembering his father. “He said one day there would be no magic left in the kingdom if we weren’t careful.”
“I’m sorry—” I start, but when he tenses, I decide a subject change is what he really needs. “So, which mess should we tackle first?”
“I have a better idea of how to spend our night,” he says as he puts another pile of clothes on my bed.
“Oh?” I glance over and catch his eyes darkening as he stares at my mouth. My pulse immediately quickens, the thought of touching him sending a burst of energy through me.
Don’t fall for me…
His words from last night cut a sharp contrast to the way he’s looking at me now.
I take a step backward. “You said not to fall for you. Did you change your mind?”
“Absolutely not.” His jaw tenses.
“Right.” I don’t expect that to hurt as much as it does, which is part of the problem. I’m already too emotionally involved to separate out the sex, no matter how phenomenal it is. “Here’s the thing. I don’t think I can separate sex from emotion when it comes to you.” Well, shit, now I’ve said it. “We’re already too close for that, and if we hook up again, I’m going to eventually fall for you.” My heart pounds at the rushed confession, waiting for his response.
“You won’t.” Something akin to panic flares in his eyes, and he crosses his arms. I swear I can actually see the man building his defenses against his own feelings. “You don’t really know me. Not at my core.”
And whose fault is that?
“I know enough,” I argue softly. “And we’d have all the time in the world to figure it out if you’d stop acting like such an emotional chickenshit and just admit that you’re going to fall for me, too, if we keep this up.” There’s no way he would have designed that saddle, spent all that time training me to fight and fly, if he didn’t feel something. He’s going to have to fight for this, too, or it will never work.
“I have absolutely no intention of falling for you, Sorrengail.” His eyes narrow and he enunciates every word, like I could possibly take that any other way.
Fuck. That. He let me in. He told me about his scars. He had an arsenal crafted for me. He cares. He’s just as wrapped up in this as I am, even if he’s shitty at showing it.
“Ouch.” I wince. “Well, it’s apparent that you’re not ready to admit where this is going. So yeah, I think it’s best we agree that this was just a onetime thing.” I force my shoulders to shrug. “We both needed to blow off some steam, and we did, right?”
“Right,” he agrees, apprehension lining his forehead.
“So the next time I see you, I’ll just act as cool as you are right now and pretend that I’m not remembering what it feels like to have you sliding inside me.” Warm and hard. He really does have an incredible body, but he doesn’t get to dictate what I do with my heart.
He stalks forward with a smirk, his gaze warming every inch of my body. “And I’ll just pretend that I’m not remembering the feel of your soft thighs around my hips or those breathy little sounds you make right before you come.” His teeth rake over his lower lip, and it takes all my willpower not to suck that lip into my mouth.
“And I’ll ignore the memory of your hands biting into my hips, pinning me to the armoire so you could take me deeper, and your mouth on my throat. Easy.” My lips part as I retreat, my heart jumping in the best way when he follows, backing me against the wall.
His hand rests next to my head as he leans into my space, his lips curving into a half smile. “Then I guess I’ll ignore the memory of how hot and slick you feel around my cock, and how you cry out for more until all I can think about is how to push every physical limit to be exactly what you need.”
Shit. He’s better at this game than I am. Heat flushes my skin. I want him closer. I want exactly what I had last night. But I want more. His breath hits my lips in ragged pants, and I’m in no better condition.
Fuck it. I can have him, right? I can take exactly what he’s offering and enjoy every single minute. We can shred every piece of furniture in this room and then move to his. But where will that leave us in the morning?
Right here, both wanting and only one of us brave enough to take, and I deserve more than a relationship that’s only on his terms.
“You want me.” I put my hand on his chest and feel his heart pounding. “And I know that scares you even though I want you just as badly.”
He stiffens.
“But here’s the thing.” I hold his gaze, knowing he could bolt at any second. “You don’t get to dictate how I feel. You might give the orders out there, but not in here. You don’t get to tell me we can fuck but I can’t fall for you. That’s not fair. You can only respect what I choose to do. So we’re not doing this again until I want to risk my heart. And if I fall, then that’s my problem, not yours. You’re not responsible for my choices.”
His jaw clenches once. Twice. And then he pushes off the wall, giving me space. “I think that’s for the best. I’m graduating soon, and who knows where I’ll end up. Besides, you and I are chained together because of Sgaeyl and Tairn, which complicates…everything.” He retreats one step at a time, the distance more than just physical. “Besides, with all that pretending, I’m sure we’ll eventually forget last night ever happened.”
The way we’re looking at each other tells me neither of us is ever going to forget. And he can avoid it all he wants, but we’re going to end up right here time and again until he’s willing to recognize what this is. Because if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that I’m going to fall for this man—if I haven’t already—and he’s halfway there, too, whether he realizes it or not.
Turning my back on him, I walk to the shattered halves of my throwing target and pick them up before heading back across my room. “I never figured you for a liar, Xaden.” I shove the halves at his chest. “You can get me a new one when you’re ready to come to your senses. Then we’ll blow off some steam.” I throw the aggravating man out.
…
“Did you hear that King Tauri is celebrating Reunification Day here?” Sawyer asks as he swings his leg over the bench beside me at lunch.
“Really?” I attack my roasted chicken with zeal. Since I’ve been training every day with Carr, my appetite somewhat resembles a bottomless pit. At least he only drags me to that mountaintop for an hour a day, but still, by the time breakfast comes, I’m ravenous.
After a month, I still can’t aim lightning for shit. But I’m up to about twenty strikes an hour, so that’s an improvement. Glancing down the tables, I catch Xaden’s eye as he eats with the leadership on the dais.
He looks scrumptious this morning. Even the broody little cloud that follows him everywhere has a certain appeal as he rolls his eyes at something Garrick says.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I arch an eyebrow.
His gaze flashes to mine. “Like you’re thinking about the sparring gym last night.”
“Well, duh,” Rhiannon says across from me. “That’s why Devera has about five hundred black dress uniforms in commons right now. Where the king travels, so does the party.”
“Well, now that you mention it.” My tongue flicks over my lower lip, remembering how his hips pinned mine to the mat after everyone had left for the night. How close we both came to giving in to the pulsing need between us.
His jaw flexes, and his grip tightens on his fork. “Seriously. I can’t think when you look at me like that.”
“Really? I figured those were for graduation?” Ridoc questions.
Imogen scoffs. “Like anyone dresses up for graduation. It’s basically a giant formation where Panchek says, Look, you lived. Good job. Come get your assignments and then pack your shit and leave.”
Everyone laughs at her spot-on imitation.
“You’re the one with the ridiculous rule about not falling for each other,” I remind him.
“You’re still looking.” He forces his attention back to his plate.
“You make it hard to look away.” I miss his mouth on my skin, the feel of his body pressed against mine. I miss the look on his face when he watched me come undone. But I miss the feeling of him curled around me in sleep more.
“I’m over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, and you’re fucking me with your eyes. That’s not playing fair.”
I drop my fork and everyone at the table turns to stare.
“You all right over there?” Rhiannon asks, her eyebrows rising.
“Yep.” I nod, ignoring the flush of heat creeping up my neck. “I’m great.”
Liam sets his glass down and glances between Xaden and me, shaking his head as he fights a smile. Of course he knows what’s going on. He’d have to be completely oblivious not to, considering he helped Xaden and Garrick move in the new armoire.
“Told you to stop staring.” There’s laughter in his voice, but his face is as expressionless as ever.
I tap my fork on my plate in pure frustration. You know what? Fuck this. Two can play at this game. “If you’d just man up and admit there’s something between us, I would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me. And once I had you begging, I’d drop down to my knees, undo those flight leathers you’re wearing, and wrap my lips around—”
Xaden chokes.
Every head in the dining hall turns his way, and Garrick pounds on his back until Xaden waves him off, taking a drink of his water.
I grin, which earns me about six looks of confusion from our table and one set of rolled eyes from Liam.
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
…
We’re only ten days away from graduation, and I’m counting every single one of them. That’s when we’ll find out how far Xaden is being sent from Basgiath. Most brand-new lieutenants are given midland posts, manning the forts along the roads that lead to the border outposts, but someone with Xaden’s power? I don’t even want to think about how far he’ll be.
Or why he still hasn’t admitted there’s something between us. Or even hinted that at least he didn’t regret that one night. I’d take that.
Don’t fall for me…
I feel a familiar prickle along my scalp, and I know Xaden has filed into the Battle Brief room with the rest of the remaining cadets and leadership.
Professor Devera jumps right into today’s brief, but I find it difficult to pay attention.
Today marks six years since Brennan was killed. He’d be a captain by now, or maybe even a major, given the way his career had taken off. Maybe he’d be married. Maybe I’d be an aunt. Maybe our father’s heart wouldn’t have given out that first time from the strain of losing him or that final time that spring two years ago.
“Take me to bed,” I mentally blurt out, then sink down in my seat a little. I don’t regret it, though. Today of all days, I need a distraction.
“It might be awkward in front of all these people.”
I can’t see him from where I know he’s sitting at the top of the Battle Brief room, but his words feel like a caress on the back of my neck. “Might be worth it.”
“And what would you have done differently?” Devera asks, scanning the crowd.
“I would have asked for reinforcements if I’d known the wards were weakening in the area,” Rhiannon answers.
“I haven’t changed my mind, Violence. There’s no future for us.”
“And when no reinforcements are available?” Devera asks, arching a brow. “You have noticed that the graduating classes from the Riders Quadrant are diminishing every year, while the uptick in attacks has cost us another seven riders and their dragons this year, haven’t you? It takes at least a full company of infantry to make up for the loss of one rider.”
“Graduation is ten days away.” The approaching deadline has me on edge.
“I would have temporarily pulled riders from the midland posts to help rebuild the wards,” Rhiannon answers.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Excellent.” Devera nods.
“Are you seriously going to leave Basgiath without—” Without what? Declaring his undying…lust?
“Yes.”
Of course he would. Xaden is a master of containing his emotions, which is probably why he’s so fixed on containing mine, too. Or is there some other reason he’s holding himself back that I’m not considering? The sex was great. Our chemistry? Explosive. We’re even…friends, though the constant ache in my chest tells me it’s gone far beyond that. If he could just be an asshole, then I’d write that night off as just sex—ridiculously mind-blowing sex—and move on. But he’s not being an ass…not usually at least, and now I understand why he takes his job so seriously. He shoulders the responsibility for every marked one in here.
“Whatever you’re thinking can wait until there’s not a room of people between us,” he says.
“What else do you have for me?” Devera continues, calling on a second-year.
It’s been a month and a half since we destroyed my room—and we’ve managed to keep our hands off each other, even though one night wasn’t enough to satisfy either of us, if the tension-filled evenings on the sparring mats are any indication. Of course, we both know anything more would only further complicate an already overly complicated situation.
But surely he’s not relieving this sexual tension that stretches taut between us—with someone else. Surely. The insidious thought spreads with a sickening quickness.
I stop listening as my stomach twists at an all-too-real possibility. “Is there someone else?”
“I’m not having this discussion with you right now. Pay attention.”
It takes everything I have not to turn around and yell at him. If I’ve spent every night tossing and turning in my sheets alone while he—
“That’s a good idea, too, Aetos.” Devera smiles. “A very wingleader answer, if I might say so.”
Oh gods, Dain’s ego is going to be unbearable today during sparring if Devera keeps complimenting him.
Sparring… I clasp my pen a little too hard as I remember the way Imogen looked at Xaden that night. Shit. That would make sense. She carries a rebellion relic, and definitely isn’t the daughter of the woman who killed his father, so she has that going for her, too. “Is it Imogen?”
I’m going to be sick.
“For fuck’s sake, Violence.”
“Is it? I know we said we weren’t going there again, but—” I’m kicking myself for telling him I wanted more now, and for the fact that I should be paying attention instead of fighting with Xaden. “At least tell me.”
“Sorrengail,” Xaden snaps.
I freeze, feeling the weight of every gaze on me.
“Yes, Riorson?” Devera prompts.
He clears his throat. “If reinforcements were unavailable, I would have asked for Mira Sorrengail to temporarily transfer. The wards are strong at Montserrat, and with her signet, she could reinforce the weaknesses until other riders could arrive to strengthen those wards.”
“Good idea.” Devera nods. “And what riders are the most logical choice to help rebuild the wards in this particular mountain pass?”
“Third-years,” I answer.
“Go on.” Devera tilts her head at me.
“Third-years are taught to build wards, and at this point in the year, they’re leaving anyway.” I shrug. “May as well send them early so they can be of use.”
“Point fucking made.”
I slam my shield down and block him out.
“That’s a logical choice,” Devera says. “And that’s all we have for today. Don’t forget that you should be preparing for the last exercise of War Games before graduation. Also we expect each and every one of you in the courtyard in front of Basgiath tonight at nine for fireworks to celebrate Reunification Day. Dress uniforms only.” She lifts her brows at Ridoc.
He shrugs. “What else would I be wearing?”
“One never knows what you’ll come up with,” Devera says, dismissing us.
“Anything I need to know about what’s going on between you and…” Liam raises his eyebrows at me as we gather our things.
“Absolutely nothing is going on between us. Not one damn thing,” I insist. If Xaden doesn’t want to see if there might be more between us, message received. I turn to Rhiannon. “So are you excited to finally be able to write to your sister in ten days?”
She grins. “I’ve been writing her once a month since we got here. Now I’ll finally get to post them.”
At least one good thing is coming with graduation. We’ll all be able to talk to our loved ones again.
…
Later that night, I adjust the sash across the bodice of my black dress uniform and tuck a loose strand of my hair back into the pretty arrangement Quinn helped me with earlier before meeting Rhiannon in the hallway.
She’s unbound her hair from its usual braided, protective style, and the tight coils form a beautiful halo around her face, which she’s dusted with gold-tinted blush. Her chosen option of sleek, tailored dress pants and a cross-body doublet that cuts across her torso on the diagonal looks phenomenal on her taller frame. “Hot,” I say with a nod as she tugs on her sash.
I went with the high neck, sleeveless option to hide my armor and the flowing, floor-length skirt with the slit up the thigh, which Devera told me was for mobility in case of attack. Personally, I’m not against the flash of thigh it gives when I move, especially with all the work I’ve put in to strengthen my legs with Imogen. My sash is simple, the same black satin as everyone else’s, with my name embroidered just beneath my shoulder and the star of a first-year.
“I heard there’s going to be a mob of infantry guys there,” Nadine says as she joins us.
“Don’t you prefer a little brain with your brawn?” Ridoc slides right in, Sawyer at his side.
“You did not try to leave without me!” Liam shouts as he runs forward, darting through the crowd as we move toward the staircase that leads to Basgiath’s main campus.
“I was hoping you’d been given the night off,” I answer truthfully as he reaches my side. “Don’t you look handsome.”
“I know.” He preens sarcastically, straightening his sash over a midnight-black doublet. “I’ve heard healer cadets have a thing for riders.”
“Hardly.” Rhiannon laughs. “As often as they have to put us back together? I bet they’re more into scribes.”
“What are scribes into?” Liam asks me as we descend the stairs in a sea of black, taking the path we tread every morning toward the Archives. “Seeing as you were almost one of them?”
“Usually other scribes,” I answer. “But I guess riders, in my father’s case.”
“I’m just excited to see some people who aren’t riders,” Ridoc says, holding open the door so we can pass through the tunnel. “It’s getting kind of incestuous around here.”
“Agreed.” Rhiannon nods.
“Oh, whatever. You and Tara have been on again, off again all year,” Nadine says, then blanches. “Shit. Are you off again?”
“We’re taking a breather until Parapet,” she says, and we enter the Healer Quadrant.
“Hard to believe we’ll be second-years in a little more than two weeks,” Sawyer says.
“Hard to believe we’ve survived,” I add. There was only one name on the death roll this week, a third-year who didn’t come back from an overnight mission.
By the time we make it to the courtyard, the party is in full swing. There’s a blend of pale blue for the healers, cream for the scribes, and the navy-blue uniforms of the infantry more than overwhelming the scattered black uniforms. There must be a thousand people or more in here.
Mage lights hang above us in the form of a dozen chandeliers, and drapes of rich velvets cover the stone walls of Basgiath, transforming the functional outdoor space into a ballroom of sorts. There’s even a string quartet playing in the corner.
“Where are you?” I ask Xaden, but there’s no answer.
We all seem to scatter as we enter, but Liam stays at my side, as tense as the string on my crossbow. “Tell me you’re wearing your armor under all that.”
“You think someone is going to knife me in front of my mother?” I gesture to the exposed balcony where Mom appears to be holding court, surveying her domain. Our gazes collide and she whispers something to the man next to her, disappearing from view.
Nice to see you, too.
“I think if anyone was going to knife you, now would be the time, especially knowing that killing you has a good chance of ending Fen Riorson’s son.” His voice tightens.
That’s when I notice the stares of the officers and cadets around us. They’re not gawking at my hair or the name on my sash. No, their gazes widen at Liam’s wrist and the visible swirls of his rebellion relic.
I hook my arm through his and lift my chin. “I’m so sorry.”
“There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about.” He gives my hand a reassuring pat.
“Of course there is,” I whisper. Oh gods, everyone is here to gather in celebration of the end of what he and the others call the apostasy. They’re celebrating his mother’s death. “You can go. You should go. This is…” I shake my head.
“I go where you go.” His hand tightens over mine.
A boulder lodges in my throat, and I scan the crowd, instinctively knowing that he’s not here. There’s no Garrick, no Bodhi, no Imogen, and definitely no Xaden. No wonder he was in such a shit mood today.
“This isn’t fair to you.” I glare at the infantry officer who has the nerve to look appalled at the sight of Liam’s wrist.
“I highly doubt you enjoy celebrating the anniversary of your brother’s death, either.” Liam holds himself with a dignity I could never imagine.
“Brennan would hate all of this.” I gesture to the crowd. “He was more about getting the work done than celebrating its completion.”
“Yeah, sounds like—” His words die, and I squeeze his arm tighter as I note the separating crowd before us.
King Tauri walks at my mother’s side, and from the direction of his wide, toothy smile, he’s headed this way. A purple sash crosses his doublet, pinned to his chest by a dozen medals he’s never won from a hundred battlefields he’s never stepped foot on.
Mom’s medals are all earned, and they adorn her black sash like jewelry as it drapes across her high-necked, long-sleeve dress uniform.
“Go,” I hiss at Liam in a whisper, forcing a smile for my mother’s sake as General Melgren joins them. Melgren may be brilliant, but he’s also unnerving as fuck to be around.
“When your greatest danger approaches? I think not.” His spine straightens.
I’m going to rip Xaden’s gorgeous head off for forcing Liam through this.
“Your Majesty,” I murmur, dropping a foot behind me like Mira taught and bending as I bow my head, noting that Liam has bowed at the waist.
“Your mother tells me you’ve bonded with not one but two exceptional dragons,” King Tauri says, smiling under his mustache.
“Yes, she is quite confident in your power,” Melgren adds, his smile icy as he stares at me in blatant appraisal.
“I would not say the same at this time,” I answer with a polite smile. I’ve spent enough time around egotistical generals, politicians, and royalty to know when to be humble. “I’m still learning how to wield.”
“Don’t be so modest, daughter,” Mom chides. “From what her professors say, they’ve only seen a gift this powerful a few times in the last decade, in Brennan and the Riorson boy.”
That boy is a twenty-three-year-old man, but I know better than to correct her and put an even bigger target on Xaden’s back.
“And your gift?” King Tauri asks Liam.
“Farsight, Your Majesty,” Liam responds.
Melgren’s eyes narrow on Liam’s exposed rebellion relic, then rise to his sash. “Mairi, as in Colonel Mairi’s son?”
I squeeze his arm tighter against mine in silent support, and Mom notices.
“Yes, General. Though I was mostly brought up by Duke Lindell at Tirvainne.” His jaw flexes, but that’s the only physical sign of his discomfort.
“Ahh.” King Tauri nods. “Yes, Duke Lindell is a good man, a loyal man.” The superiority in his air makes me want to snatch the medals off his chest.
“I have him to thank for my fortitude, Majesty.” Liam plays the game well.
“Yes, you do.” Melgren nods again, his gaze scanning the crowd. “Now tell me, where is the Riorson boy? I always like to lay eyes on him once a year and make sure he’s not causing trouble.”
“No trouble,” I answer, earning a swift glare from Mom. “He’s our wingleader, actually. He saved my life when we were on the front lines at Montserrat.” By making me leave instead of staying to help, but still, he deserves the credit for me not distracting Mira and getting her, myself, and Tairn killed. Xaden’s done more than save me. He believed me when I told him Amber led the unbondeds to my room. He had an entire arsenal of daggers crafted just for me. He designed a saddle for Tairn so I can ride into battle with my peers. He’d protected me when I needed and taught me to defend myself so I wouldn’t require protection forever.
And when others are quick to stand in front of me, Xaden always stands at my side, trusting me to hold my own.
But I don’t say any of that. What’s the point? Xaden wouldn’t give a fuck what these people think of him—so I won’t, either. Instead, I just continue to offer a simpering smile, seemingly in awe of the powerful men before me.
“Their dragons are mated,” Mom offers, her smile chilling. “So she’s grown quite close to him out of necessity.”
Out of lust and need and the ache in my chest I’m terrified to define, but sure, necessity works.
“That’s excellent.” King Tauri beams. “It’s good to have a Sorrengail on lookout for us. You’ll let us know if he decides to, oh, I don’t know.” He laughs. “Start another war?”
Melgren is fully capable of seeing the outcome of any such absurdity, and yet he stares at Liam and me with unnerving focus.
My entire body tenses. “I can assure you, he’s loyal.”
“So where is he?” King Tauri scans the courtyard. “I asked that they all be here, all marked ones.”
“I just saw him a little earlier.” I smile through the not-quite lie. Battle Brief was earlier. “I’d check the edges? He’s not much for parties.”
“Oh, look! There’s Dain Aetos!” Mom says, nodding somewhere behind my shoulder. “He’d be so humbled if you said hello,” she prompts the king.
“Of course.” The three of them walk off, leaving Liam and me standing in complete silence as we pivot to watch them so we don’t accidentally turn our backs on the king. I feel like I’ve just survived certain death, or at least some kind of natural disaster.
“I’m going to kill him for making you come to this,” I mutter under my breath as Dain greets the king with perfect manners.
“Xaden didn’t make me come.”
“What?” My gaze jumps to his.
“He’d never ask this of me. Never ask it of anyone. But I told him I would keep you safe, and that’s what I’m doing, keeping you safe.” He flashes a crooked smile.
“You are a good friend, Liam Mairi.” I rest my head on his arm.
“You saved my life, Violet. The least I can do is grin and bear it through a fucking party.”
“I’m not sure I can grin and bear it.” Not with the way people constantly glance at his wrist, like he’s the one who personally led the army to the border.
Dain smiles as the king takes his leave, then glances over his shoulder, meeting my gaze and heading our way.
He grins, and it’s all too easy to remember how many events just like this we’ve attended together over the years. His touch is gentle when he cups my cheek. “You look beautiful tonight, Vi.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “You look fabulous yourself.”
His hand falls away as he turns to Liam. “Has this one tried to escape yet? She’s always hated these things.”
“Not yet, but the evening is young,” Liam replies.
Dain must read the tense lines of Liam’s face, because his smile slips when he looks back at me. “The staircase is about five feet to our right. I’ll distract while you slip away.”
“Thank you.” I nod in thanks, offering him a soft smile. “Let’s get out of here,” I say to Liam.
Once we’re out of the party and back in the Riders Quadrant, I walk straight into the courtyard and ground, letting power swirl around and through me. I sense the golden energy from Andarna, the blazing power from Tairn that connects me to Sgaeyl, and finally, the shimmering shadows of Xaden.
I open my eyes, tracing the ebb and flow of that shimmering shadow, and I know he’s somewhere in front of me.
“Liam, you know I adore you, right?”
“Well, that’s nice—”
“Go away.” I walk straight ahead through the courtyard.
“What?” Liam catches up to me. “I can’t just leave you out here by yourself.”
“No offense, but I can fry this entire place with a lightning bolt if I want to, and I need to see Xaden, so go.” I pat his arm and keep striding toward the feeling, using it to guide me.
“I mean, your aim is shit according to you, but I get the rest!” he calls out, falling behind.
I don’t bother with a mage light as I pass the area where we usually stand in formation and keep walking toward the figures lounging against the only opening in this godsforsaken wall. There’s only one place Xaden can be.
“Tell me he’s not out there,” I say to Garrick and Bodhi, whose features I can barely see in the moonlight.
“I could tell you that, but I’d be lying,” Bodhi remarks, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’re not going to want to see him. Not tonight, Sorrengail,” Garrick warns with a grimace. “Self-preservation is a thing. Notice we’re not with him, and we’re his best friends.”
“Yeah, well, I’m his…” I open my mouth and shut it a few times because…fuck if I know what I am to him. But the longing that holds my heart hostage, this driving need to be at his side because I know he’s suffering, no matter if it means throwing myself headfirst into uncertainty…I can’t deny what he is to me. I kick off the leather slippers of my dress uniform—they’re more of a hazard than anything, and in this wind? Well, we’ll see how it goes. “I’m just…his.”
For the first time since last year, I step up onto the parapet.
As for the 107 innocents, the children of the executed officers, they now carry what shall be known as the rebellion relic, transferred by the dragon who carried out the king’s justice. And to show the mercy of our great king, they will all be conscripted into the prestigious Riders Quadrant at Basgiath, so they may prove their loyalty to our kingdom with their service or with their death.
—Addendum 4.2, the Treaty of Aretia
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Walking the parapet on Conscription Day is a certifiable risk.
Walking the parapet in a dress uniform, barefoot, in the dark? Now this is madness.
The first ten feet, while I’m still inside the walls, are the easiest, and as I reach the edge, where the wind ruffles my skirt like a sail, I start to doubt my plan. It’s going to be hard to get to Xaden if I fall to my death.
But I see him sitting about a third of the way across the narrow stone bridge, staring up at the moon like it somehow adds to the burden he carries, and my heart fucking hurts. He had the lives of all one hundred and seven marked ones carved into his back, taking responsibility for them. But who takes responsibility—takes care—of him?
Everyone across the ravine is celebrating his father’s death, and he’s out here mourning it alone. When Brennan died, I had Mira and Dad, but Xaden’s had no one.
You don’t really know me. Not at my core. Isn’t that how he replied when I told him that I’d end up falling for him? As if knowing him would somehow make me want him less, but everything I learn about him only makes me tumble harder and faster.
Oh gods. I know this feeling. Denying it doesn’t make it any less true. My feelings are what they are. I haven’t run from a challenge since I crossed this parapet a year ago, and I’m not about to start now.
The last time I stood here, I was terrified, but the distance to the ground isn’t what has my pulse pounding now. There’s more than one way to fall. Shit. That ache in my chest burns brighter than the power coursing through my veins.
I’m in love with Xaden.
It doesn’t matter that he’s leaving soon or that he probably doesn’t feel the same for me. It doesn’t even matter that he warned me not to fall for him. It’s not an infatuation, our physical chemistry, or even the bond between our dragons that keeps me reaching in every way possible for this man. It’s my reckless heart.
I’ve kept out of his bed—out of his arms—because he’s adamant I can’t fall for him, but that ship has long sailed, so what’s the point in holding back? Shouldn’t I grab hold of every moment we can have while he’s still here?
I take the first step onto the narrow stone bridge and put my arms out for balance. It’s just like walking along Tairn’s spine, which I’ve done hundreds of times.
Except I’m in a dress.
And Tairn isn’t going to catch me if I fall.
He’s going to be so pissed when he hears that I did this—
“Already am.”
Xaden’s head snaps in my direction. “Violence?”
I take a step and then another, holding my frame upright with muscle memory I didn’t have last year, and begin to cross.
Xaden swings his legs up and then fucking jumps to his feet. “Turn around right now!” he shouts.
“Come with me,” I call over the wind, bracing myself as a gust whips my skirt against my legs. “Should have gone with the pants,” I mutter and keep walking.
He’s already coming my way, his strides just as long and confident as if he was on solid ground, eating up the distance between us as I move forward slowly until we meet.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” he asks, locking his hands on my waist. He’s in riding leathers, not a dress uniform, and he’s never looked better.
What am I doing out here? I’m risking everything to reach him. And if he rejects me… No. There’s no room for fear on the parapet.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
His eyes widen. “You could have fallen and died!”
“I could say the same thing.” I smile, but it’s shaky. The look in his eyes is wild, like he’s been driven past the point where he can contain himself in the neat, apathetic facade he usually wears in public.
It doesn’t scare me. I like him better when he’s real with me anyway.
“And did you stop to think that if you fall and die, then I can die?” He leans in and my pulse jumps.
“Again,” I say softly, resting my hands on his firm chest, right above his heartbeat. “I could say the same thing.” Even if Xaden’s death wouldn’t kill Sgaeyl, I’m not sure I could survive it.
Shadows rise, darker than the night that surrounds us. “You’re forgetting that I wield shadows, Violence. I’m just as safe out here as I am in the courtyard. Are you going to wield lightning to break your fall?”
Fine. That’s a good point.
“I…perhaps did not think that part through as thoroughly as you,” I admit. I wanted to be close to him, so I got close, parapet be damned.
“You’re seriously going to be the death of me.” His fingers flex at my waist. “Go back.”
It’s not a rejection, not with the way he’s looking at me. We’ve been sparring emotionally for the past month, hell, even longer than that, and one of us has to expose our jugular. I finally trust him enough to know he won’t go for the kill.
“Only if you do. I want to be wherever you are.” And I mean it. Everyone else—everything else in the world can fall away and I won’t care as long as I’m with him.
“Violence…”
“I know why you said you don’t see a future for us.” My heart races like it’s trying to take flight as I blurt out the words.
“Do you?” Of course he isn’t going to make this easy. I’m not sure the man even knows what easy is.
“You want me,” I say, looking him in the eyes. “And no, I’m not just talking about in bed. You. Want. Me, Xaden Riorson. You might not say it, but you do one better and show it. You show it every time you choose to trust me, every time your eyes linger on mine. You show it with every sparring lesson you don’t have time for and every flight lesson that pulls you away from your own studies. You show it when you refuse to touch me because you’re worried I don’t really want you, then show it again when you take the time to hunt down violets before a leadership meeting so I don’t wake up feeling alone. You show it in a million different ways. Please don’t deny it.”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t deny it.
“You think we don’t have a future because you’re scared that I won’t like who you really are behind all those walls you keep. And I’m scared, too. I can admit it. You’re graduating. I’m not. You’ll be gone in a matter of weeks, and we’re probably setting ourselves up for heartbreak. But if we let fear kill whatever this is between us, then we don’t deserve it.” I lift one hand to the back of his neck. “I told you that I was the one who would decide when I’m ready to risk my heart, and I’m saying it.”
The way he looks at me, with the same mix of hope and apprehension currently flooding my system, gives me absolute life.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, shaking his head.
And there he goes, sucking the life right out again.
“I mean it.”
“If this is about the Imogen thing—”
“It’s not.” I shake my head, the wind catching the curls Quinn spent so much time on. “I know there’s no one else. I wouldn’t be walking the parapet in the middle of the night if I thought you were playing me.”
His brow furrows, and he pulls me in closer against the warmth of his body. “Then what made you even think that? Have to admit, it pissed me off. I’ve given you exactly zero reasons to think I’m in anyone else’s bed.”
Which means he’s only in mine.
“My own insecurities and the way she looked at you and Garrick sparring. You might not have a thing for her, but she definitely has one for you. I know that look. It’s the same look I have when I’m watching you.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks. I could change the subject or deflect, but it’s not going to do our relationship—if that’s even what this is—any favors if I hide my feelings, no matter how weak the irrational ones might make me seem.
“You’re jealous.” He bites back a smile.
“Maybe,” I admit, then decide that answer is half-assed. “Fine. Yes. She’s strong and fierce and has that same ruthless streak you do. I’ve always thought she was a better match for you.”
“I know the feeling well.” He shakes his head. “And you are strong and fierce and have a ruthless streak, too. Not to mention you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. That mind of yours is sexy as hell. Imogen and I are just friends. Trust me, she wasn’t looking at me, and even if she were…” He pauses, his hand slipping to cradle the back of my head as he holds us steady despite the gusting wind. “Gods help me, I’m only looking at you.”
Hope is a stronger buzz than anything they were serving at the party.
“She wasn’t looking at you?”
“No. Rethink what you just said but take me out of the equation.” He lifts his brows, waiting for me to come to the right conclusion.
“But on the sparring mat…” My eyes widen. “She has a thing for Garrick.”
“Catching on fast, aren’t you?”
“I am. Are you done pushing me away?”
He draws back, searching my eyes in the moonlight before glancing over my shoulder. “You done putting yourself in harm’s way to get your point across?”
“Probably not.”
He sighs. “There’s only you, Violence. Is that what you needed to hear?”
I nod.
“Even when I’m not with you, there’s only you. Next time, just ask. You’ve never had a problem being bluntly honest with me.” Wind blows around us, but he’s as immovable as the parapet itself. “As I remember, you’ve even thrown daggers at my head, which I greatly prefer over watching you get tangled up in your thoughts. If we’re going to do this, then we have to trust each other.”
“And you want to do this?” I hold my breath.
He sighs, long and hard, then admits, “Yes.” His hand slides up, and he caresses my cheek with his thumb. “I can’t make you any promises, Violence. But I’m tired of fighting it.”
“Yes.” One word has never meant so much to me. Then I blink, remembering his previous comment about jealousy. “What do you mean you know the feeling of jealousy well?”
His hands tighten on my waist, and he looks away.
“Oh no, if I have to trust you and tell you what I’m thinking, then I expect the same from you.” I’m not going to be the only vulnerable one out on this ledge.
He grumbles, dragging his gaze back to mine. “I saw Aetos kiss you after Threshing and nearly lost my shit.”
If I didn’t already love him, that might have pushed me over the edge. “You wanted me then?”
“I’ve wanted you from the first second I saw you, Violence,” he admits. “And if I was short with you today…well, it’s just a shit day.”
“I understand. And you know Dain and I are just friends, right?”
“I know that’s how you feel, though I wasn’t sure back then.” He runs his thumb over the swell of my lips. “Now get your ass back on solid ground.”
He wants to stay out here and wallow.
“Come with me.” My fingers grasp the material of his flight leathers, ready to tug him along if I have to.
He shakes his head and looks away. “I’m not in a place to take care of anyone tonight. And yes, I know that’s a shitty thing to say, since it’s the anniversary of losing Brennan—”
“I know.” I slide my hands down his arms. “Come with me, Xaden.”
“Vi…” His shoulders dip, and the sadness that permeates the air between us puts a lump in my throat.
“Trust me.” I step back out of his arms and take his hands. “Come on.”
A moment of tense silence passes before he nods once, moving forward and holding me steady while I turn around. “I’m much better at this than I was last July.”
“So I see.” He stays close, one hand on my waist as I walk the last part of the parapet. “In a fucking dress.”
“It’s a skirt, actually,” I say over my shoulder, only feet away from the wall.
“Eyes forward!” he grumbles, and it’s only the fear in his tone that keeps me from doing something arrogant like skipping the last few feet.
The second we’re within the confines of the wall, he hauls me against him, my back to his front. “Don’t ever put your life at risk over something as trivial as talking to me again.” It’s as low as a growl against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Next year is going to be so much fun,” I tease, walking forward and lacing my fingers with his so he follows.
“Liam will be here next year to make sure you’re not doing asinine things,” he mutters.
“You’re going to love getting his letters,” I promise, jumping the final foot off the parapet to the courtyard below. “Huh.” I glance around the empty courtyard while putting my slippers back on. “Garrick and Bodhi were just here.”
“They probably know I’m going to kill them for letting you out there. A dress, Sorrengail? Really?”
I take his hand in mine and head across the courtyard.
“Where are we going?” He sounds just as much the asshole as the day I met him.
“You’re taking me to your room,” I say over my shoulder as we approach the dormitory.
“I’m what?”
I throw open the door, grateful for the mage lights that make it easy to see him now, sneer and all. “You’re taking me to your room.” Turning left, I lead us past the hallway to my room and then start up the wide spiral staircase.
“Someone will see,” he argues. “It’s not my reputation I’m worried about, Sorrengail. You’re a first-year and I’m your wingleader—”
“Pretty sure everyone already knows—we set half the forest on fire that night,” I remind him as we climb past the door to the second-year hallway. “Did you know that the first time I climbed these steps with Dain, I was horrified that there wasn’t a handrail?”
“Did you know I can’t stand to hear his name on your lips while you’re leading the way to my room?” He trudges up the steps behind me, shadows curling from the wall as if they sense his mood and want nothing to do with it. But his shadows don’t scare me. There’s nothing about this man that scares me anymore, except the magnitude of my feelings for him.
“Point is, and now look at me.” I grin as we reach the third-year floor, and I push open the arched door. “All but dancing on the parapet in a dress.”
“Probably not a good time to remind me.” He follows me into the hallway. It looks like the second-year floor, except there are fewer doors and a high, vaulted roof.
“Which one is yours?”
“I should make you guess,” he mutters but keeps my fingers laced with his as we walk to the end of the massively long hall. Of course it’s the last one.
“Fourth Wing,” I scoff. “Always has to go the farthest.”
He unweaves his own wards and opens his door, standing back so I can walk in first. “I’m going to have to either ward your new door before I go or teach you how in the next ten days.”
I’m not thinking about the looming deadline of his departure as I step into his room for the first time. It’s twice as big as mine—and so is the bed. Surviving to third year has some serious perks. Or maybe the size reflects his rank, who knows.
It’s immaculately clean, with a large armchair by the bed, dark-gray rug, wide wooden armoire, tidy desk, and a bookshelf that gives me instant envy. A sword rack consumes the area beside the door, complete with so many daggers that I can’t possibly count them all, and across the space, next to the desk, stands a throwing target just like I have in my room. There’s a table and chairs in the corner, and his window faces Basgiath but is framed by thick black curtains with Fourth Wing’s emblem on the bottom.
“We do leadership meetings for the sections in here sometimes,” he says from the doorway.
I pivot to find him watching me with curious eyes, like he’s waiting for me to pass judgment on his space. Walking past the sword rack, I let my fingers graze across the handles of the different daggers. “How many challenges have you won anyway?”
“The better question is how many have I lost,” he says, coming in and closing the door behind him.
“There’s the ego I know and love so much,” I mutter, making my way to the bed, which, just like mine, is outfitted in black.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” His voice lowers. “If not, I’m a fool, because you are magnificently beautiful.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, and my mouth curves into a smile. “Thank you. Now sit.” I pat the edge of his bed.
“What?” His eyebrows rise.
“Sit,” I order, staring him down.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I never said you had to.” There’s no need to ask what it is, nor am I going to let what happened nearly six years ago drive a wedge between us, not even for one night.
To my absolute surprise, he does as I ask, sitting on the side of his bed. His long legs stretch out in front of him, and he leans back slightly on the heels of his hands. “Now what?”
I move between his thighs and run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch, and I swear, I feel my heart crack wide open. “Now I take care of you.”
His eyes fly open and gods, are they beautiful. I’ve memorized every gold fleck in those onyx depths, and it’s a good thing, since I don’t know where he’ll be sent after graduation. Seeing him once every few days isn’t the same as being able to touch him anytime I like.
Leaving his hair, I sink to my knees before him.
“Violet—”
“I’m just taking off your boots.” A smirk plays at my lips as I unlace one, then the other, taking them off. I rise and carry his boots toward the armoire.
“You can just leave them there,” he blurts.
I put them on the floor next to the armoire and walk back. “I wasn’t going to go snooping through your clothes, and it’s not like I haven’t seen them all anyway.”
His gaze locks on my skirt, heating every time the slit reveals a section of my thigh. “You’ve been wearing that all night?”
“That’s what you get for walking behind me,” I tease, coming to stand between his thighs again.
“I can’t really argue about the view from the back, either.” He tilts his chin to look up at me.
“Be quiet and let me get this off you.” I undo the line of diagonal buttons across his chest, and he shrugs out of the leathers. “Were you flying tonight?”
“It usually helps.” He nods as I lean over to set them on the armchair. “This day is always…”
“I’m sorry.” I look him in the eyes as I say it, hoping he knows how very much I mean it as I return, reaching for his shirt.
“I’m sorry, too.” He lifts his arms, and I tug the shirt off before putting it with the flight jacket.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” I keep my eyes on his as I cup the unrelenting angles of his face, then trace the scar that bisects a brow. “Challenge?”
“Sgaeyl.” He shrugs. “Threshing.”
“Most dragons scar their riders, but Tairn and Andarna have never hurt me,” I say absent-mindedly, my hand slipping down his neck.
“Or maybe they knew you already carried a scar.” He trails his fingers down the long silver scar on my arm from Tynan’s blade. “I wanted to fucking kill them. And instead, I had to stand there and watch them go at you three-on-one. I was at the edge of my control and ready to step in when Tairn landed.”
“It was only two-on-one once Jack ran,” I reminded him. “And you couldn’t have interfered. It’s against the rules, remember?” But he took that step. That single step that told me he would have.
A corner of his mouth quirks into one of the sexiest smirks I’ve ever seen. “At the end of the day, you walked away with two dragons.” His expression falls. “Two weeks from now, I won’t even be here to watch when you’re challenged, let alone do anything about it.”
“I’ll be fine,” I promise. “Whomever I can’t beat in a challenge, I’ll just poison.”
He doesn’t laugh.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” I lean in and kiss the scar on his eyebrow. “It will be tomorrow when you wake up.”
“I don’t deserve you.” His arm curls around my hips and he tugs me closer. “But I’m going to keep you all the same.”
“Good.” I lean in and brush my lips over his. “Because I think I’m in love with you.” My heart beats erratically, and panic claws up my rib cage. I shouldn’t have said it.
His eyes flare wide and his arms tighten around me. “You think? Or you know?”
Be brave.
Even if he doesn’t feel the same, at least I will have spoken my truth. “I know. I’m so wildly in love with you that I can’t imagine what my life would even look like without you in it. And I probably shouldn’t have said that, but if we’re doing this, then we’re starting from a place of complete honesty.”
He crushes his mouth to mine and pulls me fully into his lap so I’m straddling him. He kisses me so deep that I lose myself in it, in him. There are no words as he takes off my sash, my top, and unbuttons my skirt, all without breaking the kiss. “Stand,” he says against my lips.
“Xaden.” My heart thunders.
“I fucking need you, Violet. Right now. And I don’t need anyone, so I’m not quite sure how to handle this feeling, but I’m giving it my best. And if you don’t want this tonight, that’s fine, but I’m going to need you to walk out that door right now, because if you don’t, I’m going to have you naked on your back in the next two minutes.”
The intensity in his eyes and the vehemence of his words should frighten me, but they don’t. Even if this man loses every ounce of his self-control, I know he’ll never hurt me.
Not with his body, at least.
“Walk away or stay, but either way, I need you to stand up,” he begs.
“I think two minutes might be overestimating your skills with a corset.” I glance down at my armor.
He grins and lifts me from his lap.
My feet hit the floor. “I’m timing you.”
“Is that—”
“One. Two.” I hold up my fingers. “Three.”
He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, and then his mouth is on mine, and I stop counting. I’m too busy chasing the strokes of his tongue, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath my fingertips, to give a shit where my clothes are going.
I feel air rush against my legs as my skirt hits the floor, and I help him out by kicking off my slippers while I suck on his tongue.
He groans, his hands flying over my back. Laces loosen in record time, and the corset falls to the floor, leaving me in my underwear, since there wasn’t much else fitting underneath that dress uniform.
Daggers, both his and mine, hit the ground as he unstraps the sheaths at my thighs and undoes his own. It’s a glorious cacophony of metal until we’re both naked and he’s kissing me breathless.
Then his hands are in my hair, and pins fly until the mass falls down my back, unbound. He pulls back only long enough to rake his ravenous gaze down my body. “So fucking beautiful.”
“I think that might have been a little longer than two—” I start, but he grabs the back of my thighs and lifts, sweeping my feet out from underneath me. My back hits the bed with a slight bounce, and honestly, I should have seen that move coming given that he’s been putting me on my back for the better part of a year now.
“Still counting?” he asks, dropping to his knees beside the bed and dragging me across the soft coverlet to the edge.
“Do you need me to keep score?” I tease as my ass hits the end of the bed.
“Feel free.” He grins, and before I can get another word in, his mouth is between my thighs.
I suck in a sharp breath and throw my head back at the sheer pleasure of his tongue, licking and swirling around my clit. “Oh gods.”
“Which one are you calling out for?” he asks against my flesh. “Because it’s just you and me in this room, Vi, and I don’t share.”
“You.” My fingers tangle in his hair. “I’m calling out for you.”
“I appreciate the elevation to deity, but my name will do.” He licks me from entrance to clit, finally flicking his tongue over that sensitive bud, and I moan. “Fuck, you taste good.” He lifts my thighs up onto his shoulders and settles in like he has nowhere else to be tonight.
Then he absolutely devours me with tongue and teeth.
Pleasure, hot and insistent, spirals in my stomach and I’m lost in sensation, my hips rising and falling as I chase the high he drives me toward with every expert stab of his tongue.
My thighs tremble when he takes up a rhythm against my clit and drives two fingers inside me. They lock when he strokes his fingers in time with his tongue. Mindless, I’m simply mindless.
Power rushes through me in a deluge, mingling with the pleasure until they’re one and the same, and when he tips me over the edge of oblivion, it’s his name I scream as that power whips outward with every wave of my climax.
Thunder booms, shaking the paneled glass in Xaden’s windows.
“That’s one,” he says, kissing his way up my limp body. “Though I do think we’re going to have to work on the fireworks show or people are always going to know what we’re doing.”
“Your mouth is…” I shake my head as his hands slide under me, moving us to the center of his bed. “There are no words for that.”
“Delicious,” he whispers, his lips skimming the plane of my stomach. “You are absolutely delicious. I never should have waited this long to get my mouth on you.”
I gasp when he sucks the peak of my breast into his mouth, his tongue lashing and stroking my nipple as he works the other between thumb and forefinger, setting a whole new fire within me built on the embers of the first.
By the time he gets to my neck, I’m a writhing flame beneath him, touching every part of him I can reach, stroking my hands down his arms, his back, his chest. Gods, this man is incredible, every line of him carved for battle and built by sparring and swordplay.
Our mouths meet in a deep kiss, and I can taste us both in it as I draw my knees upward, settling his hips right where they’re meant to be—between my thighs.
“Violet,” he groans, and I can feel the head of him at my entrance.
“I don’t get equal time to play?” I tease, arching my hips so he slides against me and making my own breath catch with the motion.
He nips my lower lip. “You can play all you want later if I can have you right now.”
Yeah, that’s a plan I can get with. “You already have me.”
His gaze collides with mine as he hovers above me, bracing his weight to keep from crushing me. “You have everything I have to give.”
That’s enough…for now. I nod, arching my hips again.
Eyes locked with mine, he pushes into me with one long roll of his hips, consuming every inch and then taking another until he’s seated to the hilt.
The pressure, the stretch, the fit of him is beyond words.
“You feel so damn good.” I roll my hips because I can’t help myself.
“I could say the same thing about you.” He smiles, using my own words from earlier against me. Hard, deep, and slow, he sets a rhythm that has me arching for every thrust as we come together again and again and again.
He drives us up the bed, and I throw my arms back, bracing against the headboard for leverage as I meet every plunge of his hips. Gods, each is better than the last. When I urge him to move faster, he gives me a wicked grin and takes me at the same mind-blowing, heart-jolting pace. “I want this to last. I need this to last.”
“But I’m…” That fire in my core is coiled tight and so ready to burst free that I can almost taste how sweet it will be.
“I know.” He drives forward again, and I whimper at how fucking good it feels. “Just stay with me.” He adjusts the angle so he hits my clit with every thrust and presses my knee forward, taking me even deeper.
I’m not going to survive this. I’m going to die right here in this bed.
“Then I’m going to die with you,” he promises, kissing me.
I’m so far gone, I didn’t even realize I said the words out loud, and then I remember that I don’t have to. “More. I need more.” Power simmers beneath my skin and my legs lock.
“You’re almost there. Fuck, you feel so damn good around me. I’m never going to get enough of this, enough of you.”
“I love you.” The words are so incredibly freeing, even if he doesn’t say them back.
His eyes flare and his control snaps as he pounds into me, and that coiled pleasure explodes as my powers whip out again, cracking through the room, shattering like glass as he throws his weight to the side, bringing me with him as he drives toward his own release, groaning into the side of my neck as the last waves of my orgasm leave me shuddering against him.
Long minutes pass before our breathing steadies, and a light breeze kisses my thigh that’s thrown over his. “You’re all right?” he asks, brushing my hair back from my face.
“I’m great. You’re great. That was…”
“Great?” he supplies.
“Exactly.”
“I was going to use the word ‘explosive,’ but I think ‘great’ covers it.” His fingers tangle in my hair. “I fucking love your hair. If you ever want to bring me to my knees or win an argument, just let it down. I’ll get the point.”
I grin as the breeze rustles through the brown-to-silver strands.
Wait. There shouldn’t be a breeze.
My stomach drops as I push myself up on an elbow to look over Xaden’s shoulder. “Oh no, no, no.” My hand covers my mouth as I glimpse the destruction. “I’m pretty sure I blew your window out.”
“Unless there’s someone else throwing lightning around, then yeah, that was you. See what I mean? Explosive.” He laughs.
I gasp. That’s why he threw himself sideways, to shield me from my own wreckage. “I’m so sorry.” I scan over the damage, but there’s only sand on the bed. “I’m going to have to get that under control.”
“I threw up a shield. Don’t worry about it.” He pulls me back in for a kiss.
“What are we going to do?” Repairing a window is on a whole different level from replacing an armoire.
“Right now?” He strokes my hair back from my face again. “That was two, if we’re still counting, and I say we clean up, get the sand out of the bed, and get you to three, maybe four if you’re still awake.”
My jaw drops. “After I just shattered your window?”
He smiles and shrugs. “I’ve got us covered just in case you decide to take out the dresser next.”
I gaze down at his body, and the craving for him ignites again. How could it not when he looks like the gods blessed him and feels like the gods blessed me? “Yeah, let’s go for three.”
We’re going for five, my hips in Xaden’s hands while I slowly ride him, when I trail my fingers down the black swirls of the relic on his neck. I’m not sure how either of us is still moving, and yet we can’t seem to stop tonight, can’t get enough. “It really is beautiful,” I tell him, rising up only to sink back down again, taking him deep within me.
His dark eyes flare as his hands flex. “I used to think of it as a curse, but now I realize it’s a gift.” He arches his hips, hitting me at a sublime angle.
“A gift?” Gods, he’s robbing me of every thought.
Someone pounds on the door.
“Go the fuck away!” Xaden snarls, reaching up my back and hooking onto my shoulder to pull me down into his next thrust.
I fall forward, muffling my moan in his neck.
“I really wish I could.” There’s enough regret in the voice that I believe it.
“Someone better be dead if I get out of this bed, Garrick,” Xaden retorts.
“I think there’re a lot of people dead, which is why they’re calling the full quadrant to formation, jackass!” Garrick growls.
Both Xaden and I startle, our gazes colliding in shock. I slide off him, and Xaden covers me with his blanket before shoving his legs into his leathers and striding for the door.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks through a tiny opening in the door.
“Grab your flight leathers, and you’d better bring Sorrengail with you, too,” Garrick says. “We’re under attack.”
The inability to control a powerful signet is just as dangerous to a rider—and everyone in their vicinity—as never manifesting one.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my entire life, and I’m not even bothering with the thigh sheaths. “What time is it?” I ask Xaden, pulling on my formal dress and slippers and blowing my hair out of my face.
Mandatory, urgent formation for the entire quadrant means now.
The wards are falling. How many Navarrians are we going to lose?
“Four fifteen.” He finishes lacing his boots, already armed to the teeth as I’m picking up my sheaths, pretty sure I’m missing one of them. “You’re going to freeze out there.”
“I’ll be fine.” I drop to my knees and locate the missing dagger, hauling it out by the strap of the sheath before standing again.
“Here.” Xaden throws one of his flight jackets over me, trapping my hair. “If Garrick’s right and we’re under attack, then my guess is they’ll order the older years to staff the mid-guard posts, so you shouldn’t be out in formation too long. I can’t stand the thought of you being cold.”
Which means he’ll be leaving.
My heart somersaults as I clumsily shove my arms through the sleeves of his jacket. He’ll be safe, right? It will just be a midland assignment, and he’s the most powerful rider in the quadrant.
With my hands full of weapons, I don’t argue about him buttoning the flight jacket over my chest.
“We have to get to formation.” His hands cradle my face. “And if I have to go, then don’t worry. I’m sure Sgaeyl will drag me back in a few days.” He leans in and kisses me hard and quick. “Wanting you will be the death of me. Let’s go.”
The best thing about a war college in complete and utter chaos? No one notices when I slip out of my wingleader’s room and into the sea of riders, all tugging on their own clothes to get to formation. Everyone is running on adrenaline, too busy getting their shit together to notice what I’m doing or the brief touch of Xaden’s hand against mine before he heads toward leadership gathered near the dais in the courtyard.
I’m not the only one still in my dress uniform, either.
The wind has a bite to it as I make it into formation, but at least Xaden’s flight jacket keeps my hair tucked away.
“This had better be good, because I was finally taking my shot with that gorgeous brunette healer,” Ridoc whines as he steps into formation behind me.
Liam stands to my right, still buttoning the top on his uniform.
“Good night?” I ask Liam.
“Fine,” he mutters, his cheeks turning pink in the moonlight.
“Anyone seen Dain?” I ask Nadine as she steps into formation ahead of me.
“All the squad leaders are with leadership,” she answers over her shoulder as Rhiannon jogs up.
Rhi cracks a huge yawn, then glances my way and does a double-take. “Violet Sorrengail,” she whispers, moving closer. “Are you wearing Riorson’s flight jacket?”
Liam’s head snaps in my direction, curse his stupidly good hearing.
“Why would you say that?” I do a shitty job of feigning shock and shove the sheaths into every available pocket in this thing. All three of them, which are considerably deeper than the ones in my own jacket.
“Oh, I don’t know. Because it’s huge on you and there are three stars right here?” She taps where there’s only one star on her uniform.
Well, shit. Just goes to show that neither of us was thinking clearly.
“It could be any third-year’s.” I shrug.
“With a Fourth Wing shield on the shoulder?” She cocks an eyebrow.
“That does limit it a bit,” I agree.
“And a wingleader emblem beneath those stars?” she teases.
“Fine, it’s his,” I whisper quickly as Commandant Panchek takes the dais, followed by Dain’s father and the wingleaders. Xaden’s damn good at keeping his eyes off me, but I can’t say the same, especially when there’s little doubt he’s about to be sent away and I can still feel his mouth on my skin.
“I knew it!” Rhi grins. “Tell me it’s good.”
“I broke his window.” I wince and my cheeks heat.
“Like…you threw something at it?” Her brow knits.
“No. As in, lightning struck…a lot, and I shattered his window.” I glance toward the dais. “And look, there he is now, all calm, cool, and collected.” My chest tightens as I wonder which is the real version of him? The one standing up there, in complete control, ready to command his wing? Or the one I had inside me less than a half hour ago? The one who declared that he doesn’t deserve me but is going to keep me?
Xaden looks anything but pleased, and his gaze locks with mine for a millisecond. “Fucking War Games.”
Relief and disbelief hit me in equal measure.
“You’re kidding me.” We got hauled out of bed for War Games?
“Nope.”
“Damn.” Rhiannon grins. “I wish someone made me shatter windows.”
I turn toward her, rolling my eyes. “Oh please, you’ve had way more—”
“Hey, Aetos,” Rhiannon says, leaning on my shoulder and quickly draping her hand over my collarbone to hide Xaden’s insignia and rank. “Good morning, huh?”
Dain looks at Rhiannon like she’s drunk too much mead as he approaches the squad. “Not really, no.” He glances over the rest of us. “I know it’s early…or late, depending on your night, but we’ve spent all year training for this, so wake the hell up.” He turns to face the dais as Panchek takes the podium.
“Thanks,” I whisper to Rhiannon as she stands back at my side. I’m not up for listening to Dain lecture me about my choices. Not tonight.
“Riders Quadrant!” Panchek shouts, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “Welcome to the last event of this year’s War Games.”
A murmur rips through the formation.
“The alert that was sounded is similar to what it would have been if this were a real-life attack—to see how fast you would muster—and we will continue this exercise as if it is. Were the borders to be simultaneously attacked, and the wards faltering, you would all be called into service to reinforce the wings. Colonel Aetos, would you do us the honor of reading the scenario?”
Dain’s dad steps forward, scroll in hand, and begins to read. “The moment we’ve dreaded has arrived. The wards we’ve dedicated our lives to upholding are falling, and there has been an unprecedented, multilevel attack along our borders, putting villages under siege from drifts of gryphon riders. Mass casualties among civilians and infantry are already being reported, as are the deaths of multiple riders.”
He’s laying on the melodrama pretty thick.
“As we would if you were a battle-ready force, we are sending your wings in every direction,” he continues, focusing on each wing until coming to ours. “Fourth Wing to the southeast. Each squad will pick which outpost they will reinforce within that region.” He holds up a finger. “Choices are first come, first served. Wingleaders, however, will be assigned to theirs for the purposes of determining a headquarters for this exercise.”
He turns to each wingleader, giving out orders, but glances in our direction—no doubt looking for Dain—before he turns toward Xaden. Something about the way his smile slips for a heartbeat makes the hair rise on the back of my neck.
“Riorson, you’ll establish your headquarters for Fourth Wing at Athebyne. Wingleaders, assemble your headquarters squads at your own discretion, pulling from any and all riders within your wings. Consider this a test of leadership, as there are no limitations in a real-world scenario. You will receive the updated orders once you reach your selected outposts for this five-day exercise.” He steps back.
Athebyne? That’s beyond the wards…that’s where Xaden flew his secretive mission. My gaze seeks out his, but he’s focused on the colonel.
“Five whole days? This is going to be so much fun,” Heaton exclaims with terrifying glee, running their hand over the purple flames dyed into their hair. “We’re going to pretend war.”
“Yeah,” Imogen adds quietly. “I think we are.”
“Just like real life, you squad leaders need to make your choices quickly, then report to the flight field within thirty minutes,” Panchek decrees. “You’re dismissed.”
“Tairn.”
“Already moving.”
“We’re going to claim the outpost at Eltuval, the northernmost one in our assigned region,” Dain says, turning around to face us as Rhiannon leans over my shoulder again, blocking Xaden’s insignia. “I’m not getting stuck at some coastal outpost when we know that’s not how Poromiel would choose to attack. Anyone have a problem with that?”
We all shake our heads.
“Good, then you heard the commandant. You have thirty minutes to change, pack what you can carry for five days, and get your asses to the flight field.”
Formation breaks and we all scurry to our dormitory rooms.
“What do you think our orders will be when we get there?” Rhiannon asks as we force our way through the bottleneck of cadets all trying to get into the barracks. “More eggs to hunt?”
“Guess we’re about to find out.”
It takes ten minutes to wrap my knees and support my shoulders for a long flight, then dress in my own flight leathers. It takes another five minutes to detangle my hair from Xaden’s handling and braid it, which leaves me exactly five to pack. I throw Xaden’s jacket in my rucksack just in case anyone snoops through my room while I’m gone.
“Wear every single dagger you own,” Xaden demands, startling me.
“I’m already wearing twelve.” I continue throwing items into my overnight pack.
“Good.”
“I’ll see you on the flight field, right?” If he leaves without saying goodbye, I’m going to track him down and kill him myself.
“Yes.” His reply is curt, but I finish packing and head out, meeting Rhiannon and Liam in the hallway.
A buzz of excitement accompanies the crowd as we make our way to the flight field, taking rations the kitchen staff hands out near commons on our way. No doubt we’ll be eating breakfast midflight.
When we arrive, it takes me a second to absorb the sight. Every dragon from the quadrant fills the field, standing in the same formation we keep in the courtyard, and hundreds of mage lights float overhead like hovering stars, giving the space an otherworldly feel, as though we’re in a great hall instead of on the flight field. It’s beautiful and menacing at the same time.
There’s a nervous mix of energy and anticipation and more than one person hurling up whatever they’ve had to drink as the field floods with riders.
“We’re going to win,” Rhiannon states as we make our way through the wings amid way too many snarling dragons and snapping teeth. We’re not the only ones anxious tonight. “We’re the best. We’ll win.” Her face is set in lines of determination. “I can almost taste that squad leader designation for next year.”
“You’ll get it,” I tell her, then turn toward Liam as we approach our section. “What about you? Want to distinguish yourself with glory so you can rise to squad leader?” He’s a shoo-in with his hand-to-hand skills and stellar marks in classes.
“We’ll see.” He’s unusually tense as we keep walking.
We make it to our dragons, and I can’t help but notice that Tairn is standing in what should be Cath’s spot, forcing Dain’s dragon to the side as Dain does a head count. My egotistical dragon is already saddled with Andarna under his wing.
Shit. They’re going to force Andarna to keep up with us.
“And if we take enemy fire, then you find the first available cover and hide just like last scenario. You’re too shiny for your own good,” Tairn tells her.
“All right.”
“What are you wearing?” I ask Andarna, who struts out from under Tairn’s wing with her head held high, boasting a contraption that reminds me of a saddle but isn’t.
“The wingleader had it made for me. See? It hooks to Tairn’s.”
I can’t help but smile as I see the shape of the triangle on Andarna’s back that I’m sure fits the one on Tairn’s chest. “It’s amazing.”
“It’s just in case I can’t keep up. Now I can come along!”
Just another reason to adore Xaden.
“Well, I love it.” I turn to Tairn, who’s busy snapping at Cath to give him more room. “Need me to attach anything?”
“I have it handled.”
“I’m sure you do.” Then it hits me. Five days. Damn. “Are you going to be all right if you’re separ—”
“Second Squad!” Dain calls out. “Prepare for a four-hour first leg of our flight. We’ll need to keep a tight formation for the first fifteen minutes as the squads disperse.” He glances my way, then over my shoulder. “Wingleader?”
I pivot and see Xaden striding our way, the hilts of two swords strapped to his back rising above his shoulders, and my throat closes. How am I supposed to say goodbye to him in front of all these people? And worse, how are our dragons going to cope?
“Don’t worry, Silver One,” Tairn interjects, his tone resolved. “Everything is as it should be.”
“How can I help you?” Dain bites out, his shoulders straightening.
“I need you,” Xaden says to me.
“I’m sorry?” Dain retorts before I can even nod.
“Relax, he just wants to say goodbye,” I explain.
“If you’re saying goodbye, it’s to him,” Xaden corrects, nodding at Dain. “I’m constructing my headquarters squad and you’re coming with me. So are Liam and Imogen.”
My jaw unhinges. I’m what?
“The fuck you are,” Dain barks, stepping forward. “She’s a first-year, and Athebyne is beyond the wards.”
Xaden blinks. “I don’t hear you giving me the same argument about Mairi.”
I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, Liam stands with his chin raised in front of Deigh. It’s almost as if he expected this.
“What is going on?” I ask Xaden.
“Liam is the best cadet among the first-years, even with you assigning him guard duty over Violet,” Dain argues, folding his arms across his chest.
“And Sorrengail wields lightning,” Xaden counters, taking a step closer so his arm brushes my shoulder. “And not that I owe you an explanation, second-year, because I don’t, but Sgaeyl and Tairn can’t be separated for longer than a few days—”
Of course. Now it makes sense.
“That you know of!” Dain exclaims. “Or can you honestly tell me Sgaeyl was at her wit’s end when you showed up at Montserrat? You’ve never fully tested how long they can be apart.”
“Feel like asking her yourself?” Xaden quips, arching a brow.
A low growl rumbles as Sgaeyl stalks forward, menace gleaming in her eyes. My heart launches into my throat on Dain’s behalf. It doesn’t matter how often I’m around her—there’s always a part of me that sees her as the death sentence she is.
“Don’t do this. Riders are known to die during War Games, and she’s safer with me,” Dain argues. “Anything could happen once we’re away from Basgiath, let alone you taking her beyond the wards.”
“I’m not dignifying that with a response. This is an order.”
Dain’s eyes narrow. “Or has this been your plan all along? To separate her from her squad so you can use her to get your need for revenge on her mother?”
“Dain!” I shake my head at him. “You know that’s not going to happen.”
“Do I?” he fires back. “He’s made a big deal out of the whole if-she-dies-I-die thing, but do you know it for a fact? Do you know Tairn won’t survive your death? Or has it all been a ploy to earn your trust, Violet?”
I suck in a sharp breath. “You need to stop right now.”
“Please, do quit while you’re behind, Aetos,” Xaden seethes. “You want the truth? She’s a fuck of a lot safer with me beyond the wards than she is with you within them. We both know it.” The look in his eyes is similar to the one in Sgaeyl’s, and it dawns on me why she chose him. They’re both ruthless, both willing to annihilate whatever stands between them and what they want.
And Dain is in Xaden’s path.
“Stop.” I put my hand on Xaden’s arm. “Xaden, stop. If you want me to go with you, I’ll go. It’s that simple.”
His gaze shifts to meet mine and immediately softens.
“No fucking way,” Dain whispers, but it reverberates in my bones like a lightning strike.
I pivot, dropping my hand from Xaden’s arm, but it’s obvious by Dain’s expression that he now knows there’s something between Xaden and me—and he’s hurt. My stomach hits the ground. “Dain…”
“Him?” Dain’s eyes widen and his face flushes. “You and…him?” He shakes his head. “People talk, and I thought that’s all it was, but you…” Disappointment drops his shoulders. “Don’t go, Violet. Please. He’s going to get you killed.”
“I know you think Xaden has ulterior motives, but I trust him. He’s had every opportunity and has never hurt me.” I move toward Dain. “At some point, you have to let this go.”
Dain looks horrified for a second but quickly masks it. “If he’s what you choose…” He sighs. “Then I guess that has to be enough for me, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” I nod. Thank gods all this nonsense is about to be past us.
He swallows hard and leans in to whisper, “I’ll miss you, Violet.” Then he pivots on his heel and heads for Cath.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Xaden says as I reach Tairn’s foreleg.
“Always.”
“We have to ride.”
He pauses, like he’s going to say more, but turns away instead. As he heads back to Sgaeyl, I can’t help but note both of the important men are walking away from me right now, in opposite directions, and given the one I’ve chosen to follow, my life is about to change forever.
The first known gryphon attack occurred in 1 AU (After Unification) near what is now the trading post of Resson. At the edge of the dragon-protected border, the post has always been vulnerable to attack and, over the course of the past six centuries, has changed hands no less than eleven times in what has become a never-ending war to secure our borders from our power-hungry enemies.
—Navarre, an Unedited History by Colonel Lewis Markham
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
We fly into the morning and then the afternoon, and when Andarna can’t keep up, she hooks on to Tairn’s harness midflight. She’s asleep by the time Xaden chooses to skirt the thousands-foot-high Cliffs of Dralor that give Tyrrendor a geological advantage over every province in the kingdom—over every province on the Continent, really, and go around instead, heading into the mountains north of Athebyne.
There’s a pulling sensation in my chest, then a snap as we cross the barrier of the wards.
“It feels different,” I tell Tairn.
“Without the wards, magic is wilder here. It’s easier for dragons to communicate within the wards. The wingleader will have to take that into account when commanding his wing from this outpost.”
“I’m sure he’s already thought of that.”
It’s nearly one o’clock in the afternoon when we approach Athebyne, stopping, at the orders of the dragons, at a lake closest to the outpost so they can drink. The surface of the lake is smooth as glass, reflecting the jagged peaks in front of us with breathtaking accuracy before the riot lands on the shoreline and sends ripples over the water in tiny shock waves. A thick forest of trees and heavy boulders surround one edge of the water, and nearby grass is trampled, which means we’re not the first riot to rest here.
There are ten dragons in all with us, and though I might not recognize each one of them, I know that Liam and I are the only first-years in the group. Deigh lands beside Tairn, and Liam jumps from his seat like we haven’t just spent seven hours in the sky.
“You both need to drink and probably eat something,” I tell them as I unbuckle from the saddle. My thighs are sore and cramping, but it’s not quite as bad as it was at Montserrat. The extra hours in the saddle this last month have helped.
Tairn pops a talon onto a latch, and Andarna plops to the ground, shaking her head, body, then tail.
“And you need to sleep,” Tairn replies. “You’ve been up all night.”
“I’ll sleep when you do.” Navigating his spikes carefully, I slide down his foreleg to the mossy edge of the shore.
“I can go for days without sleep. I’d rather you not fire off lightning bolts out of sleep deprivation.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to retort that it takes effort to wield lightning, but after I shattered Xaden’s window last night, I’m not sure I have any expertise on the subject. Or maybe it’s just Xaden who makes me lose control. Either way, I’m dangerous to be around. I’m surprised Carr hasn’t given up on me.
“It’s strange to be beyond the wards,” I say, changing the subject.
Tairn’s talons dig into the soil as Liam approaches, stretching his neck high above his shoulders. From the general agitation of the riot, I wonder if it’s something they all feel, this wrongness in the air that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
“We’re twenty minutes out from Athebyne, so hydrate! We have no idea what kind of scenario is waiting for us,” Xaden calls out, his voice carrying over the squad.
“You doing all right?” Liam asks, coming my way as Tairn and Andarna both take the few steps they need to access the water.
“Stay with Tairn,” I tell Andarna. She’s a shiny target this far from the protection of the Vale.
“I will.”
Gods, I should have left her at Basgiath. What the hell was I thinking, bringing her out here? She’s just a kid, and this flight has been grueling.
“It was never your choice,” Tairn lectures. “Humans, even bonded ones, do not decide where dragons fly. Even one as young as Andarna knows her own mind.” His words bring little comfort. When push comes to shove, I’m responsible for her safety.
“Violet?” Concern furrows Liam’s brow.
“If I say I’m not sure, will you think less of me?” There are so many ways to answer that question. Physically, I’m sore but fine, but mentally… Well, I’m a mess of anxiety and anticipation for what the War Games will bring. We were warned the quadrant always loses ten percent of the graduating class in the final test, but it’s more than that. I just can’t put my finger on it.
“I’d think you’re being honest.”
I glance to the left and see Xaden deep in conversation with Garrick. Naturally, the section leader made the cut for Xaden’s personal squad.
Xaden looks my way, our eyes locking for a second, and that’s all it takes to remind my body that I had him naked a few hours ago, the lines of his carved muscles straining against my skin. I’m so damned in love with that man. How am I supposed to keep it off my face?
Just be professional. That’s all I have to do. Though the way I’m hyperaware of each and every thing he’s said and done since leaving his bedroom pretty much makes me a walking example of why first-years shouldn’t sleep with their wingleaders, let alone fall in love with them. Good thing he’s only my wingleader for another week or so.
“Keep looking at me like that and we’ll be stopped longer than a half hour,” he warns without looking at me.
“Promise?”
His gaze whips my way, and I swear I see him actually smile before turning back toward Garrick.
“You doing all right with whatever is going on there?” Liam asks, startling me.
“And if I tell you I’m not sure?” I give him the same answer, my lips curving.
“I’d think you got yourself in over your head.” The look on his face is anything but teasing now.
“For someone who said he owes Xaden everything, that’s not a glowing recommendation.” I drop my pack to the ground and roll the tense muscles of my shoulders. “Don’t turn into Dain on me.”
“You feeling all right?” Xaden asks.
“Fine. Just a little sore.” The last thing I want to be is a burden for him.
“It’s not that.” Liam grimaces. “It’s just that I know his priorities.”
“I’m really sorry you got dragged along on my account,” I say quietly so the others won’t hear. “You should be at one of the midland posts with Dain, not being hauled past the wards. Colonel Aetos is a fair man, but I have no doubt this assignment is meant to ‘give the marked wingleader his due.’” I finish the last in a fair imitation of Dain’s dad, and Liam rolls his eyes.
“I’m not scared, no one is hauling me, and believe it or not, Violet, sometimes my orders actually don’t revolve solely around you. I do have other skills, you know,” he teases with a grin, flashing a dimple as he hip-checks me.
“I’ve never once forgotten how amazing you are, Liam.” And I mean it. He coughs, and I gesture him off. “Now, I need a moment of privacy.”
He bows with a wave of a hand, as though introducing me to the forest behind us, and I head off into their shadowy depths.
When I return to the shore of the lake, Xaden walks away from Garrick and holds out his hand as he approaches.
My eyebrows rise. Is he… No. He wouldn’t. Not in front of the eight other cadets.
He laces his fingers with mine. Guess he would. It’s more than the touch of his skin that has my pulse leaping. He’s breaking his own rule.
I glance pointedly toward where the others are gathered, all in various states of relaxation by the shore, but my hand tightens around his.
“None of them is going to say a single word about you—or us. I trust every single person here with my life,” he says, leading me toward a cluster of boulders almost twice his height on the far side of the lake.
“People talk. Let them.” I’m not ashamed of loving him, and I can handle any mean-spirited gossip that comes my way.
“You say that now.” His jaw flexes. “Did you get enough to drink? Or eat?”
“I brought everything I needed in my pack. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Worrying about you is ninety-nine percent of what I do.” His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “When we make it to the outpost, I want you to rest after we get our scenario objective. Liam will stay while I most likely take the third-years out to patrol.”
“I want to help,” I immediately protest. Wasn’t that why he brought me? For my lightning? Not that I’m exactly winning any accuracy awards, but still.
“You can, after you rest up. You have to be at full strength to wield that signet of yours, or you’ll risk burning out. Tairn is too powerful.”
He makes a decent point, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Once we’re out of sight of the others, he backs me against the largest boulder and then lowers into a crouch before me.
“What are you doing?” I run my fingers through his hair just because I can. The fact that I get to touch this man is absolutely mind-blowing, and I plan on taking every advantage of the privilege while I can.
“Your legs are stiff.” He starts at my calves, working the knots loose with his strong hands.
“I guess we can’t really leave until the dragons are ready anyway, right?” His touch feels downright decadent.
“Right. We have another ten minutes or so.” He flashes a wicked grin at me.
Ten minutes. Considering we really have no idea what the rest of the day will bring, I’m more than happy to grab ahold of what time we have.
I groan as my muscles melt and my head falls back to rest on the boulder. “That hurts so wonderfully. Thank you.”
He laughs, making his way up to the tense muscles of my thighs. “Trust me, my motives aren’t altruistic, Violence. I’ll take any excuse I can get to put my hands on you.”
The scruff on his cheeks scrapes my palms as I slide my hands down the sides of his face to cup the back of his neck. “The feeling is more than mutual.”
His breathing changes when he reaches the top of my thighs, his fingers kneading my muscles into outright submission. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
“What?”
He looks up at me, the sunlight catching the gold specks in his eyes, and arches his scarred brow. “We were in the middle of something, if you don’t remember.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Oh, I remember.” The top button of his flight jacket is undone, and I grip the fabric and tug him toward me. At what point is this constant craving for him going to be assuaged? I’ve had him multiple times in the past twenty-four hours and could still go another round…or three. “Is it wrong to wish we’d had time to finish?”
“Not sure I’ll ever be finished.” He rises, every plane of his body caressing mine on the way up. “I’m way too fucking greedy when it comes to you.”
He slants his head over mine and blurs out the rest of the world with a slow, luxurious kiss. His tongue slides between my parted lips to glide against mine like he has absolutely no other plans for the day but to memorize every corner of my mouth.
My entire body flares to life, then starts to simmer when he kisses a path down my throat. He palms my waist, pulling my curves flush with his hard angles, and I’m nothing but heat and need. My heart pounds so hard, it sounds like wingbeats in my ears. Gods, I’ll never get enough of this.
He groans, one hand sliding to my ass. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I wind my arms around his neck. “I was thinking you are exactly as I predicted the first time you took me in my room.”
“Oh yeah?” He draws back, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “And what exactly was that?”
“A very dangerous addiction.” My gaze skims over the silver line of his scar, the thick lashes so many women would kill for, and over the bump in his nose to that perfectly sculpted mouth. I’ve already told him that I love him, so it’s not like I’m keeping secrets over here. Hell, compared to him, I’m an open book. “Impossible to sate.”
His eyes darken. “I’m going to keep you,” he promises, just like he did last night. Or was it this morning? “You’re mine, Violet.”
I lift my chin. “Only if you’re mine.”
“I’ve been yours for longer than you could ever imagine.” As if the words untether him, he clutches the nape of my neck and kisses me long and hard, stealing every breath, every thought beyond the sweep of his tongue and the rising tide of need that heats my skin.
Xaden yanks his mouth away with a gasp, breaking the kiss and cocking his head to the side as if listening for something.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. He’s gone rigid beneath my arms.
“Shit.” His eyes widen as he drags his gaze back to mine. “Violet, I’m so sorry—”
“Is this seriously how you dragon riders spend your time?” a woman asks from behind Xaden, her voice like velvet dragged over a gravel road.
He spins around so quickly, he’s a blur. Shadows envelop me, thick as a thundercloud.
I can’t see shit.
“Xaden!” someone yells and multiple pairs of feet come crashing through the brush. Bodhi, maybe?
“Silly to hide what’s already been seen,” the woman says, her tone curt. “And if rumors are true, there’s only one silver-haired rider in your death factory of a college, which means that’s General Sorrengail’s youngest.”
“Fuck,” Xaden swears. “I need you to stay calm, Violence.”
Calm? Shadows fall away, and I leave my hands loose at my sides in case I need to grab a dagger or wield, sidestepping Xaden so I can see.
A pair of gryphon riders stands in the meadow about thirty feet away, their beasts eerily silent behind them. They’re a third of the size of our dragons, but those beaks and claws look capable of shredding skin and scale just the same.
“Tairn!”
“Coming.”
“Stay with Sgaeyl,” I order Andarna.
“The gryphons look tasty from here,” she responds.
“They’re the same size you are. No.”
“A fucking Sorrengail.” The woman looks only a few years older than me, but she has the look of a veteran rider. She arches a dark brow, looking at me like I’m something that needs to be shoveled out of the horse stalls. The sound of beating wings fills the air as a handful of dragon riders barrel into the space around us. Imogen. Bodhi. A third-year with a scarred lip I recognize. Liam. But no one is reaching for a weapon.
At least the odds are in our favor now. Power unfurls under my skin, and I throw open that Archives door, letting energy rush over me in a torrent of scalding heat. The sky crackles.
“No!” Xaden turns and hauls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me and pinning my arms to my sides.
“What are you doing?” I throw my weight against Xaden, but it’s no use. He has me locked down tight.
A gust of wind hits my right side as Tairn lands.
“Holy shit, that one is huge,” the woman says. Around Xaden’s immovable arm, I see the gryphon riders retreat with quick steps, their eyes flying wide as they look up.
Xaden lifts one hand to cup the nape of my neck as I look up at him. What the actual fuck is he doing? Kissing me before we die? “If you have ever trusted me, Violet, I need you to do it now.” The plea in his eyes leaves me stunned. Our enemies are feet away and he wants to…have a moment?
“Just stay here. Stay calm.” His eyes search mine for an answer to a question I haven’t been asked. Then he passes me to Liam.
Passes me. Like I’m a damned rucksack.
Liam pins my arms to my sides with careful but unyielding strength. “I’m sorry about this, Violet.”
Why the hell is everyone apologizing?
“Let. Me. Go,” I demand as Xaden strides toward the pair of gryphon riders, Garrick at his side. Fear squeezes my heart like a vise that he thinks he can take on the gryphons and their riders himself.
“I can’t do that,” Liam apologizes, his voice lowering. “I really wish I could.”
Tairn roars from my right so hard that spit flies, smacking Liam in the face and making my ears ring. Liam drops his hands and backs away slowly, putting his palms up. “Got it. Point made. No touching.”
Free from his grip, I spin toward the field as Xaden reaches the riders.
“You’re fucking early,” he says.
And my heart stops.
In his last days of interrogation, Fen Riorson lost touch with reality, railing against the kingdom of Navarre. He accused King Tauri, and all who came before him, of a conspiracy so vast, so unspeakable, that it does not bear repeating by this historian. The execution was swift and merciful for a madman who cost untold lives.
—Navarre, an Unedited History by Colonel Lewis Markham
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
Somehow, I manage to keep breathing, which is impressive given my heart feels like it might shatter in a million pieces, and narrow my gaze on the enemy.
I’ve never seen a gryphon rider before. The dragons usually burn them to ash, along with their half-eagle, half-lion mounts.
“What happened to meeting tomorrow? We don’t have a full shipment,” Xaden says to the gryphon rider, his voice calm and even.
“The shipment isn’t the issue,” the woman says, shaking her head. Unlike our black, the riders’ leathers are brown, matching the darker feathers of their beasts…who are currently staring at me like I’m dinner.
“If they try anything, they’ll be a snack,” Tairn says.
Shipment. I barely process what Tairn says through the shock of the rider’s words. And Xaden knows them. He’s working with them, aiding our enemy. Betrayal cuts my throat like glass as I try to swallow. This is why he’s been sneaking off from the quadrant.
“So you were waiting nearby to chat on the off chance that we’d fly by a full day early?” Xaden asks.
“We were patrolling from Draithus yesterday—it’s about an hour southeast from here—”
“I know where Draithus is,” Xaden retorts.
“Never know, you Navarrians act like nothing exists beyond your borders,” the male gryphon rider snarks. “I don’t know why we’re bothering to warn them.”
“Warn us?” Xaden’s head cocks to the side.
“We lost a village in the vicinity to a horde of venin two days ago. They decimated everything.”
I startle, my eyes flying wide. She just said what?
“Venin never come this far west,” Imogen says from my left.
Venin. Yep, that’s what they both said. What the actual hell? I’d think someone was fucking with me if not for the two enormous gryphons looming behind the pair of riders. But no one is laughing.
“Until now,” the woman replies, turning her gaze back to Xaden. “They were unmistakably venin and had one of their—”
“Don’t say anything else,” Xaden interrupts. “You know that none of us can know the details or we put everything at risk. All it takes is one of us being interrogated.”
“Are you getting this?” I ask Tairn, glancing left and right to see if anyone else noticed the pure ridiculousness spewing from the woman’s mouth, but everyone else looks…horrified, like they actually believe a village was destroyed by mythical creatures.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Details or not, it looks like the horde is heading north,” the male says. “Straight toward our trading post on the border across from your garrison at Athebyne. Are you armed?”
“We’re armed,” Xaden admits.
“Then our job here is done. You’ve been warned,” the male says. “Now we have to go defend our people. As it is, this side trip only gives us about an hour to reach them in time.”
Instantly, the atmosphere changes, intensifies, and the riders around me seem to brace for something.
Xaden looks over his shoulder at me, and instead of laughing at the utter absurdity of what they’re discussing, his face is set in grim lines.
“If you think you’ll ever convince a Sorrengail to risk their neck for anyone outside their own borders, then you’re a fool,” the man says with a sneer in my direction.
Power sizzles painfully beneath my skin, demanding an outlet.
The man leans slightly to the side and looks me up and down in obvious judgment. “I wonder what your king would be willing to pay in order to get back the daughter of his most illustrious general. I’m willing to bet your ransom would be worth enough weaponry to defend all of Draithus for a decade.”
Ransom? Oh, I think not.
Tairn snarls.
“Fuck,” Bodhi mutters, moving closer to me.
“Try. I dare you.” I crook my fingers at them, releasing just enough power that light flashes within the clouds above us.
Shadows race menacingly from the pine trees on the edge of the meadow as Xaden raises his hands at his sides, and both gryphon riders tense when the darkness pauses only inches from their feet. “You take a step toward that Sorrengail and you’ll be dead before you can even shift your weight,” Xaden says, his voice dropping lethally. “She’s not up for discussion.”
The woman glances at the shadows, then sighs. “We’ll be there with the rest of our drift. Just signal if you can get away from the disbelievers.” She walks away, leading the man back toward their gryphons.
They mount within seconds and launch skyward.
Every head turns toward me with looks that vary from expectation to something akin to fear, and my stomach sinks. No one was surprised at the gryphon riders’ familiarity or throwing words like “venin” around. And they all knew Xaden was aiding the enemy.
I’m the outsider here.
“Good luck, Riorson.” Imogen tucks a piece of her pink hair behind her ear, her rebellion relic peeking out above the sleeve of her flight leathers as she turns to give us space.
My stomach drops and my mind races, grasping for anything but the obvious, devastating truth as they all slowly follow Imogen back toward the lake.
There’s a rebellion relic winding up a third-year’s forearm as he passes in front of me.
Garrick’s here. He’s a section leader, but he’s…here, not with any of the Flame Section squads. So are Bodhi and Imogen. That brunette rider with the nose ring is Soleil, I think, and that’s definitely a relic on her left forearm. The second-year from Claw Section? He has one, too.
And Liam…Liam is at my side.
“Tairn.” I keep my breathing as even as possible as Xaden stares at me, his face masked like an emotionless wingleader.
“Silver One?” Tairn’s giant head swings in my direction.
“They all carry rebellion relics,” I tell him. “Everyone in this squad besides me is the child of a separatist.” In the chaos of the flight field, Xaden constructed an all-marked squad.
And they’re all. Fucking. Traitors.
And I fell for it.
I fell for him.
“Yes. They are,” he agrees, resignation in his tone.
My chest threatens to cave in as it truly hits me. This is so much worse than just Xaden betraying me, betraying our entire kingdom. There’s only one explanation as to why my own dragons have been so damned docile in the presence of the enemy.
“You and Andarna lied to me, too.” The treachery of it is too much, and my shoulders dip from the weight of it. “You knew what he was doing.”
“We both chose you,” Andarna says, like that makes it any better.
“But you knew.” I look past where Liam dares to stare at me with sorrow, to Tairn, whose lethal focus lies straight ahead like he hasn’t quite decided if he’s going to burn Xaden alive or not.
“Dragons are bound by bonds,” he explains as Xaden approaches. “There is only one other bond more sacred than that of a dragon and its rider.”
A dragon and its mate.
Everyone knew but me. Even my own dragons. Oh gods, is Dain right? Has everything Xaden’s done been a ploy to earn my trust?
The sweet glow of happiness, of love, trust, and affection that burned so brightly in my chest just a few minutes ago sputters painfully, gasping for oxygen like a campfire put out by a bucket of water once it outlives its usefulness. All I can do is watch as the embers drown and die.
Xaden watches me with increasing apprehension the closer he comes, like I’m some kind of cornered animal about to fight her way out with teeth and claws.
How was I ever foolish enough to trust him? How did I ever fall for him? My lungs ache and my heart screams. This can’t be happening. I can’t be this naive. But I guess I am, because here we are. His entire body is a fucking warning, especially the dark relic that’s so glaringly visible on his neck right now. His father may have been the Great Betrayer, may have cost my brother his life, but Xaden’s treachery cuts just as deep.
He flinches as my eyes narrow into a glare.
“Were we ever really friends?” I whisper at Liam, searching for the strength to yell.
“We are friends, Violet, but I owe him everything,” Liam answers, and when I glance up, he’s watching me with so much misery that I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “We all do. And once you give him a chance to explain—”
There it is. Anger rushes to my aid, overpowering the hurt.
“You watched me train with him!” I shove at Liam’s chest, and he stumbles backward through the grass. “You stood by and watched me fall for him!”
“Oh shit.” Bodhi laces his hands behind his thick neck.
“Violence, let me explain,” Xaden says. He’s always known my true nature, and honestly, the shadows should have clued me in to his. He’s a master of secrets.
Unspent power ripples in my very bones as I turn my back on Liam to face Xaden. “If you even think about touching me, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.” My power flares with my rage and lightning cracks across the sky, jumping from cloud to cloud.
“I think she means it,” Liam warns.
“I know she does.” Xaden’s jaw ticks as our gazes collide and hold. “Everybody, go back to the shore. Now.”
He watches me with apprehension as he draws closer.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Xaden says in that deceptively soft voice of his, and there’s a flicker of fear in those onyx depths.
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.” Fucking. Traitor.
“You’re thinking I’ve betrayed our kingdom.”
“Logical guess. Good for you.” Another bolt of lightning whips free, streaking cloud to cloud. “You’re working with gryphon riders?” I leave my arms loose at my sides just in case I need my hands free to wield, though I know I’m no match for him. Not yet. “Gods, you are such a cliché, Xaden. You’re a villain hiding in plain fucking sight.”
He winces. “Actually, they’re called fliers,” Xaden says softly, holding my gaze. “And I might be the villain to some, but not you.”
“I’m sorry? Are we seriously arguing the semantics of your treason?”
“Dragons have riders, and gryphons have fliers.”
“Which you know because you’re in league with them.” I retreat a few steps so I don’t act on the overwhelming urge to punch him in the face. “You’re working with our enemy.”
“Did you ever once stop to think that sometimes you can start out on the right side of a war and end up on the wrong one?”
“In this particular case? No.” I point toward the shore. “I was trained as a scribe, remember? All we’ve done is defend our borders for six hundred years. They’re the ones who won’t accept peace as a solution. What shipments have you been giving them?”
“Weapons.”
My stomach hits the ground. “That they use to kill dragon riders?”
“No.” He shakes his head emphatically. “These weapons are only to fight venin.”
My jaw unhinges. “Venin are the stuff of fables. Like the book my father—” I blink. The letter. What had he written? Folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach us about our past.
Was he trying to say… No. That’s impossible.
“They’re real,” Xaden says softly, like he’s trying to lessen a blow.
“You’re saying people who can somehow tap into the source of magic without a dragon or gryphon to channel, corrupting their power beyond all salvation, actually exist.” I say the words slowly just so we’re crystal clear. “They’re not just part of the creation fable.”
“Yes.” His forehead creases. “They drained all the magic out of the Barrens and then spread like an infestation.”
“Well, at least that’s in keeping with folklore.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What was the fable again? One brother bonded to gryphon, one to dragon, and when the third grew jealous, he drew directly from the source, losing his soul and waging war on the other two.”
“Yes.” He sighs. “This was not how I wanted to tell you.”
“Assuming you were ever going to tell me!” I glance to where Tairn watches, his head low as though he might have to incinerate Xaden at any moment. “Care to add to the discussion?”
“Not yet. I’d prefer you come to your own conclusion. I chose you for your intelligence and courage, Silver One. Don’t let me down.”
I barely restrain myself from flipping the middle finger at my own dragon.
“Fine. Were I to believe venin exist and roam the Continent wielding dark magic, then I’d also have to believe they never attack Navarre because…” My eyes widen at the possibility’s logical conclusion. “Because our wards make all non-dragon magic impossible.”
“Yes.” He shifts his weight. “They’d be powerless the second they cross into Navarre.”
Fuck, that makes sense, and I desperately don’t want it to. “Which means I would have to believe that we have no clue that Poromiel is being relentlessly, viciously attacked by dark wielders just beyond our borders.” My brow furrows.
He glances away and takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye. “Or you have to believe that we know and choose to do nothing about it.”
Indignation lifts my chin. “Why the hell would we choose to do nothing about people being slaughtered? It goes against everything we stand for.”
“Because the only thing that kills venin is the very thing powering our wards.”
He doesn’t say anything else as we stand there, the only sound the water lapping against the shore in time with the echo of his words beating against the edges of my heart.
“Is this why there have been raids along our borders? They’re looking for the material we use to power our wards?” I ask. Not because I believe him, not yet, but because he’s not trying to convince me. The truth rarely needs effort, my dad used to say.
He nods. “The material is forged into weapons to fight the venin. Here, take this.”
Raising his right arm, he takes a black-handled dagger from the sheath at his side. I’m brutally aware of every move, horrifyingly aware that he’s been able to kill me whenever he wants, and this moment is no different. Though it would have been a swifter death if he’d simply used one of the swords strapped across his back. He moves slowly, extending the dagger as an offering.
I take it, noting the sharpened blade, but it’s the alloy embedded into the rune-marked hilt that makes me gasp. “You took this from my mother’s desk?” My gaze jumps to his.
“No. Your mother probably has one for the same reason you should. To defend against venin.” There’s so much pity in his eyes that my chest tightens.
The dagger. The raids. It’s all right there.
“But you told me there was no chance we could be fighting something like this,” I whisper, clinging to the last of my hope that this is all a horrible joke.
“No.” He moves closer, reaching for me and then dropping his hand as if he’s thought better of it. “I told you I would hope that if this threat was out there, our leadership would tell us.”
“You twisted the truth to suit your needs.” My hand curls around the dagger’s hilt, and I feel it hum with power. Venin are real. Venin. Are. Real.
“Yes. And I could lie to you, Violence, but I’m not. No matter what you think right now, I have never lied to you.”
Sure. Right. “And how do I know this is the truth?”
“Because it hurts to think we’re the kind of kingdom that would do this. It hurts to rearrange everything you think you know. Lies are comforting. Truth is painful.”
I feel the hum of power within the blade and glare at Xaden. “You could have told me at any time, but instead you hid everything from me.”
He flinches. “Yes. I should have told you months ago, but I couldn’t. I’m risking everything by telling you now—”
“Because you have to, not because you want—”
“Because if your best friend sees this memory, everything is lost,” he interrupts, and I gasp.
“You don’t know that—”
“Dain wouldn’t break a rule to save your life, Violet. What do you think he’d do if he had this knowledge?”
What would Dain do? “I have to believe he would not put the Codex above people suffering beyond our borders. Or maybe I could have built shields that would have kept Dain from prying. Or maybe he would continue to respect my boundaries and never look in the first place.” I narrow my eyes. “But we’ll never know, will we? Because you didn’t trust me to know the right thing to do, Xaden, did you?”
He throws his hands wide. “This is bigger than you and me, Violence. And leadership will stop at nothing to sit behind their wards and keep the venin secret.” His voice is raw as he pleads, “I watched my own father executed trying to help these people. I couldn’t risk you, too.” He leans into my space a little more with every word, launching my pulse, but I’m done letting my heart make my head’s choices. “You love me, and—”
“Loved,” I correct him, sidestepping so I can get some fucking space and then taking it.
“Love!” he shouts, stopping me in my tracks and earning us a glance from every rider within hearing distance. “You love me.”
One of those little embers in my chest tries to come back to life, and I squash it before it has the chance to burn.
Slowly, I turn to face him. “Everything I feel—” I swallow, fighting to hold on to the anger so I don’t fall apart. “Felt for you was based on secrets and deception.” Shame burns in my cheeks that I was naive enough to fall for him in the first place.
“Everything between us is real, Violence.” The intensity with which he says it hurts my heart even more. “The rest, I can explain with enough time. But before we get to our assigned outpost, I need to know if you believe me.”
I glance at the dagger and hear the words in my father’s letter as surely as if he’d spoken them. I know you’ll make the right choice when the time comes. He warned me the only way he could have: through books.
“Yes,” I say, handing the dagger back to Xaden. “I believe you. That doesn’t mean I trust you anymore.”
“Keep it.” His posture softens in relief.
I sheathe it at my thigh. “You’re giving me a weapon after just telling me that you’ve been deceiving me for months, Riorson?”
“Absolutely. I have another, and if what the fliers say is true, and venin are headed north, then you might need it. I never lied when I said I can’t live without you, Violence.” He backs away slowly, his lips curving in a sad smile. “And defenseless women have never been my type, remember?”
I’m not remotely ready to joke around with him. “Let’s just get to Athebyne.”
He nods, and a few minutes later, we’re midflight.
“We know we didn’t lie. We just didn’t tell you everything,” Andarna says, flying in the pocket of air behind Tairn with the least wind resistance as we make our way to the outpost.
“That’s lying by omission,” I argue. There’s a lot of that going around today.
“She’s right, Golden One.” Tension radiates through every line of Tairn’s body and the very beats of his wings. “You have every right to be angry.” He banks, following the mountain range along the border. The straps on my saddle bite into my thighs. “We made a choice to protect you—without your consent. It was an error, and one that I won’t make again.” The guilt he feels overwhelms my own emotions, melting the hottest of my anger, and I begin to think.
Really, truly think.
If venin exist, we’d have record. And yet there weren’t any copies of The Fables of the Barren in the Archives—the one location Navarre should have a copy of every book written or transcribed in the last four hundred years, which means Dad didn’t just give me a rare book…but a forbidden one.
Four hundred years of tomes and not a single one—
Four hundred years. But our history spans over six. Everything is a copy of an earlier work. The only original text in the Archives older than four hundred years—around the time we fell into war with Poromiel—are the original scrolls from the Unification over six hundred years ago.
It only takes one desperate generation to change history—even erase it.
Gods, Dad spelled it all out for me. He’d always told me scribes hold all the power.
“Yes,” Tairn says as we curve around the last peak, its jagged top bare of snow from the summer heat, and the mountainside outpost of Athebyne comes into view at the same time as the Cliffs of Dralor. “One generation to change the text. One generation chooses to teach that text. The next grows, and the lie becomes history.”
He banks left, following the curve of the mountain, then slows as we approach the outpost’s flight field.
My hands grip the pommels when we land in front of the looming structure perched on the side of the last peak in this range. Its design is identical to Montserrat, a simple square fortress with four towers and walls barely thick enough to launch a dragon. The military is nothing if not uniform.
I unbuckle from my saddle and slide down his foreleg. “And somehow we’re supposed to be able to concentrate on the War Games,” I mutter, adjusting my pack on my shoulders, thinking about a trading post that may or may not be under attack from mythical creatures soon.
The others dismount, and I look back to see Andarna already curled up between Tairn’s feet.
Xaden walks with Garrick, looking my way with what feels like longing. I gave him everything, and he never truly let me in. Pain rips through my chest with the kind of cut that only heartbreak can give, sharp and jagged. I imagine this is what it feels like to be cleaved apart with a dull, rust-covered blade. It’s not honed enough to slice quickly, and there’s a one hundred percent chance the wound is going to fester. If I can’t trust him, there’s no future for us.
It’s more than tense as the ten of us walk beneath the open portcullis and into the outpost. The very empty outpost.
“What the hell?” Garrick strides across the courtyard in the center of the structure, looking along the gathering spaces that should line the interior just like Montserrat.
“Stop,” Xaden orders, surveying the walls that rise on every side above us. “There’s no one here. Divide and search.” He glances at me. “You don’t leave my side. I don’t think this is a War Game.”
I start to argue that he couldn’t possibly know that, but the whip of wind through the open gate makes me pause. The only sounds in a fortress that should house more than two hundred people are our footsteps on the rocky ground—and he’s right. Everything feels off.
“Awesome,” I reply with more than a small dose of sarcasm, and everyone but Liam—who’s my shadow once again—scatters in groups of two or three, climbing various staircases.
“This way,” Xaden says, beelining for the southwest tower. We climb and climb, finally reaching the top of the fourth floor, where the door leads us to an open-air observation point that overlooks the valley below, including the Poromish trading post.
“This is one of the most strategic garrisons we man,” I say, looking for any sight of the infantry and riders who should be here. “There’s no way they’d abandon it for War Games.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” Xaden looks out over the valley, then narrows his eyes on the trading post a thousand feet below. “Liam.”
“On it.” Liam moves forward, leaning on the stone battlement as he focuses on the structures in the distance beneath us. The trading post is maybe a twenty-minute walk along the wide gravelly path winding down the mountainside our outpost is perched on. The roofs of several buildings just poke out above the circular stone wall of its defenses, a drift of gryphons and their fliers approaching from the south.
Xaden turns on me, and the look in his eyes is anything but welcoming. “What did Dain say to you before we left? He leaned in and whispered something.”
I blink, trying to remember. “He said something like…” I search my memory. “I’ll miss you, Violet.”
His body goes tense. “And he said I was going to get you killed.”
“Yes, but he always says that.” I shrug. “What would Dain have to do with emptying an entire outpost?”
“I have something!” Garrick calls from the southeast tower, holding what looks to be an envelope as he and Imogen cross the thick rampart, coming in our direction.
“Did you tell him about my trips here?” Xaden questions, his eyes hardening.
“No!” I shake my head. “Unlike some people, I never hid anything from you.”
He draws back, his gaze shifting left and right as he thinks before settling on me again and widening. “Violence,” he says softly, “did Aetos touch you after I told you about Athebyne?”
“What?” My brow furrows, and I shove an errant strand of hair out of my face as the wind swirls around us.
“Like this.” He lifts his hand to my cheek. “His power requires touching someone’s face. Did he touch you like this?”
My lips part. “Yes, but that’s how he always touches me. He would n-never…” I sputter. “I would know if he read my memories.”
Xaden’s face falls, and his hand slips downward, cradling the back of my neck. “No, Violence. Trust me, you wouldn’t.” There’s no accusation in his tone, just a resignation that hurts what’s left of my heart.
“He wouldn’t.” I shake my head. Dain is a lot of things, but he would never violate me like that, never take something I hadn’t offered. Except he tried once.
“It’s addressed to you,” Garrick says, handing the envelope to Xaden.
Xaden drops his hand from my face and breaks the seal. I can read the lettering as he opens the missive.
War Games for Xaden Riorson, Wingleader of Fourth Wing.
I recognize the handwriting—how could I not when I’ve seen it all my life? “That’s from Colonel Aetos.”
“What does it say?” Garrick asks, folding his arms over his chest. “What’s our assignment?”
“Guys, I see something just past the trading post,” Liam says from the battlement. “Oh shit.”
Xaden’s face drains of all color, and he crumples the missive in his fist before looking at me. “It says our mission is to survive if we can.”
Oh gods. Dain read my memories without my permission. He must have told his father to where they’ve been sneaking off. I’ve unknowingly betrayed Xaden…betrayed them all.
“That’s not…” Garrick shakes his head.
“Guys, this is bad,” Liam shouts, and Imogen races to his side.
“This isn’t your fault,” Xaden says to me, then rips his gaze from mine and turns to his friends, who are running down the ramparts to join us. “We’ve been sent here to die.”
For there, in the land beyond the shadows, were monsters that dwelled in the night and dined on the souls of children who wandered too close to the woods.
—“The Wyvern’s Cry,” The Fables of the Barren
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
Xaden hands Garrick the missive, and the rest of us rush to the battlements to see what we’re up against, but I can’t spot any threat in the valley below or the plains that stretch beyond for miles before the Cliffs of Dralor.
“Something is off,” Tairn says. “I felt it at the lake, but it’s stronger here.”
“Can you pinpoint what it is?” I reply as panic creeps up my throat. If Dain’s dad knows Xaden and the others have been supplying weapons to the gryphon fliers, there’s every chance this is an execution.
“It’s coming from the valley below.”
“I can’t see shit down there,” Bodhi says, leaning over the edge of the masonry.
“Well, I can,” Liam replies, “and if those are what I think they are, we’re fucked.”
“Don’t tell me what you think they are—tell me what you’re sure of,” Xaden orders.
“The letter says this is a test of your command,” the section leader reads behind us. “You have the choice of abandoning the village of our enemy or abandoning command of your wing.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Bodhi reaches back and takes the letter.
“They’re testing our loyalty without actually saying it.” Xaden folds his arms over his chest, standing at my side. “According to the missive, if we leave now, we’ll make it to the new location of headquarters for Fourth Wing at Eltuval in time to carry out our orders for War Games, but if we leave, the trading post of Resson and its occupants will be destroyed.”
“By what?” Imogen asks.
“Venin,” Liam responds.
My stomach drops.
“You’re positive?” Xaden asks.
Liam nods. “As sure as I can be without having actually seen them before. Four of them. Purple robes. Distended red veins spidering all around bright red eyes. Creepy as shit.”
“Sounds about right.” Xaden’s weight shifts.
“I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons,” Bodhi mutters.
“Oh, and one guy with a giant-ass staff,” Liam continues. “And I swear to Dunne, one second the plain was clear and the next they were just…there, walking toward the gates.” His eyes are wide, his pupils blown as he uses his signet to see to the bottom of the valley.
“Red veins?” Imogen asks.
“Because magic corrupts their blood as they lose their souls,” I murmur, looking up at Xaden, wondering if he remembers what Andarna said the night we took the tunnel to the flight field. “Nature likes everything in balance.”
Every head but Liam’s swings my way.
“If the fables are true, at least.” A part of me hopes they are, or I know next to nothing about the enemy below. Of course, if they’re true…
“Seven gryphons have landed next to us,” Tairn tells me.
Everyone else stiffens, no doubt receiving the same message from their dragons.
“Andarna, stay with Tairn,” I say. Xaden might trust the fliers, but Andarna is damn near defenseless.
“All right,” she answers.
“The guy with the staff just—” Liam starts.
An explosion sounds, echoing up the sparsely treed valley, followed by a plume of blue smoke. My heart jolts at the sight.
“Those were the gates,” he finishes.
“How many people live in Resson?” Bodhi asks.
“More than three hundred,” Imogen answers as another boom cracks through the valley. “That’s the post they do the yearly trades at.”
“Then let’s get down there.” Bodhi turns and Xaden steps back, blocking his path with an outstretched hand. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“We have no idea what we’re walking into.” Xaden’s tone reminds me of that first day after Parapet. He’s in full command mode.
“So we should just stand here while civilians die?” Bodhi questions, and I tense. We all do, watching Xaden.
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Xaden shakes his head. He has to choose. That’s what the War Games missive said. He can abandon that village or his command, who’s now waiting for him at Eltuval. “This isn’t a fucking training exercise, Bodhi. Some—if not all—of us are going to die if we go down there. If we’d been assigned to an active wing, there would be far older, more experienced leadership making this decision, but there aren’t. If we weren’t marked with rebellion relics, if we hadn’t been aiding the enemy”—his gaze darts to mine briefly—“we wouldn’t even be here with this choice. So, all command structure aside, what are your thoughts?”
“We have the numbers,” Soleil says, narrowing her brown eyes on the field and tapping her bright green fingernails rhythmically on the stone crenelations of the battlement. “And air superiority.”
“At least there aren’t any wyvern.” I scan the skies just to be sure.
“Uh. What?” Bodhi’s eyebrows rise.
“Wyvern. Fables say venin created them to compete with dragons and, instead of channeling from them, channel power into them.” Let’s hope there’s something in that book that isn’t true.
“Yeah, let’s not borrow trouble.” Xaden shoots a look sideways at me, then studies the sky.
“There are four venin and ten of us,” Garrick says, walking away from the edge of the battlement.
“We have the weapons to kill them,” Liam says, turning his back on the valley. “And Deigh told me seven gryphon fliers—”
“We’re here,” the older brunette from the lake says, striding down the battlement from the southeast corner of the outpost. “I left the rest of the drift outside once we noticed that your outpost seems to be…abandoned.” She glances over the rampart at the clouds of smoke rising from the valley beneath with a look of resignation, her shoulders dipping. “I’m not going to ask you to fight with us.”
“You’re not?” Garrick’s eyebrows rise.
“No.” She gives him a sad smile. “Four of them is tantamount to a death sentence. The rest of my drift are making peace with our gods.” She turns toward Xaden. “I came to tell you to leave. You have no clue what they’re capable of wielding. It only took two of them to bring down an entire city last month. Two. Of. Them. We lost two drifts trying to stop them. If there’re four down there…” She shakes her head. “They’re after something, and they’re going to kill every single person in Resson to get it. Take your riot and go home while you can.”
Fear squeezes my chest, but my heart aches at the thought of leaving them to die. It goes against everything we stand for, even if they aren’t Navarrian civilians.
“We have dragons,” Imogen says, her pitch rising. “Surely that has to count for something. We’re not afraid to fight.”
“Are you afraid to die? Have any of you seen combat?” The brunette’s gaze sweeps over us, and suddenly I feel…young as we reply with our silence. “Thought not. Your dragons do count for something. They can fly you far and fast. Dragon fire won’t kill them. Only the daggers you’ve been bringing, and we have those.” She looks at Xaden. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve kept us alive these last couple of years and given us a fighting chance.”
“You’re going down there to die,” Xaden says matter-of-factly.
“Yes.” She nods as another explosion sounds. “Get your riot out of here. Fast.” Pivoting on her heel, she strides back down the rampart, her head held high before she disappears into the tower on the opposite end.
Xaden’s jaw clenches, and I can see the battle raging in his eyes.
An unbearable heaviness settles in my stomach.
If we leave, they’ll all die. Every civilian. Every flier. We won’t have killed them, but we’ll be complicit in their deaths all the same.
If we fight, we’ll likely die with them.
We can live as cowards or die as riders.
Xaden’s shoulders straighten, and the rock in my stomach turns to nausea. He’s made a decision. I can see it in the lines of his face, the resolve in his posture. “Sgaeyl says she has never run from a fight, and today will not be the first. And I’m not going to stand by while innocent people are dying, either.” He shakes his head. “But I’m not going to order any of you to join me. I’m responsible for all of you. None of you crossed that parapet because you wanted to. None of you. You crossed it because I made a deal. I’m the one who forced you into the quadrant, so I won’t think less of anyone who wants to fly for Eltuval instead. Make your choice.” He tears his hand through his hair. “I don’t want you in harm’s way.”
In a perfect world, that would be all I need to hear. “If the others get to make a choice, then so do I.”
His jaw flexes.
“We’re riders,” Imogen says as another explosion sounds. “We defend the defenseless. That’s what we do.”
“You saved every single one of us here, cousin,” Bodhi says. “And we’re thankful. Now, I’d like to do what we’ve trained for, and if it means I don’t go home, then I guess my soul will be commended to Malek. I wouldn’t mind seeing my mother anyway.”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I did after Threshing our first year when we decided to start smuggling weaponry out,” Garrick says. “You kept us alive all these years; we get to decide how we die. I’m with you.”
“Exactly!” Soleil says, drumming her fingertips just above the dagger sheathed at her thigh. “I’m in.”
Liam steps forward so he stands at my side. “We watched as our parents were executed because they had the courage to do the right thing. I’d like to think my death would be just as honorable.”
My chest tightens. Their parents died to expose the truth while mine sacrificed my brother to keep this heinous secret.
“Agreed.” Imogen nods.
They all do.
One by one, everyone agrees, until there’s only me.
Xaden captures my gaze.
If you think you’ll ever convince a Sorrengail to risk their neck for anyone outside their own borders, then you’re a fool. Isn’t that what the flier said at the lake?
Fuck that.
“Tairn?” It’s not just me going to war.
“We will feast on their bones, Silver One.”
Graphic, but point made.
I will not leave innocent people to die, no matter what side of the border they live on. I will not let my squadmates risk their lives while I run, despite the plea I see in Xaden’s eyes.
At least Rhiannon, Sawyer, and Ridoc aren’t here. They’ll live to be second-years.
Mira will understand. I have no doubt that she would do the same.
And as for Mom… The dagger on her desk means she knows and has done nothing to stop it. Guess I’ll be the second child she sacrifices to keep the existence of venin a secret.
“I’ve been defenseless,” I tell Xaden, lifting my chin. “And now I’m a rider. Riders fight.”
The others shout in agreement.
A thousand emotions cross his face, but Xaden only nods as he walks toward the battlements. “Liam. Give me a report.”
His foster brother moves to his side and focuses. “The fliers are engaged, all seven—six of them. Looks like they’re trying to draw fire away from the civilians, but damn, the venin are wielding a kind of fire I’ve never seen among riders. Three surround the city, and one is making his way toward a structure in the middle. A clock tower.”
Xaden nods, then divides us according to objectives. Garrick and Soleil will do a perimeter sweep for reconnaissance while the rest of us target the venin on various sides of Resson, keeping an eye on the advance on the clock tower as we near it on each pass through town. “The only way to take them out is by dagger.”
“That means we’ll have to dismount and fight once we get the townspeople to whatever safety we can find,” Garrick adds, his face set in grim lines. “Don’t throw your only weapons unless you’re certain of your aim.”
Xaden nods. “Save as many people as you can. Let’s go.”
We make our way down the steps and through the silent courtyard, Xaden leading the way. When we emerge from the outpost, our dragons wait, all perched on the edge of the ridgeline, shifting their weight in agitation as they survey the trading post below.
I walk directly between Tairn and Sgaeyl.
“I knew you’d make the right choice,” Sgaeyl says, glancing toward where Xaden approaches with Liam, their footsteps dangerously close to the cliffside at my left. “He did, too. Even if he doesn’t like you putting yourself in danger, he knew you would.”
“Well, he knows me a great deal better than I know him.” I lift a brow at her.
She blinks. “You’re a far cry from the trembling girl who stood in the courtyard and tried to mask her fear after Parapet. I approve.”
“I wasn’t asking for your approval.” If I’m going to die, I might as well be honest in my last moments.
She chuffs and nudges Tairn’s head with hers, but he’s solely focused on the trading post.
The rocky terrain crunches under my boots as I walk beneath Tairn to where Andarna stands between his forelegs, watching the attack unfold beneath us. I put myself right in front of her, blocking her view of what has to be carnage. “Stay here and hide.” I’m not taking a kid into battle, period.
“‘Stay here,’” she grumbles sarcastically in response.
I bite back a sad smile. It’s really too bad I won’t get to see her go through her rebellious adolescent years.
“Agreed.” Tairn dips a shoulder for me. “You’re a target, little one.”
“I mean it,” I order Andarna, stroking my hand over her scaly nose. “If we’re not back by morning, or if you think venin are approaching, you fly home to the Vale. Get behind the wards no matter what.”
Her nostrils flare. “I’m not leaving you.”
My chest hurts so badly, I fight the urge to rub the area above my heart, but I square my shoulders instead. It has to be said. “You’ll feel the moment when you’ll know that there’s nothing to leave. And it might break your heart, but when you feel it, you fly. Promise me you’ll fly.”
Heartbeats pass before Andarna finally nods.
“Go,” I whisper, stroking her beautiful jaw one last time. She’ll be fine. She’ll make it back to the Vale. I can’t let myself believe any differently.
She turns around and heads for the outpost, and I pull my shit together and walk between Tairn’s forelegs, taking one last, quick look at the valley. Xaden and Liam stand to my right, doing the same.
A screech rends the air, and an enormous gray dragon emerges from a valley two ridgelines to the south…across the Poromish border. It tucks its two legs up under its massive body as it flies away from us, heading straight for Resson.
“Do we have a riot nearby?” Liam asks.
“No,” Xaden answers.
It’s as though the ground beneath my feet shifts.
I could have sworn I saw a riot of dragons across the border. Isn’t that what Mira said at Montserrat?
The dragon shrieks again, spewing a streak of blue fire down the mountainside, setting some of the smaller trees on fire before it reaches the plains where Resson stands. Blue. Fire.
No. No. No. “Wyvern.” My heart launches into my throat. “Xaden, it has two legs, not four. It’s not a dragon. It’s a wyvern.” Maybe if I say it a few more times, I’ll believe what I’m seeing.
Holy. Shit. Is this what leadership has been redacting?
They’re supposed to be myth, not flesh-and-blood beings. But then again, so are venin.
“Well, there went our air superiority,” Imogen says across from us, then shrugs. “Fuck ’em. They can die, too.”
“They have created abominations,” Tairn says, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
“Did you know?”
“I suspected. Why do you think I’ve been so hard on you during flight maneuvers?”
“You and I are going to have to work on our communication skills.”
“Guess we know all the details now,” Liam says.
“Anyone want to change their minds?” Xaden asks down the line. None of us answer.
“No? Then mount up.”
I walk toward Tairn’s shoulder as Xaden strides over to me.
“Turn around, Violence,” he orders, and I pivot, looking up at him. He unsheathes one of his daggers and slides it in the empty spot I have at my ribs. “Now you have two.”
“You’re not going to lecture me about staying safe in the outpost?” I ask, my emotions rioting at his nearness. He hid all of this from me, and yet my chest aches just looking at him.
“If I asked you to stay behind, would you?” His eyes bore into mine.
“No.”
“Exactly. I try not to pick fights I know I can’t win.”
My eyes flare. “Speaking of knowing you’ll win fights, General Melgren will know what’s happened here. He’ll be able to see the outcome of the battle even now.”
He shakes his head slowly and points to his neck, to the rebellion relic snaking around his throat. “Do you remember how I told you I realized it was a gift, not a curse?”
“Yes.” Back when I was in his bed.
“Just trust me—because of this, Melgren can’t see a fucking thing.”
My lips part, remembering Melgren saying he liked to lay eyes on Xaden once a year. “Any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”
“Yes.” He cups my neck and leans into my space. “Stay alive, and I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
The simple confession makes my heart clench. As angry as I am, I can’t imagine a world without him in it. “I need you to survive this, even if I hate that I still love you.”
“I can live with that.” A corner of his mouth lifts as he drops his hand and turns away from me, heading toward Sgaeyl.
Tairn dips his shoulder again and I mount, settling into the saddle and strapping my thighs in after I secure my pack behind the seat. It’s time. “Find a good hiding place, Andarna. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”
“Go for the throat,” she says, walking into the abandoned outpost.
Sgaeyl launches to my right, and I hold the pommels tight when Tairn springs skyward with great, heavy beats of his wings.
“There’s something in that trading post. We all feel it,” Tairn says as he banks with Sgaeyl, plummeting from the ridgeline into a steep dive that leaves my stomach behind. The saddle straps dig into my thighs, but they do their job and keep me seated as I lower my riding goggles to shield my eyes from the wind. We fly into the shade, the sun sinking behind the Cliffs of Dralor and throwing the afternoon into shadow.
Another explosion hits, this time taking out a chunk of the post’s high stone walls as Tairn pulls up, narrowly missing a gryphon rider and bringing us level across the post, flying too fast to hear anything more than the screams of townspeople as they run through the streets, fleeing for the exodus at the post gates.
“Where did the wyvern go?” I ask Tairn.
“Retreated into the valley. Don’t worry—it will come back.”
Oh. Joy.
My gaze sweeps the rooftops of the little post until I see it—him—whatever. There’s a figure standing at the top of a wooden clock tower, wearing purple floor-length robes that billow in the wind while he hurls blue flames like daggers at the civilians below.
He’s more terrifying than any illustrator could have depicted, rivers of red veins fanning in every direction around soulless eyes consumed by magic. His face is gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and thin lips, a gnarled hand gripping a long red cane made of some misshapen wood.
“Tairn!”
“Yes, let’s.” Tairn banks away from Sgaeyl, pulling us in a hard turn and taking us into the village. A few beats of his wings later, fire streams from his mouth, and he incinerates the clock tower on a flyby.
“Got him!” I turn in the saddle, watching as the wooden structure collapses in the blast. It’s only a matter of seconds before the venin walks out of the flames, though, and there isn’t a scratch on him. “Oh, fuck. He’s still there,” I call out as we cut back across the post to get to our assigned area, mentally kicking myself for thinking it could have been that simple. There’s a reason these creatures are what make up most Navarrians’ nightmare stories—and it isn’t because they’re easy to kill. We have to get close enough to get a dagger in him.
I turn forward just in time to see a giant mass of wings and teeth cut across our path with an earsplitting screech, and Tairn’s tail smashes into the stone walls behind me, knocking the masonry loose as he dodges the wyvern. We just barely evade the hissing curl of blue fire that streams from its mouth, catching a nearby tree on fire.
“The wyvern is back!”
“That’s a different one,” Tairn barks. “I’m relaying orders to the others.”
Of course he is. Xaden might command the riders on this field, but Tairn is clearly leading the dragons.
The wyvern swings around and heads toward the town’s center, tucking up two legs and beating spiderwebbed wings. It bears a female rider in maroon flight gear that resembles our own, and her eyes are the same eerie red color as the venin on the clock tower.
“Xaden, there’s more than one wyvern.”
There’s a moment of silence, but I can feel Xaden’s palpable shock, then rage. “If you get separated from Tairn, call out, then fight until I get there.”
“No chance of that happening. I’m not letting her off my back, wingleader,” Tairn growls as I get my first good look at the airspace above the city, flooded with dragons, gryphons, and wyvern, just like in the creation fable.
“Soleil found a sealed entrance to what looks to be a mine,” Xaden says. “I need—”
Tairn turns abruptly, veering toward the mountains.
“—you to see if you can put down some cover so Garrick and Bodhi can get the townspeople evacuated,” he finishes. “Liam is on his way.”
“On it.” My pulse leaps. “Tairn, I can’t aim.”
“You will,” he says like it’s a foregone conclusion. “Orders are being dispersed amid the gryphons.”
“Dragons can speak to gryphons?” My eyebrows shoot up.
“Naturally. How do you think we communicated before humans got involved?”
I hunker down across his neck as we dart above the city, passing over a clinic, what looks to be a school, and rows and rows of an open-air market that’s currently on fire. There’s no sign of the purple-robed venin we first saw as we sail over the shriveled body of a gryphon and its rider near the center of town. My stomach turns, especially when I see a wyvern circling back toward them—and Sgaeyl is on an intercept course.
“She can hold her own,” Tairn reminds me. “And so can he. We have orders. Focus.”
Focus. Right.
We pass families scurrying from their ruined homes, then over the city walls, heading toward the opening in the side of the mountain where Soleil’s Brown Clubtail swings its tail into the wood planks covering the abandoned tunnel. There are a few outbuildings lining the road but not much else.
Tairn pulls hard to the left as we approach, the strap digging into my legs as my weight shifts in the saddle with the abrupt motion. Then he flares his wings to hover in front of Soleil, facing Resson and the screaming crowd that runs the hundred yards between the city walls and us, led by a pair of gryphons and their fliers who continuously look behind them, scanning the skies.
But what they don’t see is the venin striding our way from north of the gate, watching the crowd’s movement with a narrowed red gaze. The veins on both sides of her eyes are more pronounced than the earlier rider’s, and her long blue robe reminds me of the staff bearer who survived the clock-tower blast.
“I’ve already told Fuil. She’ll protect Soleil,” Tairn says, angling toward the threat.
“Get us away from the crowd.” Power already sizzles beneath my skin.
A child stumbles on the dirt road, and my heart lurches as her father scoops her into his arms and continues to sprint.
Deigh passes, and I see him land out of the corner of my eye as I lift my arms and let my power rip free, focusing on the venin.
Lightning cracks. A section of the city wall crumbles.
Fuck.
“Keep going. Deigh says they need more time!” Tairn urges.
I make the mistake of turning in the saddle, noting that both Liam and Soleil are unseated, ushering the townspeople into the mine, while Deigh and Fuil guard separate sides of the evacuation path. If anything happens—if one of those wyvern circling the town decides to take notice—they’re vulnerable. But so are the people they’re protecting.
A trio of gryphons flies in, all three dangling townspeople from their talons, dropping them off at the entrance to the mine and looping back for another run.
Energy rips through me as I aim a bolt for the venin, this one shattering an outbuilding along the hillside to our right. Boards split and wood flies as it collapses.
The venin’s attention whips upward, and my stomach twists when she spots me. There’s pure malice in her red eyes as she reaches forward with her left hand, then flips it, fisting air.
Rocks tumble down the mountainside.
Soleil throws up her hands, stopping the slide before it can crush the people running into the mine below. Her arms shake, but the boulders fall on either side of the evacuation path, leaving the escape clear.
I whip back toward the venin and gasp.
Raw power is palpable in the air, lifting the hairs on my arms as the venin stands with her palms lowered to the ground. The grass around her turns brown, then the flowers of the wild clover bushes wilt and the leaves curl, losing all their color.
“Tairn, is she…”
“Channeling,” he growls.
I fling another flare of energy as the blight spreads outward from the venin, as though she’s draining the very essence of the land, but it hits too close to the road, and the straggler racing toward safety, for my comfort.
“Watch out. Deigh says that building on the other side of the road has a crate of something marked with Liam’s family crest,” Tairn tells me as I fire off another blast that lands nowhere near the venin. “He says it’s highly…unstable,” he finishes, pausing as he relays the information.
“Not worried about the building,” I reply as the circle of death expands under Tairn’s beating wings, and I draw more power from Tairn, poising to strike again.
Soleil charges toward the venin with Fuil on her heels, her dagger palmed and ready as the rest of the group of townspeople make it into the tunnel.
This is all worth it as long as they survive.
The wave of death pushes forward from the venin, flowing outward and catching up with the fleeing civilian in the middle of the road. He falls, then screams soundlessly, curling in on himself as his body becomes nothing but a husk of a shell.
Air freezes in my lungs and my heart stutters. The venin just…
“Soleil!” I yell, but it’s already too late. The third-year stumbles a few steps into the dead zone, her dragon reaching for her as they both buckle and fall, Fuil throwing up a cloud of dirt with her heavy impact.
They desiccate in a matter of seconds, their bodies shriveling. A vise clamps around my chest, and for a second, I can’t breathe. The venin has even more power now.
“Tell Deigh!” I look back over my shoulder to see Liam sprinting for Deigh. He needs time.
“Already done.” Tairn rolls left as a fireball churns up at us, the first of a volley that causes us to retreat across the road.
“We lost Soleil,” I tell Xaden.
The only acknowledgment is a wave of sorrow, and I know it’s his.
The gryphons take flight, their riders wielding what looks to be lesser magic at the venin as two wyvern approach, both riderless.
“Tell them to change tactics. They don’t stand a chance if they can’t get close to that venin,” I tell Tairn.
The gryphons change course, and I loose my power again, hitting closer to the venin. She glares up at me, then turns at the sound of flapping wings.
Garrick and the other marked third-years are coming. She’s outnumbered, and damn, I hope she knows it.
The gryphons team up, tearing into one of the approaching wyvern as Liam mounts and Deigh launches, escaping the spreading ring of death, but the other wyvern dips low, heading for the venin.
Right on course to pass by the outbuilding.
“You said that building has unstable material in it, right?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I can’t be sure I’ll hit it, but—
“Excellent idea.”
Tairn puts us into position, hovering about twenty feet aboveground as Liam flies for the gryphons above us, wielding spears of ice into the injured wyvern’s throat. Blood streams as the wyvern falls from the sky with an ear-piercing cry.
One down.
The venin reaches the road, and the wyvern skids to a landing on the dirt path so she can mount.
“Now!” I shout.
Tairn breathes in deep and exhales pure fire as the wyvern takes off, sending the outbuilding up in a blaze that ignites whatever is within. Heat rushes my face, singeing my cheek as the building explodes, engulfing everything around it.
The firestorm nearly catches us, but Tairn banks left, narrowly missing the blast.
I shout, throwing up my fist as we circle back, the wind easing the sting in my cheek. We have one wyvern down, a good share of the townspeople evacuated, and there’s no way anything survived that blast.
Tairn dips his right wing low and we turn sharply, getting set up to make another run through town. I glance to the right and gasp. Not only did that blast not kill the wyvern, but its rider is alive and well, too, flying toward—
Shit. Shit. Shit.
There are more wyvern than dragons exiting the valley to the south, and I’m trying hard not to panic when blazing-hot blue fire streams past us. I pivot in the saddle and see a wyvern on our tail, approaching frighteningly fast as we circle the post walls.
“Any idea how to kill that many wyvern?” I ask Tairn, panic sitting on my chest like an anchor that threatens to pull me under into the chaos of my thoughts.
There are at least six wyvern, from what I can see, all with terrifying wingspans and sharp teeth, and they’re heading straight for us.
“The same methods that can kill us,” Tairn says, leading the wyvern away from the post’s center, where Garrick and Bodhi are both on foot, chasing down the venin from the clock tower, daggers in hand.
“I don’t exactly have a cross-bolt handy!”
“No, but you do have lightning, and a bolt of that will stop any dragon’s heart.”
“Tell me you warned the others how Soleil and Fuil died.” Everyone touching the ground is vulnerable.
“They all know what they risk.”
Gods, there are still kids down there, some screaming, others heartbreakingly silent as their mothers drag their dead bodies from the streets.
There are no words.
“We need to draw them away from the city,” I tell Xaden, turning back in the saddle as far as the bands across my thighs will let me to get a better vantage point of the airspace and the wyvern, some of which seemed to have slowed in order to circle the remains of the clock tower.
“Whatever they want must be there,” Tairn says.
“Agreed on both counts. Do what you can to give the rest time to evacuate,” Xaden responds. “We’re clearing the edge of town now.” He pauses, and a ripple of worry pushes through our emotional barrier. “Try not to die.”
“Working on it.”
A wyvern dives only to climb again with a human leg hanging from between its teeth.
We circle back, then head south through the trading post, away from the city’s center and whatever Bodhi and Garrick are doing. “They’re not following,” Tairn grunts. “We’ll need to draw them out.”
“That venin didn’t seem to like when I wielded lightning.”
“You’re a threat.”
“So let’s get their attention and threaten.”
He growls in approval.
I open the floodgates of Tairn’s power, letting it roil and billow beneath my skin.
As soon as we’re outside the walls, I throw my hands up and let it burst free.
Lightning streaks the sky, earning us the notice of the horde of wyvern, one of which peels off its flight pattern and soars in our direction, its poison-barbed tails flicking behind it.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
“We’re committed now,” Tairn reminds me.
Right.
They’re finally outside the city walls.
I summon more power and wield, my arms trembling with the effort to control the deluge of raw energy. Lightning strikes once, missing the wyvern by more than I’d like to admit. Dread fills my mouth with the taste of ash. I’m not ready for this.
“Try again.”
“I don’t have enough control—”
“Try again!” Tairn demands.
I wield again, ripping down the walls between Tairn and me, and more of the energy he channels rips through me. Lightning splits the dusk-hued sky in a blast so bright, I blink.
“Again!”
I let the power overcome me again and again, concentrating on the location of the wyvern as Tairn dodges blasts of blue fire. Finally, a strike hits the one behind us, dropping him from the sky. It hits the hillside with a satisfying crash.
“What about the venin it’s bonded to?” I tremble with the effort of controlling the power, fighting to keep it from overtaking me. Sweat drips down my face.
“Hopefully they’re like us. Kill the wyvern and the rider dies, but it’s hard to tell with so many riderless ones.”
“‘Hopefully’ isn’t the best word right now…” I turn in the saddle and watch in horror as two more riderless wyvern fly out of the valley. “The civilians need more time to reach the mine. Let’s give it to them.”
Tairn growls in agreement, and we speed back over the post.
Xaden has one wyvern by the throat, strangling it with shadows as a third-year hurls ice at its rider, and the other four are doing everything they can to drive the newcomers back with a combination of dragon fire and magic.
Power jolts through me in wave after burning wave as I wield more lightning than I ever have in practice. I swing my arm around and aim another bolt at a wyvern flying near the front gate—or what used to be the front gate. I miss the wyvern but hit an empty tower, sending stone flying in all directions, a large chunk hitting a wyvern in the tail and causing it to spin in midair.
Tairn banks another hard turn and we come back around. I take a deep breath, then call a lightning bolt—this one striking a wyvern directly in its upper back with a satisfying sizzle. The giant beast shrieks, then smashes into a nearby hillside with a thunderous boom.
Coming back around again for another pass, and heady from my recent kill, I throw out three more bolts of lightning in quick succession. Unfortunately, more speed doesn’t translate to more accuracy, and the adrenaline rush isn’t helping my aim, either. I manage to cause three more alarming explosions, though—one of which distracts a rather large wyvern that had been on Bodhi’s tail, giving him a moment’s advantage, which his dragon seizes by banking hard left and coming up behind the wyvern and sinking its teeth into its leathery gray neck. There’s an ominous crack, and then Bodhi’s dragon releases the wyvern’s lifeless body, letting it fall to the ground fifty feet below.
“On the left!” I shout as two more wyvern come into view on our rear flank.
I leave the evasive maneuvers up to Tairn and concentrate on bringing down as many strikes as possible as the wyvern gain speed on us. My arms tremble, growing weaker and weaker with each bolt I try to control to keep from hitting our own riders.
Sgaeyl is on the west side of the outpost, and my heart crawls into my throat when she flies low and Xaden does an impressive running jump off her back, landing with a roll onto the street below. Almost immediately, shadows pull in every direction and cover the people screaming as they try to run for cover from the snarling jaws of a hungry wyvern.
One of the wyvern on my tail must notice Xaden out of the saddle, because it tucks its wings for a moment, diving for the ground, only to widen them and pull out at the last minute, gliding mere feet above the silky shadows. Shit. It’s heading straight for Xaden, its jaws opening wide as though it plans to just snatch Xaden up like a quick bite to eat.
“Xaden!” I scream out loud, but he’s already noticed the wyvern, throwing a rope of shadows high above the buildings in a perfect lasso around Sgaeyl’s head, and she yanks him up off the ground and out of the path of the oncoming wyvern. One minute Xaden is dangling from the shadow rope and the next he’s back in his saddle as Sgaeyl banks for another low pass through town.
But I was so focused on Xaden, I completely forgot about the wyvern on my own tail. Tairn hasn’t, though, and starts to climb higher and higher, leading the wyvern from the post as he gains altitude nauseatingly fast.
“Violence!” Xaden screams. “Beneath you!”
I look down and gasp. A stream of blue fire billows up toward us. “Bank!”
Tairn rolls left, and my ass leaves the saddle, held in only by the straps as he rolls us upside down to narrowly avoid the blast. But when he straightens, the wyvern is still on us. My heart lurches into my throat as its mouth gapes open, its sharp, bloodied teeth snapping as it lunges for Tairn’s side.
“No!” I lift my arms to throw a bolt in its direction and prepare for impact.
A blur of blue shoots between us, and the wyvern is knocked away by the body of a navy dragon—Sgaeyl. Her jaws tear through the side of the wyvern in several rapid, brutal bites, flesh ripping and blood spraying in the most vicious midair meal I have ever seen. Then she flips and catches the devoured wyvern by the head with her daggertail, sending its dead body sailing several hundred feet before crashing to the ground.
Sgaeyl picks up speed, banks, and flies right by us, her wing gliding under Tairn’s almost affectionately—which is in complete contrast to the menacing glare that seems directed at me, wyvern blood still dripping from her jaws. Message received. It’s her job to keep an eye on Xaden’s back, and mine is to watch Tairn’s.
I do a quick turn in my saddle, checking all our sides for more wyvern, then tell Tairn, “Let’s climb so we can get a better count of what we’re facing.”
We’ve barely made it a hundred feet above the town when I spy Liam and Deigh flying hard and fast in the opposite direction, with a venin riding a wyvern on his tail.
“Liam needs help!” I rush to explain.
“On it,” Tairn says, flipping us in midair. We hang in the sky for a second before his massive wings catch the air and turn us so that we’re heading straight for Liam.
The venin raises a staff of some sort, sending balls of blue flame at Deigh, but he manages to avoid them all as Liam stands up and runs along Deigh’s spine toward his daggertail. At the last second, Deigh uses his tail to whip Liam up into the air toward the wyvern. I don’t even have time to scream before he lands in a crouch on the wyvern’s rear and pulls out one of the runed daggers like the two Xaden gave me.
The venin whips around, raising his staff, but Liam is brutally fast and slits the venin’s throat with sickening precision. The wyvern stops beating its wings within seconds, its heavy body free-falling to the ground, and Liam leaps from his back just as Deigh flies beneath, easily catching him.
A wyvern flies at us from the left, approaching with great beats of its wings.
“Tairn!” Power fills my veins and I lift my hands, but Tairn rolls, flipping my world upside down as he rakes his claws and morningstartail along the wyvern, from throat to tail, splitting it open in midair, then leveling out as the wyvern streaks a bloody path to the ground.
The rush in my head is a result of more than Tairn’s acrobatics.
For the first time since we agreed to try to defend the civilians in this trading post, since we were told there were four venin and no way we could win, a little bit of the panic sitting on my chest starts to ease. We might actually be able to survive today. Maybe.
Just then, another wyvern drops out of a cloud above us, diving at Tairn, gaining speed as it tucks in its wings, becoming a teeth-tipped spear.
There’s no time for evasive maneuvers. It’s seconds away—but red fills my vision and Deigh is there, driving into the side of the massive gray beast.
There’s no breath of relief as the collision sends Liam hurtling off Deigh’s back and across the base of Tairn’s neck at breakneck velocity.
“Violet!”
“Liam!” I catch his scrambling hands as he slides by and hold on, a cry escaping as my shoulders pop and subluxate from the strain of catching his weight, and Tairn pitches in a sharp turn to follow Deigh. “Hold on!”
Grimacing, Liam crawls forward on his elbows despite the impossible angle, then grasps the pommels of the saddle. I throw myself over him, sheltering his head and holding on with everything I have as Tairn rolls and banks to keep close but clear of Deigh and the massive gray wyvern.
Locked in battle only a few feet away, their talons shred through the scales of the other amid snapping teeth—and Deigh’s catastrophic roars of pain. They’re too close for me to act, and there’s no guarantee I’ll hit the wyvern and not Deigh with my lightning.
There’s nothing I can do but secure Liam.
Grabbing the lap belt I never use, I wind it around Liam’s torso and buckle it. “That should hold you until we can get you back to Deigh, but I can’t wield without hitting him!” I yell as wind whips around us.
The agony in his eyes steals my breath.
“Why did you do that?” I cry, my fingers searching for purchase on his leathers to pull him closer. I settle for the back of his collar and yank. “Why would you risk it?” Gods, if anything happens to them…
His gaze collides with mine. “That thing was going to take a chunk out of Tairn. You’ve saved my life and now it’s my turn. No matter what you think of me for keeping secrets, we’re friends, Violet.”
Response is impossible as Tairn rolls again, lifting Liam’s entire body, and the leather belt slips to just under his arms. I fist my hands in the back of his flight leathers, but there’s not much to grab on to. Heartbeats pass and I can’t breathe, can’t think past the desperation to keep Liam safe, until Tairn levels out again, trying to stay as close as he can to Deigh without risking any of us in the process.
But then Deigh’s scream slices me to the bone as the two lock into a dive.
“Can’t you do something?” I beg Tairn.
“Working on it!” He pitches right and plummets, positioning himself around the downward-spiraling duel to strike. It should be us fighting for our lives, not Liam and Deigh.
And gods, Deigh is losing, which means Liam—
My throat constricts. No. Not going to happen.
“Get over here!” I shout at Xaden. Energy crackles through my hands, but there’s no clear target. They’re moving too fast.
“I’m hunting the venin at the walls!” he answers.
“Deigh is fighting for his life!”
The heartbeat of terror squeezing my chest like a vise isn’t mine. It’s Xaden’s. “If I leave, these civilians are all dead!”
We’re on our own. A quick glance at the field tells me every other dragon is locked in its own battle.
Tairn’s tail swings out, slamming into the wyvern’s hindquarters, and comes away bloody, but the fucking thing doesn’t release Deigh. Its claws flex, burrowing deeper beneath the red’s scales.
“Deigh!” Liam’s scream is raw, his voice breaking at the end.
Tairn lunges, snapping at the wyvern’s shoulder and drawing blood, but it’s not enough. He swings around to get a better angle on the wyvern, and the force nearly costs Liam his grip, but the buckle holds.
Another riderless wyvern flies at us from the right. “On the right!”
Tairn whips his body faster than I’ve ever felt and rips out the throat of the new threat, shaking the wyvern like a doll, then releases his jaws and lets the thing fall hundreds of feet to the mountainside below.
Then Tairn dives to catch up with Deigh and the wyvern as they race toward the ground.
Dread settles in my chest, ominous and heavy.
“We’re on our way!” Xaden says.
But he’ll be too late.
“Violet!” Liam shouts over the wind, and I rip my attention from the gruesome battle alongside us as we spiral downward. “We have to take out the riders.”
“I know!” I reply. “We will!” He just needs to hang on. They both do.
“No, I mean that’s the—”
Tairn lunges again, and we’re thrown sideways as he rips another hole in the wyvern’s wings with his teeth, raking down its tail with his talons, but the creature has Deigh in a death lock. Its wings are shredded now, but it doesn’t seem to care as its claws dig into Deigh’s underbelly, like it’s willing to mindlessly die to make the kill.
“It’s going to be all right,” I promise Liam, wind stinging my cheeks. It has to be all right; even though the ground rushes at us, closer and closer each second, it just…has to be.
Deigh screams again, the sound weaker and higher-pitched than the last. It’s a cry.
“We have to pull up!” Tairn warns.
“He’s dying!” Liam lunges across Tairn’s back, reaching for his dragon as if so he can touch the Red Daggertail one last time.
“Just hold—” I start, but Deigh’s shriek of pain closes my throat, strangling the words. He’s being eviscerated, and there’s nothing we can do.
The wyvern roars in victory a heartbeat before they crash into the hillside with a sickening thud. The wyvern limps away on its hind legs and the talons that tip its wings.
Deigh doesn’t move.
Liam’s raw scream shatters my heart, and Tairn flares his wings, banking hard to keep us from the same gruesome fate.
“DEIGH.” Tairn’s grief blasts through my body as he streams fire at the wyvern’s retreating back, and Andarna’s cry fills my head.
No. If Deigh…
“Is he—” I can’t bring myself to finish.
“He’s gone.” Tairn reverses course, barreling for the hillside outside the city walls where Deigh has fallen.
No. No. No. That means…
“Liam!” I grab for my friend as we land at speed, Tairn’s claws digging into the ground to stop us close to Deigh’s body.
“You only have minutes,” Tairn warns.
“Deigh,” Liam whispers, falling limp against Tairn’s back.
“I’ll get you to him,” I promise, already fumbling with the strap’s buckle. “Deigh’s gone,” I cry to Xaden, my voice a trembling mess. “Liam is dying.”
“No.” I feel his terror, his sorrow, and his overpowering anger wrap around my mind, mixing with my own until it hurts to breathe.
Minutes. We have minutes.
“Just hold on,” I whisper to Liam, fighting not to cry as he looks up at me with those sky-blue eyes, wide with shock and pain. After everything Liam has given up for me, this is the least I can do for him. I can get him to Deigh the same way I know he would carry me to Tairn or Andarna. Tairn lies down completely, flattening his massive frame as much as possible as I unstrap my thighs. Then I wrap my arms around Liam’s bulky frame and we slide down Tairn’s side, hitting our feet on the rocky hillside far from the trading post.
Deigh lies a couple of dozen feet away, his body folded at an unnatural angle.
This isn’t fair. This isn’t right. Not Deigh. Not…Liam. They’re the strongest of our year. They’re the best of us.
“Can’t make it,” Liam says, stumbling forward and tripping.
I rush to catch him as he goes down, but his substantial weight is too much for me, and we both fall to our knees. “We can make it,” I force out through my tightening throat, trying to hook his arm over my shoulders. We’re so close.
If a venin comes along, then I’ll deal with it.
“We can’t.” He crumples against me, sliding down my side. I fall back on my heels and his head lands in my lap as his body goes limp. “It’s all right, Violet,” he says, looking up at me, and I shove my goggles on top of my head so I can see him clearer.
He’s struggling to breathe.
“It’s not all right.” I want to scream with the injustice of it, but that won’t help. My hand trembles as I slide his riding goggles up to his forehead, then brush his blond hair back off his forehead. “None of this is all right. Please stay,” I beg, tears I can’t fight rolling unchecked down my cheeks. “Fight to stay. Please, Liam. Fight to stay.”
“At Parapet—” His face twists in pain. “You have to take care of my sister.”
“Liam, no.” I choke on the words as tears clog my throat. “You’ll be there.” I stroke his hair. He’s fine. He’s physically, perfectly fine, and yet I’m watching him slip away. “You have to be there.” He has to smile at the sister he’s missed for years and flash that dimple of his. He has to give her the stack of letters he’s written. He deserves it after all he’s been through.
He can’t die for me.
“Tairn,” I cry. “Tell me what to do.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Silver One.”
“We both know I won’t. Just promise you’ll take care of Sloane,” he begs, his eyes searching mine as his breaths grow ragged. “Promise.”
“I promise,” I whisper, taking his hand and squeezing, not bothering to wipe my tears. “I’ll take care of Sloane.” He’s dying and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do. How can all this power be so fucking useless?
The pulse under my thumb slows.
“Good. That’s good.” He forces a weak smile, and that dimple makes a faint appearance before his expression falters. “And I know you feel betrayed, but Xaden needs you. And I don’t just mean alive, Violet. He needs you. Please hear him out.”
“All right.” I nod, fighting to force a watery smile. He could ask for anything right now, and I’d give it to him. “Thank you, Liam. Thank you for being my shadow. Thank you for being my friend.” He blurs in my vision as the tears come faster.
“It’s been. My honor.” Liam’s chest rattles as his lungs struggle.
A gust of wind blows the loosened strands of my braid back from my face. Seconds later, I feel Xaden racing toward us, a torrent of his emotions overwhelming my own.
“No, Liam,” Xaden chokes out as he crouches in front of us, the muscles in his face working to control his expression, but there’s no hiding the despair that pushes at our mental connection.
“Deigh,” Liam pleads in a strangled whisper, turning his head toward Xaden.
“I know, brother.” Xaden’s jaw flexes and our gazes lock above Liam as tears overflow my eyes. “I know.” He leans forward and lifts Liam into his arms, then stands, carrying him. “I’ll take you.”
He walks slowly across the gravelly terrain to Deigh’s body, saying things I can’t hear from where I kneel, the rocks digging into my knees through the fabric of the leather as I watch Xaden say goodbye.
Xaden lowers Liam, sitting him against Deigh’s unblemished shoulder, then kneels beside him, nodding slowly at whatever Liam has said.
The cry of a wyvern splits the air above us, and I look up instinctively.
A cloud of flapping gray wings moves toward us from higher up the valley. Wyvern. Dozens and dozens of wyvern.
“Look up at the valley!”
Liam’s head rolls slowly as they both look.
Xaden’s head bows, and my breath freezes in my lungs as shadows momentarily whip out around him, like a blast of menace and sorrow.
Seconds later, his soundless, soul-rending scream fills my head with such force that my heart shatters like glass against a stone floor.
I don’t need to ask. Liam is gone.
Liam, who never complained about being my shadow, never hesitated to help, never bragged about being the best of our year. He died protecting me. Oh gods, and I just asked him if we’d ever really been friends an hour ago.
Just one of those beasts managed to kill my friend; what the hell can that many accomplish?
A bloodied wyvern dives for us, and Tairn throws his wing over me. I hear the sound of his teeth snapping and a sharp cry above me before his wing retracts.
“We’re targets on the ground,” Tairn says as the wyvern flies away.
“Then let’s be the ones who hunt.” I stumble to my feet in time to see Xaden running my way.
“Violence!” Xaden grasps my shoulders, determination lining his features. “Liam told me to tell you that there are two riders with that horde.”
“Why would he tell me and not—” An anvil sits on my chest.
“Because he knew I’d have to be the one who holds off the wyvern as long as possible.” He studies my face like he’ll never see it again.
“And I’m the one who can kill them all.” It will kill me to wield that many times, but I’m the best shot we have. The best shot he has to survive.
“You can kill them.” He yanks me close and kisses my forehead. “There is no me without you,” he says against my skin.
Before I can react, he turns toward the valley and lifts his arms—throwing up a wall of shadow that consumes the space between the ridgelines. “Go! I’ll give you as much time as I can!”
Every second matters, and these are bound to be my last—our last.
In the span of one heartbeat, I look over my shoulder, past Tairn, and see the flaming ruins of the trading post. Townspeople run from the city walls, fleeing the wyvern that circle above. My stomach drops at our failure—we haven’t managed to evacuate all the civilians.
At the second beat, I draw a stuttered breath of smoke-laden air as a lone gryphon flies through the haze, followed by Garrick and Imogen on their dragons, and I can only hope the others are still alive.
In the third heartbeat, I turn back toward Liam’s and Deigh’s lifeless bodies, and rage floods my veins faster than any lightning strike I’ve ever wielded. The horde of wyvern behind Xaden’s wall will tear into Tairn and Sgaeyl just like Deigh.
And Xaden… No matter how strong he is, Xaden won’t be able to hold them forever. His arms already shake with the effort of controlling so much power. He’ll be the first to die if I’m not exactly what he called me under that tree all those months ago. Violence.
There are dozens of wyvern and one of me.
I have to be as strategic as Brennan and as confident as Mira.
I’ve spent the last year trying to prove to myself I’m nothing like my mother. I’m not cold. I’m not callous. But maybe there is a part of me that’s more like her than I care to admit.
Because right now, standing near the dead body of my friend and his dragon—all I want is to show these assholes exactly how violent I can be.
I pull my goggles down as I turn to Tairn’s shoulder, mounting quickly. There’s no need to ask him to launch, not when our emotions are aligned like this. We want the same exact thing. Revenge.
I buckle the straps across my thighs as Tairn springs upward, taking off with heavy beats of his massive wings. The bloodied wyvern has doubled back, and Tairn flies straight at it. I don’t even care if it’s the same one that just killed our friends. They’re all going to die.
As soon as we get close enough, I throw my hands out, letting all my power loose with a guttural scream. Lightning hits the wyvern on the first shot, sending the monster plummeting to the ground near the city walls.
But I never see the one coming at us from the left.
Not until I feel Tairn’s roar of pain.
But it was the third brother, who commanded the sky to surrender its greatest power, who finally vanquished his jealous sibling at a great and terrible price.
—“The Origin,” The Fables of the Barren
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
I whip around in the saddle and see a venin—the one who killed Soleil, distended, branchlike veins spreading from her red eyes—grasping the sword she’s stabbed in between Tairn’s scales in the area behind his wings.
“There’s a venin on your back!” I shout at Tairn as the venin whips a ball of fire toward my head. It comes so close that I feel the singe of heat along my cheek.
Tairn rolls, executing a dizzying climb that throws my weight back into the saddle, and yet the venin holds fast, grabbing on to the embedded sword as her feet fly out from under her. The second Tairn levels off, the venin stares at me like I’m her next meal, striding for me with nothing but resolve in her eyes and fisting serrated green-tipped daggers.
“Three more riderless ones on my tail!” Tairn shouts.
Fuck. There’s something I’m missing. It’s taunting me from the edge of my mind like the answer to a test I know I’ve studied for.
“Aren’t you a little small for a dragon rider?” the venin hisses.
“Big enough to kill you.” Tairn and I are dead if I don’t do something.
“I need you to stay level,” I tell Tairn, unbuckling my thigh straps.
“You will not unseat!” Tairn growls.
“I won’t let her kill you!” I climb to my feet and unsheathe the two daggers Xaden gave me today. Every challenge, every obstacle, every hour Imogen spent in the weight room, every single time Xaden has taken me to the mat has to be worth something, right?
This is just a challenge…with a not-so-fictitious dark wielder…on the parapet.
A moving, flying parapet.
“Get back in your seat!” Tairn orders.
“You can’t shake her. She’ll cut into you again. I have to kill her.” I shove the fear aside. There’s no room for it here.
By the dying sunlight and the eerie glow of the burning city below us, I dodge the first swipe of her knife, then the second, ducking low and throwing up my forearm to block a downward thrust, halting the plunge of metal jabbing toward my face. The force of impact results in a snap I know is one of my bones.
Excruciating pain momentarily freezes me as the dagger flies out of my hand. I’m down to only one. My heart pounds as my feet catch on one of Tairn’s spikes, and I stumble.
I can’t even cradle my ruined, throbbing arm as she advances, gaining on me with every lunge and swipe of her green-tipped daggers. It’s as if she knows exactly what I’m going to do before I do it. She counters every one of my attacks with a quicker one of her own, as if she’s adapting to my fighting style from mere moments of combat. She’s unnaturally quick. I’ve never seen Xaden or Imogen move this fast.
I manage to parry each of her attacks, but there’s no question that I’m on the defense. She’s not even in leathers, just a fluttering sail of a robe, and still—
Pain flares in my side, hot and sharp, and I fall back in disbelief when I find one of her daggers protruding low in my side, just beneath the edge of the dragon-scale armor.
Tairn roars and Andarna shrieks.
“Violet!” Xaden screams.
“She’s too fast!” I doubt the dagger has struck anything vital from its position, and I fight through mouthwatering nausea to balance the only venin blade I have left and yank hers out. But something isn’t right. The wound begins to burn, and I immediately battle to keep my balance as acid races through my veins. The tip on the knife is no longer green as it falls from my fingers.
“Such untapped power. No wonder we were called here. You could command the sky to surrender all its power, and I bet you don’t know what to do with it, do you? Riders never do. I’m going to split you open and see where all that astonishing lightning comes from.” She waves the other dagger at me, and I realize she’s playing with me. “Or maybe I’ll let him do it. You’ll wish for death if I hand you over to my Sage.”
She has a teacher?
She’s a damn student, just like me, and I’m lethally outmatched. I can barely keep track of which hand her blade is in. My arm has its own heartbeat, and my side screams.
“Level the playing field,” Xaden orders. He’s split his power and shadows rush in from the cliffs at my left, throwing the world around me—and the venin—into a cloud of complete darkness.
And I have the power of light.
I’m the one in control now, and I know the terrain of Tairn’s back like my own hand. Moving to the right, where I can feel the slope of his shoulder, I take up a fighting stance, grip my dagger in my good hand, and let my power explode through the dark, illuminating the sky for one crackling, priceless second.
The venin is disoriented, her back turned toward me. I plunge the runed dagger between her ribs—right where Xaden showed me all those months ago—and yank it out so I don’t lose it. She staggers backward, her face turning an ashen gray before she falls from Tairn’s back.
I falter, swaying as the acid in my veins burns brighter, harsher, incinerating me from the inside out.
“She’s dead,” I manage to tell them, throwing the word out toward Tairn, Xaden, Andarna, Sgaeyl…whoever might be listening.
The shadows fall away, letting in the fading light of dusk as I stumble toward the saddle, holding my side to stanch the flow of blood from the stab wound.
“You’re hurt,” Tairn accuses.
“I’m fine,” I lie, staring with wide eyes as dark-black blood sludges through my fingers. Not good. So not good.
I won’t be able to fight another in hand-to-hand, not with the wound in my side, and soon I’ll be too weak to wield. The strength is flowing out of me with my blood. I sheathe the dagger. My best weapon now is my mind.
Taking a deep breath, I fight to steady my heartbeat and think.
“They’re falling,” Tairn says, and I jerk my gaze from my side to see three wyvern tumble from the sky and crash to the earth.
Riderless wyvern.
Created by venin.
And they all died because I killed one venin.
That’s what Liam was trying to tell me. When a dragon dies, so does its rider. But apparently when a venin dies, so do the wyvern they created. All of them. That’s how we can save everyone on this battlefield.
There are two riders among the horde Xaden is holding back.
“We have to take out the riders,” I whisper.
“Yes,” Tairn agrees, following my thoughts. “Excellent idea.”
“You’re willing to gamble your life on it?” If I’m wrong, we’re both dead, and so are Xaden and Sgaeyl.
“I will bet my life on you as I have from the first day,” he says, banking to fly back to the valley as the other dragons rush with their riders to follow us, no doubt following Tairn’s command. Only Garrick and his Brown Scorpiontail are ahead of us, flying low and fast toward Xaden. “Three of the venin are dead, but one is—”
I watch in horror as a venin with a staff as tall as he is strides out of the darkness, his menacing gaze locked on Xaden.
“To the left!” I scream at Xaden.
Sgaeyl spins and blasts fire at the venin, but he doesn’t so much as pause.
Garrick leans from his seat and flings a dagger, but before it can reach the venin, the robed figure slams his staff into the ground and disappears like he was never there in the first place.
He moved. But to where?
“The hell?” I shout into the wind.
“A general can recognize another general, and that’s their leader,” Tairn says.
The Sage?
“I can’t hold them back much longer!” Xaden yells, his arms shaking so hard, it looks like his body is tearing itself apart at the very seams as we rush toward the mouth of the valley.
“New plan,” I tell Xaden as Tairn pushes himself to the max. “I need you to let the shadows fall.”
“WHAT?” He’s already wavering; I can see it by the straining shapes against his shadows, wyvern desperate to push their way through.
“So much suffering.” The hurt in Andarna’s voice jars me.
I whip my head back toward the trading post and catch the glint of gold. My heart seizes. “No! It’s not safe for you here!”
“You need me!” she yells.
“Please hide. One of us has to survive this,” I tell her as Tairn flies past Xaden and Sgaeyl.
“Xaden, you have to drop the shadows. It’s the only way.”
“Tairn!” Sgaeyl shouts, fear edging her tone in a way I’ve never heard.
“Don’t ask that of me.” Even Xaden’s voice shakes. Those shadows are coming down whether or not he wants them to. He’s approaching burnout.
“If you’ve ever trusted me, Xaden, I need you to do it now,” I use his earlier words, barely breathing through the searing pain in my side. He’ll lose himself to burnout if he doesn’t trust me.
“Fuck!” In a blink, the wall of shadow falls, and the wyvern fly toward us with terrifying speed. If I can’t do this, no one will survive. There are too many of them.
“Spot the more powerful rider, Tairn.” It’s the best bet. The only bet.
We’re a minute away from a collision.
“Once I’ve taken the rider out, that only leaves one, Xaden. Just kill that one and the rest of the wyvern will fall.”
“I’m coming.”
But I’ll get there first. Tairn is faster than Sgaeyl. “You saved us by holding them back this long.”
When he starts to respond, I slam my shield down, blocking him out to concentrate.
Tairn’s head swivels left and right, searching, and I break apart the last of my Archives walls, keeping one foot firmly on that marble floor.
“There,” Tairn says, his head turned to the right. “That one.”
At the corner of the flying horde is a seated venin, crimson veins streaking his temples and traveling down his cheeks.
“You’re sure?” I ask.
“Positive.”
Blue fire erupts from the horde, and I barely draw breath before a torrent of shadows rises from the edges of the valley, snuffing out the flame.
Power ripples in my bones, vibrating my very being with the amount of energy I’m forcing my body to contain.
“Tell me your plan isn’t to try and jump on the wyvern’s back?” Tairn asks as my breath hitches. Just a few more seconds and we’ll be close enough.
“I don’t have to,” I tell him. “Didn’t you hear what the venin said? I can command the sky to surrender all its power, but I’m going to need every ounce of yours to do it.” I unleash my signet and strike once, missing the wyvern, then again, missing once more.
They’re almost on us as I strike again and again, pushing myself to the limit as Xaden smothers the blue flames before they have a chance to burn me alive.
I can’t aim. I’m not ready. Maybe if I had another year or two to practice, but not now. “I need more, Tairn!”
“You will burn out, Silver One!” he growls, dodging a flame Xaden misses. “You already walk the edge.”
My arms shake as I lift them again. “This is the only way I can save them. I can save Sgaeyl. You just have to decide to live, Tairn. Even if I don’t.”
“I will not watch another rider die because they do not know their own limitations. One more strike could be your last. I feel your waning strength.”
“I know exactly what I’m capable of,” I promise as energy fills my body once again, and my heart jolts, struggling to find the right rhythm. Hot. I’m so damned hot, I feel like I could burst into flame myself. I’ve taken too much power. “I’m not Naolin.”
Fear threatens to consume me as the venin rides at us, close enough that I can see his snarling mouth, but it’s not my terror. It’s Tairn’s.
“Let me help!” Andarna shouts, and my heart swells even as it stutters from the energy flowing through my veins. I don’t have time to look to see where she is—I only hope she’s still in the outpost.
“Only what I need,” I say to her.
I swallow hard, my good hand clutching the blood-tipped dagger as we fly toward the wall of wyvern. I reach for her golden power, and it spreads down my spine and explodes through me, time pausing around us.
Tairn flares his wing, bringing us to a hover as the wyvern move toward us inch by precious inch, fighting against Andarna’s magic with their own.
I have to want to kill that venin, and gods help me, I do.
“Now!” I push my arms toward the venin and command lightning to split the sky, and it does, branching out in every direction, but I only need to control one of its silver-blue veins. I focus on the one closest to the venin, bringing it down in slow bursts that defy time. My arms vibrate, and I feel Tairn’s power push the boundaries of my body as I yank the branch sideways in its descent, inch by inch with the last of my strength, positioning it over the venin. “More, Tairn!”
He roars and lightning itself rips through me, sizzling my lungs and charring my very breath as Andarna’s gift ebbs. I don’t have to be near her to feel her fatigue, her strength ebbing. But I only take what I need. Andarna will live today, even if she is the only one.
I have only a few heartbeats or this much power will burn through me and take me under.
Xaden screams through the barrier in my mind, and the sounds of his anguish and fear are nearly more than I can bear. But there’s no time to focus on him, to wonder what will happen if I don’t succeed. Because right now, I am focused on vengeance with a coldness that would make even my mother proud.
Finally dragging the lightning down into place as my skin sizzles and burns, I release time and hold myself upright long enough to see it strike true, killing the venin at the first touch of its energy. As if time were still frozen, his body slowly topples from the top of his wyvern.
In the next breath, more than half the monsters fall from the sky, as if they were struck themselves, and, as if it had been waiting for me to accomplish my goal, the wound in my side threatens to burn me alive.
“On the left!” Tairn roars, swinging toward the wyvern and its rider as they barrel toward us with murder in their eyes.
A rope of shadow flies up, wrapping around the venin’s neck as Tairn banks left to avoid the hit, and I barely manage to keep my seat.
Xaden pulls the venin from the wyvern’s back and yanks him downward, right into the dagger he holds in his outstretched hand.
Damn, sometimes I forget just how beautifully lethal he is.
Knowing they’ll all live, I let gravity claim my body and slide from Tairn’s back.
“VIOLET!” I hear Xaden’s scream as I fall.
In the event that you come across a poison you do not recognize, it is best to treat with any and every antidote. Either way, the patient will die, but at least this way you would have learned something.
—Major Frederick’s Modern Guide for Healers
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
I think I might die today.
Air rushes by and my stomach feels like it’s somewhere above me.
Because I’m falling.
Endlessly falling.
Tairn roars, and it’s the panic, the pitch of that bellow that forces my eyes open just long enough to see him diving for me, but I can’t feel him in my head, can’t feel my feet on the Archives floor, can’t access my power. I’m cut off, no longer grounded.
My back slams into something, knocking the breath from my lungs, slowing my descent but not stopping it, and shimmering gold rises and ebbs around me. Wind stills, the cries of mayhem and destruction pause, but the burn inside rages on, consuming me with fiery teeth. Time.
Andarna has stopped time with what strength she has left.
I’m on her back, falling…because she isn’t strong enough to carry me, but she’s brave enough to fly into this battle. Now my eyes are burning, too. She shouldn’t be here. She should be tucked away in the outpost, safe from the wyvern three times her size.
Are there any wyvern left? Did we get them all?
When time starts again, wind whipping at my exposed skin, I slip from her back and am gathered close by strong human arms.
“Violet.” I know that deep, panicked voice. Xaden. But I can’t move, can’t even force my lips apart to scream with the pain of it all when he puts pressure on the wound. “Fuck, it must be poison. You have to fight it.”
Poison. The green-tipped dagger.
But what poison could paralyze me not only physically but magically?
“I’ll take care of you. Just…just live. Please live.”
Of course he wants me to live. I’m integral to his survival.
It takes all my strength, but I manage to lift my eyelids for a second, and the blatant fear in his eyes jolts my heart before I lose consciousness.
…
“Maybe it isn’t poison,” someone says in a deep voice as I wake but can’t pry my eyes open. Garrick, maybe? Gods, everything hurts. “Maybe it’s magic.”
“Did you see the way she whipped that lightning straight at that venin’s head?” someone asks.
“Not now,” Bodhi practically growls. “She saved your fucking life. She saved all our lives.”
But I didn’t. Soleil and…Liam are dead.
“Her blood is fucking black,” Xaden snaps and his arms tighten, holding me to his chest.
“It has to be poison,” Imogen cries—a sound I’ve never heard from her. “Look at it! We have to get her back to Basgiath. Nolon might be able to help.”
Yes. Nolon. They need to take me to Nolon. But I can’t say it, can’t make my lips move, can’t even reach out along the mental pathways that have become as familiar to me as breathing. Being cut off from Tairn, from Andarna…from Xaden is a torture all on its own.
“That’s a twelve-hour flight.” Xaden’s voice rises. “And I’m pretty sure her arm is broken.”
I’ll be dead in twelve hours. The promise of sweet oblivion already hovers at the edge of my consciousness, a promise of peace if I agree to just let go.
“There’s somewhere closer,” Xaden says quietly, and I feel his fingers skim over my cheek. The motion is unnervingly tender.
Another wave of fire consumes me, singeing every nerve, but all I can do is lie there and take it.
Make it stop. Gods, make it stop.
“You can’t be serious.” Someone’s voice lowers to a hiss.
“You’ll put everything at risk,” Garrick warns as sleep tugs at me, the only escape from the searing pain.
Tairn bellows so loudly, my rib cage vibrates. At least he’s close.
“I wouldn’t say that again,” Imogen mutters, “or he’ll probably eat you. And don’t forget, if she dies, there’s a damn good chance Xaden does, too.”
“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, just reminding him what the stakes are,” Garrick replies.
Can Tairn feel the disconnect between us? Is he suffering the same way I am? Was the sword poisoned, too? Can Andarna fly? Or does she need to sleep?
Sleep. That’s what I want. Cool, blissful, empty sleep.
“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me!” Xaden yells at someone. “We are going and that’s an order.”
“No need for orders, man. We’ll save her.” That’s Bodhi. I think.
“Live up to your nickname and fight this, Violence,” Xaden whispers against my ear. Then he says louder, to someone farther away, “We have to get her to him. We ride.” I feel the shift as he begins to walk, but the agony of movement against the wound is too much, and I fade into blackness.
…
Hours pass before I wake again. Maybe seconds. Maybe days. Maybe it’s forever and I’ve been sentenced to an eternity of torture by Malek for my sheer recklessness, but I can’t bring myself to regret saving them.
Maybe it’s better if I die. But then Xaden might die.
Whatever is wedged between us right now, I don’t want him dead. I’ll never want that.
A steady rush of wind at my face and the rhythmic beat of wings tells me we’re flying, and it takes all the energy I have to lift a single eyelid as we pass over the Cliffs of Dralor. The thousand-foot drop is unmistakable. It’s what made the Tyrrish rebellion not only possible but nearly successful.
The poison scorches every vein, every nerve ending in my body as it runs through me unchecked, slowing my heartbeat. Even the irony that I’m going to die by poison, something I have unparalleled knowledge of, can’t make me muster the energy to speak, to offer any thoughts on an antidote. How can I when I don’t even know what’s been used on me? Until a few hours ago, I didn’t even know venin existed outside fables, and now there’s nothing but pain and death.
It’s only a matter of time, and mine is short.
…
Death would be preferable to existing for another second in this pyre of a body, but it’s apparently a mercy I’m not allowed as I’m jostled awake.
Air. There’s not enough air. My lungs struggle to inhale.
“You’re sure about this?” Imogen asks.
Each step Xaden takes brings a new wave of agony that starts in my side and ripples through my whole body.
“Stop fucking asking him that,” Garrick snaps. “He made his decision. Support him or get the fuck out, Imogen.”
“And it’s a bad one,” another man retorts.
“When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran,” Bodhi snarls.
Tairn’s roar startles me, and I twitch, which only intensifies the already indescribable torture racking my body now.
“What was that?” Garrick asks from somewhere to the left.
“He basically said that he’ll cook me alive if I fail,” Xaden replies, holding me closer. I guess that part of the bond is still in place. My cheek falls against his shoulder, and I swear I feel him brush a kiss over my forehead, but that can’t be right.
You don’t keep secrets from someone you care about, let alone secrets that are going to cost me my life any second if the stuttering beat of my heart is any indication.
It’s struggling to pump the liquid fire that’s cauterizing my veins.
Gods, I wish he’d just let me die.
I deserve it. I’m the reason Liam is dead. I’m so weak-minded that I didn’t even realize Dain took my memories and used them against me—against Liam.
“You have to fight, Vi,” Xaden whispers against my forehead as we move. “You can hate me all you want when you wake up. You can scream, hit, throw your fucking daggers at me for all I care, but you have to live. You can’t make me fall for you and then die. None of this is worth it without you.” He sounds so sincere that I almost believe him.
Which is exactly what got me into this situation in the first place.
“Xaden?” a familiar voice calls out, but I can’t place it. Bodhi, maybe? One of the second years? So many strangers. And no friends.
Liam is dead.
“You have to save her.”
You’re all cowards.
—The last words of Fen Riorson (redacted)
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
XADEN
“She’ll be all right.” Sgaeyl’s voice is gentler than she’s ever deigned to use with me. Then again, she didn’t choose me because I needed coddling. She chose me for the scars on my back and the simple fact that I am the grandson of her second rider—the one who didn’t make it through the quadrant.
“You don’t know that she’ll be all right. No one does.” It’s been three fucking days, and Violet hasn’t woken up. Three never-ending days I’ve spent in this armchair, walking a knife’s edge between sanity and madness, studying every rise and fall of her chest just to be sure she’s still breathing.
My lungs only fill when hers do, and the time between my heartbeats is filled with sharp, all-consuming fear.
She’s never looked fragile to me, but she does now, lying in the middle of my bed, her lips pale and chapped, the ends of her hair duller than their usual bladelike hue. For three days, everything about her has felt as though the life was leached from her body, only a shadow of her soul left beneath her skin.
But today, at least, the morning light shows her cheeks have a little more color along the darker line of her flight goggles than yesterday.
I’m a fucking fool. I should have left her at Basgiath. Or sent her with Aetos, even if it strained Sgaeyl and Tairn. She never should have suffered the punishment Colonel Aetos delivered. For a crime she didn’t even know I was committing. Didn’t even suspect.
I run a hand through my hair. She wasn’t the only one who suffered.
Liam would be alive.
Liam. Guilt pairs with soul-sucking grief, and I can barely inhale around the pain in my chest. I’d ordered my foster brother to keep her safe, and that order got him killed. His death is on me.
I should have known what was waiting for us at Athebyne—
“You should have told her about the venin. I waited for you to impart the information, and now she’s suffering,” Tairn growls. The dragon is the living, fire-breathing embodiment of my shame. But at least the bond that links the four of us is still in place, even if he can’t communicate with her—which means Violet’s alive.
He can yell at me all he wants as long as her heart’s beating.
“I should have done a lot of things differently.” What I shouldn’t have done was fought my feelings for her. I should have grabbed on to her after that first kiss the way I wanted and kept her at my side, should have let her all the way in.
My eyelids scratch like sandpaper each time I blink, but I’m fighting sleep with every bone in my body. Sleep is where I hear her heartbreaking scream, hear her cry that Liam died, hear her call me a fucking traitor over and over.
She can’t die, and not just because there’s a chance I won’t survive. She can’t die because I know I can’t live without her even if I do. Somewhere between the shock of our attraction at the top of that turret to realizing she risked her own life by giving up a boot for someone else on the parapet that first day to her throwing those daggers at my head under the oak tree, I wavered. I should have realized the danger of getting too close the first time I put her on her back and showed her how easily she could kill me on the mat—a vulnerability I’ve allowed no one else—but I brushed it off as an undeniable attraction to a uniquely beautiful woman. When I watched her conquer the Gauntlet, then defend Andarna at Threshing, I stumbled, stunned by both her cunning and her sense of honor. When I burst into her room and found Oren’s treacherous hand at her throat, the rage that made it so easy to kill all six of them without batting an eye should have told me I was headed for a cliff. And when she smiled at me after mastering her shield in mere minutes, her face lighting up as the snow fell around us, I fucking fell.
We hadn’t even kissed, and I fell.
Or maybe it was when she threw her knives at Barlowe or when jealousy ate me alive seeing Aetos kiss the mouth I’d dreamed about countless times. Looking back, there were a thousand tiny moments that pulled me over the edge for the woman asleep in the bed I always pictured her in.
And I never told her. Not until she was delirious with poison. Why? Because I was scared to give her power over me when she already held it all? Because she’s Lilith Sorrengail’s daughter? Because she kept giving Aetos second and third chances?
No. Because I couldn’t give her those words without being totally, completely honest with her, and after the way she looked at me at the lake, the utter betrayal—
The rustle of sheets makes my gaze whip to her face, and I take my first full breath since she fell from Tairn’s back. Her eyes are open.
“You’re awake.” My voice sounds like it’s been dragged across gravel when I thought it’d only been my heart.
I stagger to my feet and take the two steps that separate me from her bedside. She’s awake. She’s alive. She’s…smiling? That must be a trick of the light. This woman likely wants to set me on fire.
“Can I check your side?” The mattress depresses slightly as I sit near her hip.
She nods and stretches her arms up like a cat who’s been napping in the sun before reaching for the blankets.
Drawing back the covers, I untie the robe covering the short nightdress I changed her into that first evening and slowly lift the hem above the silken skin of her hip, preparing myself for the black tendrils that discolored her veins during the flight but receded slowly since we arrived. There’s nothing. Just a thin silver line an inch above her hipbone. Air gushes from my lungs in relief. “Miraculous.”
“What’s miraculous?” she croaks, looking down at her new scar.
Shit. I would be a horrible healer. “Water.” My hand shakes with exhaustion, or relief, I don’t even care which, as I pour a glass from the pitcher on my bedside table. “You must be parched.”
She pushes herself to sit, then takes the glass, drinking the entire thing down. “Thanks.”
“You are.” I set the empty glass on the nightstand and then turn back to her, gazing into the hazel eyes that have haunted me since Parapet. “You are miraculous,” I finish in a whisper. “I was fucking terrified, Violet. There aren’t adequate words.”
“I’m fine, Xaden,” she says softly, her hand rising to rest above my pounding heart.
“I thought I was going to lose you.” The confession comes out strangled, and maybe it’s pushing my luck after all I’ve put her through, but I can’t keep from leaning forward and brushing my lips over her forehead, then her temple. Gods, I’d kiss her forever if I thought it would keep the coming argument at bay, keep us in this one pristine moment where I can actually believe that everything might be all right between us, that I haven’t irrevocably fucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
“You aren’t going to lose me.” She gives me a puzzled look, smiling like I’ve said something peculiar. Then she leans in and kisses me.
She still wants me. The revelation makes my heart fucking soar. I take the kiss deeper, swiping my tongue over her soft lower lip and gently sucking on the tender curve. That’s all it takes for need to flood my system, hot and demanding. It’s always like this between us—the slightest spark sets off a wildfire that consumes every thought that isn’t related to how many ways I can make her moan. We’ll have a lifetime of these moments ahead of us, when I can strip her down to her skin and worship every curve and hollow of her body, but this isn’t one of them, not when she’s barely been awake for five minutes. I draw back, slowly releasing her mouth. “I’ll make it up to you,” I promise, holding her delicate hands between my rough ones. “I’m not saying we won’t fight or you won’t want to throw those daggers at me when I’m inevitably an ass, but I swear I will always strive to do better.”
“Make what up to me?” She pulls away with an inquisitive smile.
I blink as my brow furrows. Has she lost her memories? “How much do you remember? By the time we got you here, the poison spread to your brain and—”
Her eyes flare, and something shifts, something that sinks my stomach like a rock as she tugs her hands from mine.
She glances away, and her eyes glaze in that way that tells me she’s checking in with her dragons.
“Don’t panic. Everything is fine. Andarna isn’t quite the same, but she’s…her.” She’s fucking huge now, but I’m not about to say that to Violet. Her gift is also gone, according to Tairn, but there’s plenty of time to share that news. Instead, I say, “The healer told me he isn’t sure what lasting effects the poison might have, because it was something he’s never seen, and no one really knows how long it will take to get your memories back if there’s any lasting damage, but I’ll tell you—”
She throws up her hand and looks around the room, as if noticing where we are for the first time, then scrambles backward out of bed, pulling her robe closed. The look in her eyes puts a vise around my chest as she stumbles to the large windows that line my bedchamber.
The windows that look out over the mountain this fortress is built upon down to the valley below and its line of charred trees marking where the earth was scorched all the way to stone and the quiet town—which used to be a city—of Aretia beneath us.
The town we’ve worked our asses off to rebuild from a pile of cinder and ruins.
“Violet?” I keep my shields up, trying to respect her privacy as I walk to her side, but gods, I need to know what she’s thinking.
Her eyes widen as her gaze sweeps over the town, each structure with its identical green roofs, then pauses on the Temple of Amari, which was the most noted landmark besides our library.
“Where are we? And don’t you dare lie to me,” she says. “Not again.”
Not again. “You remember.”
“I remember.”
“Thank gods,” I murmur, shoving my hand into my hair. It’s a good thing, proving that she’s truly healed, but…fuck.
“Where. Are. We?” She bites out every word, her eyes narrowing on me. “Say it.”
“The way you’re looking at me says you already know.” There’s no way this brilliant woman doesn’t recognize that temple.
“This looks like Aretia.” She gestures to the window. “There’s only one temple with those particular columns. I’ve seen the drawings.”
“Yes.” Brilliant. Fucking. Woman.
“Aretia was burned to the ground. I’ve seen those drawings, too, the ones the scribes brought back for the public notices. My mother told me she saw the embers with her own eyes, so where are we?” Her voice rises.
“Aretia.” It feels incredibly freeing to tell her the truth.
“Rebuilt or never burned?” She turns her back on me.
“In the process of rebuilding.”
“Why haven’t I read about this?”
I start to tell her, but she holds up a hand and I wait. It only takes her a minute to work it out, too.
She points to my rebellion relic and says, “Melgren can’t see the outcome when more than three of you are together. That’s why you’re not allowed to assemble.”
I can’t help it. I smile. This brilliant fucking woman is mine. Or was mine. Will be mine again if I have anything to say about it. Which I probably don’t. I sigh, losing the smile immediately. Fuck.
No, I’m not giving up until she tells me to.
Things might be complicated, but so are both of us.
“That and we’re not big enough to warrant the attention of the scribes anymore. We’re not hidden. We’re just not…advertising our existence.” Which is also the reason this place is still technically…mine. Nobles weren’t exactly eager to throw their money at a scorched city or be taxed on unusable land. Eventually they’ll notice. Eventually I’ll lose it. Then I’ll lose my head. “You can know whatever you want. Just ask.”
She stiffens. “Tell me one thing right now.”
“Anything.”
“Is…” Her shoulders stutter as she inhales. “Is Liam really dead?”
Liam. A fresh stab of sorrow pierces my ribs. Heartbeats pass in silence as I try to find the right words, but there aren’t any, so I take from my pocket the palm-size, freshly finished carving of Andarna Liam had been working on.
She turns in my direction, her gaze immediately locking on the figurine, and her eyes water. “It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s mine. If I had just told you everything sooner, you would have been prepared. You probably would have schooled us all on how to kill them.” My soul breaks all over again when she swipes at twin tears with the backs of her hands. I set the carving in her hand. “I know I should have, but I couldn’t bear to burn it. We laid him to rest yesterday. Well, the others did. I haven’t left this room since we got here.” Our gazes collide, and it’s all I can do not to reach for her, but I know I’m the last place she’ll seek comfort. “I haven’t left you.”
“Well, you do have a vested interest in my survival,” she quips with a watery, sarcastic smile. “Give me a second to get dressed, and then we’ll talk.”
“Kicking me out of my own room.” I reach for that sarcastic, teasing tone that used to be so easy when it came to her and back away. “New one.”
“Now, Riorson.”
I can’t keep from wincing. She never uses my last name. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t like to remember that I’m Fen Riorson’s son, and all my father cost her, but I’ve always been Xaden to her. The loss feels like a bottomless abyss, like a death blow. “Bathing chamber is through there.” I point to the far wall and stride for the exit, swinging my sword over my back on the way out.
My cousin is leaned up against the wall, talking to Garrick, who’s boasting a new six-inch scar from temple to jaw, but they both fall silent as I shut my door behind me. They tense and Garrick stands to his full height. “She’s awake.”
“Thank Amari,” Bodhi says, his shoulders sagging. His arm is still in a sling, recovering from the four places a venin fractured it.
“She’s going to have to choose.” I look at Garrick, noting the worry in his eyes. He’s already told me he thinks she’ll keep our secret. That worry is for my mental state if she doesn’t forgive me for not telling her sooner. “She’ll either keep our secret or she won’t.”
“That’s something you’ll have to figure out,” he replies. “And then teach her how to hide it from Aetos if she chooses.”
“Any word from the fliers?”
“Syrena is alive, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bodhi answers. “So is her sister. But the rest…” He shakes his head.
At least they made it out, and now that Violet is awake, I can finally breathe. “You figure out what that box was that Chradh was drawn to back at Resson?” I ask. Garrick’s dragon is remarkably sensitive to runes, which allowed them to locate and retrieve the small iron box beneath the rubble of the clock tower.
“They’re working on it right now. Hopefully we’ll have an answer in the next couple of hours. I’m glad she’s all right, Xaden. I’ll tell the others.” He nods once and heads down the hall, almost as familiar with the castle’s layout as I am, considering he spent every summer here before the apostasy, or secession, as the Navarrians call Dad’s rebellion.
Funny how people rename everything that makes them feel uncomfortable. We lost faith that our king would ever do the right thing. And they call us traitors.
Bodhi wrinkles his nose.
“What?”
“You smell like dragon ass.”
“Fuck off.” I chance a whiff and can’t argue. “I’m using your room.”
“I would consider it a personal favor.”
I extend my middle finger and head toward his room.
…
An hour later, I’m bathed and impatient as I wait outside my room in a fresh set of leathers with Bodhi, who’s doing his best to lighten my mood just like he always does, when the door opens and Violet stands there.
I nearly swallow my tongue at the sight of her unbound, damp hair curling just under her breasts. I can’t even articulate what it is about the strands that pushes me straight into need-to-fuck-her-now territory, and I’m too busy fighting to keep my hands at my sides to question the why of it.
She exists, and I get turned on. I’ve come to accept that particular truth over the last year.
Bodhi grins, flashing a smile that looks exactly like my aunt’s used to. “Good to see you up and about, Sorrengail.” Then he smacks me on the shoulder as he walks off, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ll fetch the backup plan. Good luck.”
Gods, I want to haul her into my arms and love her until she forgets everything except how good we are together, but I’m sure that’s the last thing she’ll ever want again.
“Come back in,” she says softly, and my heart lurches.
“As long as you’ve invited me.” I walk in, loathing the distrust in her eyes.
Whether or not Violet will believe me, I’ve never lied to her. Not once.
I’ve just never been entirely truthful, either.
“Is all this original?” she asks, her gaze sweeping over my bedroom.
“The majority of the fortress is stone,” I say as she studies the detailed arches at the ceiling, the natural lighting from the windows that consume the western wall. “Stone doesn’t burn.”
“Right.”
I swallow. Hard. “I think after all you’ve seen, the question I have to ask before I tell you everything is pretty simple. Are you in? Are you willing to fight with us?” She could just as easily decide to turn us all in. She didn’t know enough to condemn us, but she does now.
“I’m in.” She nods.
Relief surges through me in a rush more powerful than anything I could channel from Sgaeyl, and I reach for her. “I’m so sorry I had to keep…” My words die on my tongue as she steps back, avoiding me.
“Not happening.” A world of hurt flashes in those hazel eyes, and I fucking wither. “Just because I believe you and am willing to fight with you doesn’t mean I’ll trust you with my heart again. And I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.”
Something in my chest crumples. “I’ve never lied to you, Violet. Not once. I never will.”
She walks over to the window and looks down, then slowly turns back to me. “It’s not even that you kept this from me. I get it. It’s the ease with which you did it. The ease with which I let you into my heart and didn’t get the same in return.” She shakes her head, and I see it there, the love, but it’s masked behind defenses I foolishly forced her to build.
I love her. Of course I love her. But if I tell her now, she’ll think I’m saying it for all the wrong reasons, and honestly, she’d be right.
I’m not going to lose the only woman I’ve ever fallen for without a fight. “You’re right. I kept secrets,” I admit, pressing forward again, taking step after step until I’m less than a foot from her. I palm the glass on both sides of her head, loosely caging her in, but we both know she could walk away if she wanted. But she doesn’t move. “It took me a long time to trust you, a long time to realize I fell for you.”
Someone knocks. I ignore it.
“Don’t say that.” She lifts her chin, but I don’t miss the way she glances at my mouth.
“I fell for you.” I lower my head and look straight into her gorgeous eyes. She might be rightfully pissed, but she sure as Malek isn’t fickle. “And you know what? You might not trust me anymore, but you still love me.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t deny it. “I gave you my trust for free once, and once is all you get.” She masks the hurt with a quick blink.
Never again. Those eyes will never reflect hurt I’ve inflicted ever again.
“I fucked up by not telling you sooner, and I won’t even try to justify my reasons. But now I’m trusting you with my life—with everyone’s lives.” I’ve risked it all by just bringing her here instead of taking her body back to Basgiath. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know and everything you don’t. I’ll spend every single day of my life earning back your trust.”
I’d forgotten what it felt like to be loved, really, truly loved—it’d been so many years since Dad died. And Mom… Not going there. But then Violet gave me those words, gave me her trust, her heart, and I remembered. I’ll be damned if I don’t fight to keep them.
“And if it’s not possible?”
“You still love me. It’s possible.” Gods, do I ache to kiss her, to remind her exactly what we are together, but I won’t, not until she asks. “I’m not afraid of hard work, especially not when I know just how sweet the rewards are. I would rather lose this entire war than live without you, and if that means I have to prove myself over and over, then I’ll do it. You gave me your heart, and I’m keeping it.” She already owns mine, even if she doesn’t realize it.
Her eyes widen, as if she’s finally seeing the resolve in mine.
It’s time she knew everything. Knowing Violet, she won’t stay tucked away, safe behind Basgiath’s walls, especially not now that she knows just how corrupt those walls are.
She’ll fight this war at my side.
There’s another insistent knock at the door.
“Fuck is he impatient,” I mutter. “You have about twenty seconds to ask a question, if I know him.”
She blinks. “I’m still hoping that missive at Athebyne was really about the War Games. Do you think there’s any chance we just happened to end up in the middle of a wyvern attack at that outpost?”
“That definitely wasn’t an accident, little sister,” he says from the doorway.
I sigh and move to the side, watching Violet’s eyes widen as she sees him standing in the doorway. “Told you I knew better poison masters,” I tell her softly. “You weren’t healed. You were mended.”
“Brennan?” She stares at her brother in open-mouthed shock.
Brennan just grins and opens his arms. “Welcome to the revolution, Violet.”
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, thank you to my Heavenly Father for blessing me beyond my wildest dreams.
Thank you to my husband, Jason, for being the best inspiration an author could ever have for the perfect book boyfriend and for your endless support of my dream-chasing ways. Thank you for holding my hand when the world went wonky, getting me to every doctor’s appointment, and managing the overwhelming the calendar that comes with having four sons and a wife with a connective tissue disorder. Through the surgeries and specialists, you’ve been our rock. Thank you to my six children, who teach me more than I will ever teach them. You guys are my reason. Never doubt that you are essential to my existence. To my sister, Kate, love you, mean it. To my parents, who are always there when I need them. To my best friend, Emily Byer, for always hunting me down when I disappear into the writing cave for months.
Thank you to my team at Red Tower. There isn’t enough gratitude in the world for my editor Liz Pelletier, for giving me the chance to spread my wings and write fantasy and keeping me fed and laughing during our twenty-one-day stint of finishing edits. No laptops were harmed in the making of this book. But seriously, this book is my dream. Thank you for making it come true with your advice, input, patience, and endless support—it wouldn’t have been possible without you. To Stacy for copy editing during sleepless nights. Heather, Curtis, Molly, Jessica, Riki, and everyone at Entangled and Macmillan for answering endless streams of emails and for bringing this book to the marketplace. To Madison and Nicole for all the incredible notes and staying up all night during the read-through. Elizabeth, thank you for this beautiful cover, and to Bree and Amy for the exquisite art. Thank you to my phenomenal agent, Louise Fury, who didn’t bat an eye when I said I wanted to write a fantasy and who makes my life easier simply by standing at my back.
Thank you to my wifeys, our unholy trinity, Gina Maxwell and Cindi Madsen—I’d be lost without you. To Kyla, who made this book possible. To Shelby and Cassie for keeping my ducks in a row and always being my number one hype girls. To Candi for handling everything that comes our way with grace and laughter. To Stephanie Carder for taking the time to read. To every blogger and reader who has taken a chance on me over the years, I can’t thank you enough. To my reader group, The Flygirls, for bringing me joy every day.
Lastly, because you’re my beginning and end, thank you again to my Jason. There’s a little bit of you in every hero I write.
About the Author
Rebecca Yarros is the USA Today bestselling author of more than fifteen novels. “A gifted storyteller” (Kirkus), she is also the recipient of the Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence. A second-generation army brat, Rebecca loves military heroes and has been blissfully married to hers for more than twenty years. She’s the mother of six children, and she and her family live in Colorado with their stubborn English bulldogs, two feisty chinchillas, and a kitten named Artemis, who rules them all.
Having fostered, then adopted their youngest daughter, Rebecca is passionate about helping children in the foster system through her nonprofit, One October, which she cofounded with her husband in 2019. To learn more about their mission, visit oneoctober.org.
To catch up on Rebecca’s latest releases and upcoming novels, visit RebeccaYarros.com.
More from Rebecca Yarros
The Things We Leave Unfinished
Great and Precious Things
The Last Letter
- Dec 13 Wed 2023 19:59
Hamburger America One Mans Cross-Country Odyssey to Find the Best Burgers in the Nation (George Motz) (Z-Library)
SPECIAL_IMAGE-geor_9780762442348_msr_cvi_r1.jpg-REPLACE_ME
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Foreword
Introduction
Chapter 1 - ARKANSAS
COTHAM’S MERCANTILE
Chapter 2 - CALIFORNIA
THE APPLE PANCASSELL’S HAMBURGERSGOTT’S ROADSIDEHODAD’SIN-N-OUT BURGERIRV’S BURGERJIM-DENNY’SJOE’S CABLE CAR RESTAURANTMARTY’SPIE ’N BURGERVAL’S BURGERSWESTERN STEAKBURGER
Chapter 3 - COLORADO
BUD’S BAR
Chapter 4 - CONNECTICUT
CLAMP’S HAMBURGER STANDLOUIS’ LUNCHSHADY GLENTED’S RESTAURANT
Chapter 5 - DELAWARE
CHARCOAL PIT
Chapter 6 - DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
BEN’S CHILI BOWLTUNE INN
Chapter 7 - FLORIDA
EL MAGO DE LAS FRITASLE TUB
Chapter 8 - GEORGIA
ANN’S SNACK BAR
Chapter 9 - IDAHO
HUDSON’S HAMBURGERS
Chapter 10 - ILLINOIS
BILLY GOAT TAVERN & GRILLCHARLIE BEINLICH’S FOOD & TAPGRANT’S WONDERBURGERHACKNEY’S ON HARMSMOONSHINE STORETOP NOTCH BEEFBURGER SHOP
Chapter 11 - INDIANA
HEINNIESPOWERS HAMBURGER SHOPTRIPLE XXX FAMILY RESTAURANTWORKINGMAN’S FRIENDZAHARAKOS ICE CREAM PARLOR AND MUSEUM
Chapter 12 - IOWA
HAMBURG INN NO. 2THE IRISH SHANTIPAUL’S TAVERNTAYLOR’S MAID-RITE
Chapter 13 - KANSAS
BOBO’S DRIVE INCOZY INN HAMBURGERSJACK’S NORTH HI CARRYOUTNUWAY CAFE
Chapter 14 - LOUISIANA
BOZO’SPORT OF CALL
Chapter 15 - MAINE
HARMON’S LUNCH
Chapter 16 - MASSACHUSETTS
MR. BARTLEY’S BURGER COTTAGEWHITE HUT
Chapter 17 - MICHIGAN
HUNTER HOUSE HAMBURGERSKRAZY JIM’S BLIMPY BURGERMILLER’S BARMOTZ’S HAMBURGERSREDAMAK’S
Chapter 18 - MINNESOTA
CONVENTION GRILLGORDY’S HI-HATMATT’S BARTHE 5-8 CLUB
Chapter 19 - MISSISSIPPI
BILL’S HAMBURGERSPHILLIPS GROCERY
Chapter 20 - MISSOURI
TOWN TOPICWHEEL INN DRIVE-INWINSTEAD’S
Chapter 21 - MONTANA
MATT’S PLACE DRIVE-INTHE MISSOULA CLUB
Chapter 22 - NEBRASKA
STELLA’S HAMBURGERS
Chapter 23 - NEW HAMPSHIRE
GILLEY’S PM LUNCH
Chapter 24 - NEW JERSEY
HOLIDAY SNACK BARROSSI’S BAR & GRILLWHITE MANNA HAMBURGERSWHITE ROSE SYSTEM
Chapter 25 - NEW MEXICO
BOBCAT BITEOWL BAR & CAFE
Chapter 26 - NEW YORK
CORNER BISTRODONOVAN’S PUBHILDEBRANDT’SJG MELONP.J. CLARKE’S
Chapter 27 - NORTH CAROLINA
CHAR-GRILLPENGUIN DRIVE-INSNAPPY LUNCHSOUTH 21 DRIVE-INWHAT-A-BURGER DRIVE-IN
Chapter 28 - OHIO
CRABILL’S HAMBURGERSGAHANNA GRILLHAMBURGER WAGONJOHNNIE’S TAVERNKEWPEETHE SPOTSWENSON’S DRIVE INTHURMAN CAFEWILSON’S SANDWICH SHOP
Chapter 29 - OKLAHOMA
CLAUD’S HAMBURGERSFOLGER’S DRIVE-INNHAMBURGER KINGHARDEN’S HAMBURGERSJ&W GRILLJOHNNIE’S GRILLLINDA-MAR DRIVE-INTHE MEERS STORE & RESTAURANTPAK-A-SAKROBERT’S GRILLSID’S DINERSLICK’S
Chapter 30 - OREGON
GIANT DRIVE-INHELVETIA TAVERNSTANICH’S TAVERN
Chapter 31 - PENNSYLVANIA
CHARLIE’S HAMBURGERSTESSARO’S
Chapter 32 - RHODE ISLAND
STANLEY’S HAMBURGERS
Chapter 33 - SOUTH CAROLINA
NORTHGATE SODA SHOPROCKAWAY ATHLETIC CLUB
Chapter 34 - SOUTH DAKOTA
HAMBURGER INNNICK’S HAMBURGER SHOP
Chapter 35 - TENNESSEE
BROWN’S DINERDYER’S BURGERSFAT MO’SROTIER’S RESTAURANTZARZOUR’S CAFE
Chapter 36 - TEXAS
105 GROCERYADAIR’S SALOONARNOLD BURGERBLAKE’S BBQ AND BURGERSBURGER HOUSECASINO EL CAMINOCHRIS MADRID’SCHRISTIAN’S TAILGATE BAR & GRILLDIRTY MARTIN’S KUM-BAK PLACEGUY’S MEAT MARKETHERD’S HAMBURGERSHUT’S HAMBURGERSKELLER’S DRIVE-INKINCAID’S HAMBURGERSLANKFORD GROCERYLONGHORN CAFE
Chapter 37 - UTAH
CROWN BURGER
Chapter 38 - VERMONT
DOT’S RESTAURANTWHITE COTTAGE
Chapter 39 - VIRGINIA
TEXAS TAVERN
Chapter 40 - WASHINGTON
DICK’S DRIVE-INEASTSIDE BIG TOM
Chapter 41 - WISCONSIN
AMERICAN LEGION POST #67ANCHOR BARDOTTY DUMPLING’S DOWRYKEWPEE HAMBURGERSPETE’S HAMBURGERSTHE PLAZA TAVERNSOLLY’S GRILLEWEDL’S HAMBURGER STAND AND ICE CREAM PARLORZWIEG’S
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
For my children, Ruby and Mac, and my wife,
Casey, who is no longer a vegetarian.
FOREWORD
There is no delicate way to put this: George Motz is nuts.
Who in his right mind would spend years traveling the country, clogging his arteries, parting with his hard-earned money, and suffering culinary indignities and belt-busting insults, all in pursuit of the perfect burger, something even he admits might not exist?
I first met George when he came to Chicago to visit that subterranean tavern know as the Billy Goat. Being a New Yorker, he knew little of the legend of this venerable spot; I don’t think he realized that the Saturday Night Live “cheezborger, cheezborger” skits were inspired by this place and its shouting Greek “chefs”; and he’d never heard of Mike Royko and the other journalists who called the place home.
There have been, by my rough calculation, 4,540,762 burgers served at the Billy Goat since it opened on Hubbard Street in 1964, but none was more significant than the one grilled at 12:14 p.m. on April 19, 2003, and consumed seconds later by George.
The Goat’s burgers are griddled, but Motz has eaten them deep-fried, steamed, broiled, baked, and raw; eaten them on buns, rolls, and bread; eaten them plain and covered with butter, bacon, chili, peanut butter, pimentos, pastrami, and almost any other topping that can be concocted by a cook’s imagination and whatever might be lying around the kitchen.
He did this initially to create the film Hamburger America. The documentary gained a robust cult following. It made George proud but it did not make him stop. Rather, the film became the inspiration for and foundation of this book, for George’s search for the best hamburgers in the country.
The great television journalist Charles Kuralt once observed, “You can find your way across this country using burger joints the way a navigator uses stars.” And George set out to prove him right.
What you hold in your hands is the labor of his travels—a gathering of meat, if you will, but also a celebration of burgers and the people who make them.
Yes, George Motz is nuts.
As nutty as Columbus, or Lewis and Clark, but in his quest to find the best burgers in America, George has found something more important. He has discovered, in the mom-and-pop grills and out-of-the-way diners, an America that most of us probably thought had already vanished, a country of individuality and inventiveness, of people willing to rage, rage against the homogenizing of the land. You should enjoy that as much as what arrives on your plate. It’s not just about the meat but the people you will meet.
INTRODUCTION
TO THE COMPLETELY REVISED HAMBURGER AMERICA
They came at me from every angle and thankfully none of them were angry. The minute the first version of this book hit the shelves, hamburger enthusiasts thumbed through looking for their favorite burger joints. Most found what they were looking for. Others were not so lucky and were kind enough to let me know what I had missed. For those that let me in on where to find their favorite burgers I’m forever grateful.
You see, this book is not really meant to be a “Best Of” by any means. It is only meant to function as a guide to finding great burger experiences in America. There are thousands and thousands of burger joints in this country and there’s a good chance that your small town secret is not here. I’m getting a little bit closer, however, as I present to you 52 additions to the Hamburger America family of approved burger joints.
The original book profiled 100 great burger places to visit coast-to-coast. Sadly, since the publication of that book we’ve lost two hamburger greats, the Yankee Doodle in New Haven and Tookie’s in Seabrook, Texas. When I had learned of their demise I did everything to save them but it was not to be. Tookie’s suffered a devastating blow from Hurricane Ike and the Doodle had irreparable financial woes. We have bid farewell to the “Double Doodle” and the “Squealer” and are now left only with our memories. The downfall of these two seemingly invincible titans of the All-American hamburger only strengthened my resolve.
In a turn of events befitting a Hollywood survival story, amazingly one of America’s great hamburger treasures came back to life. The Wheel Inn Drive-In of Sedalia, Missouri suffered a major setback when it needed to be demolished to make way for highway expansion. The owner had no interest in carrying on at a new location and shut the doors. Soon after, a former employee of the 65-year-old burger destination chose to take on the Herculean task of refiring the engines, and the Wheel Inn was resurrected just a few short blocks from its original location. It returned because the people wanted it to.
One of the questions I’m asked almost on a daily basis now is, “Aren’t you sick of burgers?” In all honesty, no, and my appreciation of the hamburger grows exponentially with each new burger experience. The deeper I go into Hamburger America, the better it gets, and I still feel as though I’ve only scratched the surface.
While gathering new information about hamburger joints for the revised edition of the book the most famous vegetarian in the burger world, my wife, Casey, decided after 17 years of avoiding meat that she’d like to have a burger. I was overjoyed, and scared. I chose the Bobcat Bite in Santa Fe to be her first, mostly because it’s a great burger, she loves spicy foods, and I knew John Eckre would be sensitive to the task at hand. Upon taking her first bite, with the entire restaurant watching, someone yelled out, “What do you think??” She replied, “What’s not to love?!” But the best part was that someone sitting next to her at the counter blurted out, “Did you think your husband was making this stuff up?” Needless to say, I’m really enjoying having Casey as a burger companion and, not surprisingly, our tastes are similar.
Speaking of tastes, here again is the all-important list of criteria for being included in Hamburger America. To make the list, the burger had to be made from fresh-ground beef (chuck, sirloin, rump—something good from a cow) and never frozen. In most cases age, provenance, and historical context played a factor in deciding what was most relevant for this book. For example, Louis’ Lunch in New Haven may or may not have “invented” the hamburger, but it’s safe to say that it is, without argument, the oldest continually operating burger joint in America (at well over 100 years), run by the same family for four generations, and they still make a tasty hamburger. And naturally, the burger had to excite and satisfy this expert’s taste buds. Many of the burgers in this book fall into the under $5 category, and I avoided most of the supersized forty-seven-pound burgers and bloated, overthe-top wallet-busters—bigger is not always better, and Kobe beef should be enjoyed in Japan as a steak. Furthermore, I chose places you’d want to visit, and should, before the wrecking ball comes down and replaces all of these wonderful bits of Americana with a Wal-Mart parking lot, or worse, a McDonald’s.
Please don’t try to be a hero (or a martyr) and eat all of the burgers in this book back to back. One thing that frightened me after the first book was released were the reports I was hearing about people powering through the book, coast-to-coast, in a matter of months. Whoa! Please be careful! During my research, even I, scarfing up to five burgers a day (not recommended), sought out the hotels with exercise equipment so that I might be alive today to bring you this book. My doctor laughed when I told him of my quest to write the Great American Hamburger Book, but then took my expanding waistline seriously, as should you. Embrace moderation.
My primary reason for writing this book was to make sure that the next generation of burger lovers has a starting point for saving the all-American hamburger. The way to do this is to patronize as many of these restaurants as possible. Looking into the not-so-distant future I see the McDonald’s hamburger as a reference point for many as to what an American burger should look and taste like. This is not a good thing. A real American hamburger is so much more.
Go forth into America—Hamburger America that is—and meet real people and eat real burgers. Across the nation, regional uniqueness abounds. Using this book as your guide you’ll discover the steamed cheeseburger of central Connecticut, the fried-onion burgers indigenous to Oklahoma, and Miami’s Cuban Frita. Meet some of the hardest-working Americans you’ll ever come across, whose commitment to great burgers will astound you. This book is for you, the burger aficionado. It is also for those who truly appreciate the preservation of a part of America that is threatened by the homogenization of the eating experience in this country. When you can appreciate a burger from a mom-and-pop joint that has found success in feeding people with high quality food for decades, you’ll have a much better sense of what this country is really made of.
GEORGE MOTZ | BROOKLYN, NY, 2011
1
ARKANSAS
COTHAM’S MERCANTILE
5301 HIGHWAY 161 | SCOTT, AR 72142
501-961-9284 | WWW.COTHAMS.COM
MON–THURS 11 AM–2 PM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–8 PM
There’s really only one reason to go to Cotham’s—for their “Famous Hubcap Burger,” so famous that you knew that already. What you may not know is that the Hubcap is made with over a pound of meat. You read that correctly; 17 ounces of fresh ground beef is cooked on a flattop griddle and served on a bun that resembles a small throw cushion. But aside from its frightening proportions, the Hubcap makes a tasty meal. I had no problem finishing one.
Cotham’s (pronounced cot-hams) is a restaurant that in a previous life served as the local grocery and dry goods store. The place contains the standard country store antiques and collectables that give it a lived-in feel. Original wood and glass cases are still in place, only now they house vintage food boxes, snuff canisters, and some truly bizarre tonics for curing “the chills and malaria.”
For all of the attention Cotham’s has received nationally, it is still a local place at heart. The restaurant is a major tourist destination, but conversations can still be overheard that start with sentences like, “What church do you go to?” Cotham’s is only a few minutes from downtown Little Rock but from the view out the front window you’d think you were in the middle of nowhere. The scene looks straight out of The Wizard of Oz—long, telephone pole–lined dirt roads leading out to dusty cotton and soybean fields. There’s even a working chicken coop right next door to the restaurant.
In 1999 a new location opened in downtown Little Rock. Be aware, though, that both locations are open only for lunch during the week (for three hours) and only the original Scott location is open on Saturdays.
The Hubcap comes with mayo, green-leaf lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickles and at $9.75 is a bargain. If the prospect of hefting this Frisbeesized burger to your lips sounds daunting, ask for the children’s “Lug Nut Burger” (get it?) which is much smaller and adds ketchup. But you really need to set your sights on the hefty Hubcap.
President Clinton was no stranger to Cotham’s during his time as governor of Arkansas. The old country store made a nice backdrop when the press followed him out to Scott to get a burger. “He loves the Hubcap,” waitress Danielle told me. Now that the Clintons live in New York, frequent trips to Cotham’s may be a bit difficult.
2
CALIFORNIA
THE APPLE PAN
10801 W. PICO BLVD | LOS ANGELES, CA 90064
310-475-3585 | TUES–THURS 11 AM–MIDNIGHT
FRI & SAT 11 AM–1 AM | CLOSED MONDAY
The Apple Pan may serve the best burgers in America. I say may only because I don’t like playing favorites, but believe me, if there were a definitive burger in America this would be it. The synthesis of flavors and textures in their burgers is second to none, and the presentation is entirely Californian with its waxed paper wrapping. And the atmosphere of the place is pure nostalgia, not the kind that is manufactured, but real and enduring. They may serve the best burgers in America because in the 20 years that I have been going there nothing has changed—the burger I ate in the early ’90s is exactly the same as the one I ate last week.
The Apple Pan looks completely out of place on Pico Boulevard in the neighborhood of West Los Angeles. The small white-shingled burger cottage is directly across the street from the towering behemoth Westwood Pavilion Mall. All of Westwood has built up around the tiny burger spot but the Apple Pan remains. Where the four-story mall stands was once a pony ride field. If you look directly at the Apple Pan and block out all of the surrounding urban chaos, you will be transported to a burger shack on a quiet country road somewhere in rural America.
Clark Gable used to visit regularly when he was working down the street at Paramount. Jack Nicholson and Barbra Streisand are regulars, as are many other Hollywood stars looking for a late-night burger fix.
The interior looks the same as it did on opening day in 1947 with its scotch plaid wallpaper and now worn terrazzo floor. A horseshoe counter with 26 red leather stools and two clunky old mechanical cash registers surrounds an efficient short-order kitchen. The counterand grillmen all wear crisp white shirts and paper hats and take your order the minute your pants hit the stool. If you ask for fries, out comes a paper plate and the thwock-thwock of a counterman pouring ketchup for you. Ask for milk and you’ll receive a metal cup holder with a paper insert. It’s almost as if someone forgot to tell them the ’50s were over. I hope no one does.
The burger menu consists of only two choices—the “Steakburger” and the “Hickory Burger.” Both start as fresh ground beef that is formed into quarter-pound patties in the restaurant daily. “We’ll patty up to a thousand a day,” Sunny Sherman, the owner and granddaughter of the man who started the restaurant told me. The most popular burger at the Apple Pan is the Hickory Burger. What separates this burger from most is a proprietary, tangy hickory sauce that goes on the burger, along with pickles, mayo, and a sizable wedge of crisp iceberg lettuce (no tomato). All of this (and a slice of Tillamook cheddar if desired) is placed on a toasted white squishy bun and served the way most burgers are in Southern California—wrapped in waxed paper, no plate. The Steakburger replaces the hickory sauce with a sweet relish.
Iceberg lettuce on a burger is an LA tradition, but no burger I’ve met takes this condiment so seriously. “We only use the middle layers of the head, not the core or outside,” grillman Lupe told me. “Just the crisp part.” A prep chef slices perfect chunks of the crisp lettuce—one head of iceberg can yield only seven to eight chunks. That’s a lot of heads of lettuce when you are cranking out up to a thousand burgers a day.
The result of biting into this pile of textures and flavors is pure bliss. The softness of the bun, the tang of the sauce, the warmth of the griddled beef, and the snap of the lettuce and pickle synthesize in that first bite like no other. It’s nearly a perfect burger experience.
Walking into the Apple Pan at peak times can be daunting. There’s no real order to who sits where. The trick is to position yourself behind someone who looks like they are finishing (look for half-eaten pie). If you are alone, the wait is minimal. For groups of ten—forget it.
Ellen and Allan Baker opened the Apple Pan in 1947. Allan had succeeded with another venture across town called King’s Kitchen. From King’s he brought the Steakburger. With the Apple Pan he introduced the Hickory Burger.
Allan built the Apple Pan as a business to retire on and had not planned to work there but did anyway. He hired Joe Kelly, his caddy from his golf days in Chicago, to be the general manager. In 1973, when Joe fell ill, Charles Collins took his job. Charles celebrated his fiftieth year of employment at the Apple Pan in 2007 (and retired after 52 years in 2009), but he is not alone. Many of the countermen have been donning paper caps and serving up burgers and pie for decades. Today the Bakers’ daughter and granddaughter, Martha Gamble and Sunny Sherman, own the Apple Pan. They are committed to keeping the Los Angeles landmark as vibrant as it has been for 60 years.
The timeless quality of old Los Angeles is a draw that is hard to ignore. The Apple Pan does its part to remind us of what can endure in this town of disposable careers and an ever-changing cityscape. But there’s no need to rush down to the Apple Pan. It’ll be there forever.
CASSELL’S HAMBURGERS
3266 WEST 6TH ST | LOS ANGELES, CA 90020
213-480-8668 | WWW.CASSELLSHAMBURGER.COM
MON–SAT 10:30AM–4 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
When a classic burger joint starts to fade, people tend to look the other way and wait for its demise. And when the icons of the burger business move on or sell out, there’s always the temptation to jump to the conclusion that “It’s just not the same as it was.” Cassell’s tends to fall into this category for most who see the 62-year-old hamburger restaurant as a has-been. I’m here to tell you that the burger at Cassell’s is amazing and this vintage Los Angeles burger cafeteria has most definitely not lost its way.
In 1948, Al Cassell opened a burger joint across from the Bullock’s Department store on Wilshire Boulevard in what is now part of Los Angeles’s Koreatown. He successfully ran the restaurant until 1984 when he sold the business to Hakbae Kim. Mr. Kim, as he was affectionately known, was smart enough to not change anything. In 1986, he moved the restaurant to its current location on 6th Street, just a few blocks from its original location. Today, Mr. Kim’s son, Jon Kim, owns Cassell’s and amazingly, the place has stayed true to its roots.
Cassell made a name for himself by employing a unique method for cooking burgers on equipment of his own design. The large, high flattop griddle behind the counter also contains two smaller flattops that slide out from underneath. These smaller, sliding flattops are actually the bottom half of a double broiler. When the patty is placed on this flattop and slid back in, the burger cooks simultaneously from the top as well as the bottom. I’m guessing that Al’s invention was designed for speed but he inadvertently invented a method for keeping the burger very moist. When a burger is placed in this contraption, it is not touched until it is placed on a bun. No flipping or pressing is necessary. Manager and Jon Kim’s brother-in-law, Tek Kim, explained, “It holds the juice in. That’s the difference.”
Get in line at the rear of the large, sparse restaurant and grab a tray. Order your burger (the #23, a one-third-pound cheeseburger, is the most popular) and watch the double broiler in action. When your burger is ready, slide down the cafeteria-style stainless steel rails and prepare to dress the burger yourself. I’ve become so accustomed to having classic burger joints prepare their signature burger their way that I was lost at the toppings bar. The choices are limited but great. Choose from standards like sliced tomato, sliced raw onion, pickles, and iceberg lettuce, all very fresh, and add mustard, mayo, and ketchup at will. There’s also a homemade Thousand Island dressing, a recipe of Al’s that you must put on your burger. The amazing mayonnaise is also made in-house and was a recipe of Al’s. “We just follow his way,” Tek explained. There’s no limit to how much you can put on your burger but be sure keep it simple so you can taste the beef.
You’ll want to taste the beef at Cassell’s because it’s unbelievably fresh. Sitting in the front window at Cassell’s is a large meat grinder. “We grind it right here,” Tek explained, and told me that every morning they grind chuck steaks for the day’s burgers. “That’s why we have customers of 30 or 40 years coming back.” He then paused and said, “I don’t think many other places still do this, do they?”
The burgers come in 2 sizes—one-third-pound and two-thirds-pound. The latter is large and sticks out from the super-wide, soft white bun. Even the one-third-pound burger seems really big since the entire package is wide, soft, and floppy. I’d be happy at Cassell’s with a one-third-pound cheeseburger with nothing but Al’s homemade Thousand Island on top.
The Kims have introduced fries to the menu, something that Al never offered. One menu item of Al’s that remains today is a potato salad like none other. Totally unique, this uncomplicated salad is really just boiled potatoes and horseradish and it blew me away. “Some customers come in just for the potato salad,” Tek told me. It’s that good.
Don’t show up for dinner at Cassell’s. The burger restaurant has never been open past its peculiar closing time of 4 p.m. Tek explained that Cassell’s is only open for lunch to feed nearby office workers. Incidentally, if you arrive 30 minutes before closing time the double broilers will be shut off. Fear not though, the large upper flattop, used for warming buns, is where your burger will be cooked.
So before you judge a burger joint on how it looks or make assumptions about its new ownership, get your butt there to judge for yourself. Or take it from me and go to Cassell’s because this place continues to crank out great burgers. It seems to me that the only thing missing today from Cassell’s is Al Cassell himself. “If we are different, the customer won’t come,” Tek told me, and added, “They come here for the name.” I guarantee that Al would be proud of how his place turned out.
GOTT’S ROADSIDE
933 MAIN ST | ST HELENA, CA 94574
707-963-3486
(2 OTHER LOCATIONS IN SAN FRANCISCO AND NAPA)
WWW.GOTTSROADSIDE.COM
OPEN DAILY 10:30 AM–9 PM
The drive to Gott’s takes you right through the heart of the Napa Valley. You’ll pass rows and rows of vineyards and welcoming wineries with products to sample. Take a deep breath and smell the dense, pungent odor of freshly pressed grapes. It seems like the last place you’d find a good hamburger joint. That is, of course, until you pull into Gott’s Roadside.
Gott’s is in the center of it all. Most of the patrons of this updated classic ’40s burger drive-in seem to be the buttoned-down wine-tasting types, but the stand does get its fair share of working-class locals as well. A bit of an anomaly in this part of the Napa Valley, Gott’s has endured the influx of luxury hotels, inns, and spas, as well as a number of high-end restaurants.
The burger stand opened in 1949 as Taylor’s Refresher. In the late ’90s, two brothers with a long family history in winemaking, Duncan and Joel Gott, bought the ailing stand. The structure received a first-class face-lift, but they made sure to maintain the integrity of the original stand. The city of St. Helena allowed the Gott brothers to expand only slightly, as Duncan put it, “for health reasons.” He explained, “Before we bought the place, the refrigerators used to be outside, out back.” Today’s Gott’s is a super-clean, contemporary version of the former stand with an upgraded kitchen and menu full of gourmet road food. In 2010, the Gott brothers, proud of the burger stand they had resurrected, decided to change the name from Talyor’s to Gott’s Roadside.
The hamburgers at Gott’s are well thought out, tasty, and like so many quality hamburgers of the Pacific Northwest, socially conscious. Duncan explained, “We spent weeks of testing to come up with the right blend for the burgers.” The one-third-pound fresh patties come from naturally raised, hormone-free California cattle. They are cooked on an open-flame grill and served on locally made soft, pillowy buns. A “secret sauce” also goes on all of the burgers at Gott’s. It’s a creamy, tangy mayo-based sauce, a sort of proprietary version of “Goop,” (see page 346) the standard condiment on most burgers of the Northwest. “The spices in the sauce we keep secret,” manager Dave told me. All of the burgers are served with lettuce, pickle, and tomato in a red-checkered paper basket.
The burger selection at Gott’s ranges from the traditional with American cheese to gourmet creations topped with guacamole or blue cheese. The extensive menu also includes healthy options like a chicken club, veggie tacos, and a Cobb salad, but no meal at Gott’s would be complete without one of their extraordinary milkshakes. The first time I was there the flavor of the day was mango. The woman in front of me tasted hers and proclaimed, “Oh MAN, that’s good!” I had an espresso bean milkshake that I still dream about today.
There’s no indoor seating and the carhops are long gone, so find a spot at one of the many large red picnic tables in front, or on the spacious back lawn. Save your wine tasting for Gott’s too. There’s a separate “bar” here that serves a rotating selection of over 40 local wines and eight smallbatch beers like Sierra Nevada and Anchor Steam. I’m not too confident about the pairing of a cheeseburger and a good Cabernet, but I can tell you there’s nothing like a great burger and a cold beer. Add Napa Valley to the equation and you’ll be in heaven.
I asked Duncan why the offspring of a wine family (his brother is a fifth-generation winemaker in the region) decided to buy a hamburger stand and he told me, “We have a family love affair with food.” They weren’t even sure the venture would work. “The day we opened 500 people showed up, and we thought, ‘We could do this . . . we could be successful!’”
HODAD’S
5010 NEWPORT AVE | OCEAN BEACH, CA 92107
619-224-4623 | WWW.HODADIES.COM
SUN–THURS 11 AM–9 PM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–10 PM
Hodad’s is exactly what you are looking for in a Southern California burger destination—an open-air restaurant serving enormous, tasty, no-frills burgers wrapped in waxed paper just steps from the beach. The atmosphere is inviting, with its license-plate-covered walls, the front end of a ’66 VW Microbus that serves as a two-person booth, a public water bowl for dogs outside, and a sign reading “No shoes, no shirt . . . no problem!”
There are basically three burgers to order here: the Mini, the Single, and the Double. Single burgers start as a one-third pound patty. A Double involves two patties, and after adding cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, bacon, and so on, becomes very large. The bacon served at Hodad’s is out of this world. Longtime employee Benny invited me into the kitchen to show me how the bacon is prepared. Fortunately for the sake of keeping proprietary secrets safe, I didn’t really follow the process. It involved large amounts of special, uncooked bacon in a sieve sitting over a pot of boiling water. At some point this bacon boil is transferred to the grill, cooked to crispy, and married to your burger. The taste is truly unique and adds an intense smokiness to the burger experience. I also got a glimpse of the decades-old cast-iron grill. Needless to say, I can see where a Hodad burger gets its flavor.
The restaurant doesn’t grind their own beef anymore, though tattooed 14-year employee Junior told me, “We get a delivery of fresh patties every morning.” And don’t miss the fries. They are enormous, battered slices of potato that resemble the popular “Jo-Jo,” a deep-fried, mid- western truck stop spud specialty.
Like a surprising number of hamburger stands in America, Hodad’s has moved locations three times, but all within a few blocks. It is owned by Michael Hardin, whose parents built the first stand in the sand next to the lifeguard tower in 1969. “This location has been great for us,” he said of the newer central Ocean Beach spot. “We have crowds all year, even in winter.” And manager Jeremy told me, “We are slammed in the summertime and have a line down the street from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. There is no down time here!” Because of this, a new Hodad’s location is in the works, set to open in downtown San Diego sometime in 2011.
Michael is a true, tattoo-covered, Ocean Beach local. He even has the local surfer’s code “1502” tattooed across his back, which in surfer vernacular refers to Ocean Beach. You can see Michael driving around town regularly in his customized, chopped VW Microbus, a great-looking, shortened bus with about six feet missing from its center. “We’ll drive it into the O.B. parades unregistered,” Michael told me laughing, “and the guys will do donuts and throw fries out the window.”
Hodad’s still accepts license plate donations, and if you submit a custom plate your meal is free. You really have never seen a collection of plates quite this extensive.
What is a “hodad”? A person who hangs out at the beach and pretends to be a surfer. Hodad or not, I would suggesting eating here after surfing, not before . . .
IN-N-OUT BURGER
MANY LOCATIONS THROUGHOUT CALIFORNIA,
ARIZONA, NEVADA, AND UTAH
800-786-1000 | SUN–THU 10:30 AM–1 AM
FRI & SAT 10:30 AM–1:30 AM
Putting a fast food burger with over 250 locations in this book does not really seem like my style. But think of it this way—had McDonald’s, White Castle, Burger King, and many others stayed true to their roots, they’d be here too. Their rich histories and their place in the fabric of American food are just as amazing, but at some point they all lost their way. Not In-N-Out. One of the most successful privately-owned burger chains also just happens to make one of the best fresh-beef burgers in the nation.
Harry and Esther Snyder opened the first In-N-Out in Baldwin Park, California in 1948. It was a simple shoebox of a kitchen with drive-up windows on each side. Harry installed 2-way speakers at the ends of each driveway and in doing so revolutionized the business of fast food forever with the first drive-thru. His thinking was that while one order was being filled, the next was being placed. Brilliant.
Over the next 50 years In-N-Out expanded at a very slow and calculated rate. All through the ’60s and ’70s, the business of selling fast food burgers was in constant flux. Think of the temptation there must have been for In-N-Out to franchise, automate, and sell out. Many of the large chains were expanding at alarming rates, taking their companies public, and switching to a franchise system to sell more burgers to more people. As these places grew, the quality of the fast food burger slowly eroded. Most chains resorted to freezing their patties and shipping them over long distances—whatever it took to make more money and please more shareholders. It’s absolutely mindboggling that Harry and Esther Snyder were persistent in their vision for In-N-Out.
When Harry passed away the future of In-N-Out was secure, thanks to an agreement that only blood relation could run the company. His youngest son Rich took the helm and managed to expand the company greatly without moving away from his parent’s core values. Before he died, Harry had expanded the chain to 18 locations limited to Southern California. Before Rich died in 1993, he had expanded the empire to almost 100 stores and today there are over 250 locations in 4 states (with Texas on the horizon). Part of In-N-Out’s reluctance to expand nationwide is based on the simple fear that it would dilute the product and ruin the brand. Sound familiar?
The “Double-Double” is the cornerstone of In-N-Out’s success. Made from two patties of unfrozen, fresh ground beef, iceberg lettuce, a slice of tomato, a thousand island-type spread, and two slices of American cheese, on a toasted bun and wrapped in waxed paper, the Double-Double is the perfect burger for one-handed driving. In-N-Out declined to tell me the size of the patties, but they seem to be around 2.5 ounces each. They are cooked on specially designed flattop griddles. The fries at In-N-Out start as fresh potatoes that are sent through a French fry cutter as the orders come in. And the shakes, the only thing frozen in the entire restaurant, are excellent. The real winner here, though, is the “Double-Double Animal Style” from In-N-Out’s fan-created “secret menu” (see page 27). I have yet to find its equal in the world of fast food hamburgers.
How many times have you seen a McDonald’s in a bad area with broken signs and missing light bulbs? You’ll never find one single thing out of place at ANY of the In-N-Out stores, ever. The constant upkeep makes each In-N-Out look like new. Management at In-N-Out maintains the company’s pristine appearance by doing what most companies should do—they treat their employees, or “associates” as they are referred to at In-N-Out, very well. Incentive programs that have been in place for decades are designed to make the well-compensated people who work at In-N-Out very happy and it shows.
One of the more intriguing aspects to the privately owned burger chain is the often talked about use of hidden Bible passages on the company’s packaging. Next time you visit an In-N-Out, flip over your drink cup or spread out the paper that your burger was wrapped in. You’ll find a chapter heading to a passage in the Bible (i.e., under the milkshake cup the reference to John 3:16, “For God so loved the world . . . ,” is printed). Can you imagine being a public company and doing this? The company’s bible-thumping campaign was put in place by former In-N-Out president and son of Harry, Rich Snyder. Just before he died in an awful plane crash, Rich found God and thought everyone else should too. He believed that the popularity of the hamburger was a great way to spread his faith. The use of the semi-hidden passages did little to scare off customers and actually did more to solidify In-N-Out’s cult status among its fans. Most of the restaurants in the chain are landscaped with two very tall palm trees that have been planted crossing each other to form an X, further fueling the In-N-Out mystique. In reality, Harry was a big fan of the film It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, where the final scene involves crossed palms.
Although In-N-Out continues to expand, the core beliefs passed down through the family members over the decades have kept this hamburger phenomenon a mom-and-pop at heart. Hidden bible verses, crossed palm trees, happy grill cooks, and consistently tasty burgers are what the In-N-Out experience is all about. What more could you want from a burger joint?
AN ANIMAL STYLE EPIPHANY AT IN-N-OUTFor years I have made the Double-Double my default order at In-N-Out Burger, the left coast’s favorite drive-thru. It’s a pretty straightforward burger, two thin patties made from fresh-ground beef on a toasted, white squishy bun served with two slices of American cheese, crisp iceberg lettuce, tomato, and a dollop of Thousand Island dressing. It is presented California-style, wrapped in wax paper, to facilitate one-handed driving.I could take or leave the Double-Double. There are many other small mom-and-pops in LA and its environs that make a better burger. But this all changed the day I strayed from In-N-Out’s modest 5-item menu. That was the day I ate my first Double-Double Animal Style.Among burger cognoscenti, In-N-Out’s secret menu is really no secret. Depending on who you ask, this word-of-mouth menu can add up to 30 additional items to the printed menu. In-N-Out “associates” (employees) are trained to know all of the secret menu items. Ask for a Neapolitan Shake, and you’ll get strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate swirled together. Want a burger with the bun replaced by lettuce? You’ll need to ask for yours “Protein Style.”I’d been aware of the Double-Double Animal Style for years but had never ordered one. I think I was afraid that a secret menu didn’t really exist, that I’d get up to the register and be laughed at for ordering off a rumored menu. I imagined the chuckle of nearby patrons pegging me as a tourist. Eventually, when I overheard others ordering theirs Animal Style, I imagined a burger that was at best an unruly pile of ingredients, too much to handle, something only an animal could consume. It had to be a burger that would most certainly result in instant gastric distress.Truth is the Double-Double Animal Style is none of this. The cult favorite is a perfectly balanced burger. To a standard Double-Double add grilled onions, extra sauce, and pickles. That’s it, but these small additions create a gooey taste explosion. I had heard a rumor once that the burger is also cooked in mustard and after a quick call to In-N-Out headquarters found this to be true. “The patty is spread with mustard as it cooks on the griddle,” a very friendly In-N-Out associate told me.The Double-Double Animal Style should be a standard menu item at In-N-Out, though I’d hate to lose the thrill of asking for a burger that places the customer in a secret club. For those in the know there is no equal.
IRV’S BURGER
8289 SANTA MONICA BLVD
WEST HOLLYWOOD, CA 90046
323-650-2456 | MON–SAT 8 AM–7 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
Irv’s was saved, thank God, and Sonia Hong was responsible. When I found a worn leather stool at the ramshackle burger spot 10 feet from the traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard, my first impression was that Sonia was not an Irv. “I am NEW Irv,” she said and let out a chuckle.
Korean-Americans Sonia and her brother Sean bought the business, with every penny they had, in 2000 from Irving Gendis, who had flipped burgers there from 1978 to 2000. Before it was Irv’s, the tiny stand on old Route 66 opened as Queen’s Burgers in 1948. Typical of post–World War II burger ventures along the “Mother Road,” Irv’s remains as an icon of a quickly vanishing component of the early automobile age in Southern California. Over the decades, many Hollywood stars and musicians became regulars, including Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin, cementing the popularity of this burger destination. Irv’s also made a great backdrop for the inner sleeve of Linda Ronstadt’s Living in the USA. Open the record album and you’ll see a nighttime snapshot, two feet wide, taken in 1978 at Irv’s, with Linda and her band posing.
Linda grabs a bag of chips at Irv’s in 1978.
The most significant event in Irv’s nearly 60 years in operation was a day in 2005 when Starbuck’s West Coast nemesis Peet’s Coffee tried to push Sonia off her little slice of prime real estate in West Hollywood. The regulars were appalled, the neighborhood was empowered, and cute little Sonia was not going down without a fight. The locals petitioned Peet’s. “We were on the news and received thousands of letters,” Sonia told me. The mission to save Irv’s became a public issue. Sonia set up multiple meetings at city hall, and after a year of fighting, Los Angeles County declared Irv’s a historical monument.
The burger at Irv’s is a California classic: tucked into waxed paper, on a soft, toasted white bun, and served on a paper plate. A wad of fresh ground beef is slapped on the tiny griddle and smashed HARD with a bacon weight once. Somehow Sonia, or whoever is at the grill, manages to whack the ball of meat with just the right amount of force to create the perfect-sized patty.
Usually three people are hard at work at Irv’s, including Mama, Sonia’s mother. In all of the craziness that goes on inside the little shack Sonia still has time to write personalized messages on everyone’s paper plate. On my last visit she drew, down to the color, the shirt I was wearing and included the message, “Just for George.” She positions the burger on the plate so that both the burger and the art can be admired simultaneously. I believe the shirt drawings are her way of matching the burger to the customer—one of the more unique methods of order management.
Opt for a double with cheese because a single thin patty will not sate your appetite. Available condiments are the standard lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickle. Mayo, ketchup, and mustard are also available, and the menu lists a burger that comes with “special sauce.” When I asked Sonia what the sauce was, she replied, without pause, “Love! Love is the special sauce.”
The next time you visit Irv’s, meet Sonia and Mama and feel proud to be an American. Eat your waxed paper–wrapped burger, take in the vibe of old Route 66, and remember the fight that saved this tiny burger spot from the wrecking ball—each bite will taste that much better.
JIM-DENNY’S
816 12TH ST | SACRAMENTO, CA 95814
916-443-9655 | WWW.JIM-DENNYS.COM
TUES–SAT 7 AM–3 PM CLOSED SUN & MON
For its first 40 years Jim-Denny’s was never closed. From 1934 to the late ’70s the tiny ten-stool hamburger stand in downtown Sacramento was open 24 hours. Most of those odd late night/early morning hours fed bus drivers from the Trailways depot just across the parking lot and late-night revelers at the long-gone dance hall across the street. The bus depot is no longer active and the restaurant’s hours have been reduced, but Jim-Denny’s survives thanks to its fourth owner and chef, Patsy Lane. “We call these the ten hottest seats in town,” Patsy said referring to the cramped but cozy seating in the burger stand she bought with her daughter and son-in-law in 2005. Upon taking the helm at Jim-Denny’s the first order of business was removing decades of grease and grime that had almost rendered the place unusable. “The ceiling had almost caved in, it was caked with so much grease. If you put your hand on the wall it would just stick there!” Patsy told me as she flipped my burger.
Regardless of the rebuild and deep cleansing that the restaurant went through, Patsy still serves beautifully greasy griddled burgers that are slightly larger than those that Jim Van Nort and subsequent owners served for the first 70 years. And with the exception of new curtains on the windows, everything else is pretty much the same. The wooden candy and cigarette shelves behind the counter labeled with features of the old menu (Fancy Cheeseburgers and a Fancy Cube Steak Sandwich for 25 cents) remain intact. The original red leather swivel stools are still anchored at their spots facing the worn Formica counter. The griddle continues to occupy the same spot just inside the front window.
Jim and a friend Denny started Jim-Denny’s just before World War II. After the war, Jim and Denny parted ways and Jim opened a new restaurant with the same name around the corner. That location (also known as #2) is the only one that remains, and thanks to the efforts of Jim in 1988, this classic American burger stand has been designated a historic landmark by the city of Sacramento.
“We use the same butcher for fresh ground beef that Jim used since the early days,” Patsy pointed out. The burgers come in two sizes—a smaller three-ounce patty and a larger six-ounce. Both arrive at Jim-Denny’s daily as fresh, preformed patties.
The burger menu is extensive. You can order a Megaburger (two half-pound patties), a Superburger (one half-pound patty), or the Five Cent Burger, the original price for the quarter-pound burger. Each is served on locally made fluffy white rolls with lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, mayo, and mustard standard.
A tradition that disappeared with Jim along with his “my way or no way” attitude was one of the restaurant’s most endearing qualities—if you sat at the last seat at the counter you had to answer the phone and take the orders. The rule was created based on the seat’s proximity to the phone. Fortunately for lovers of tradition like myself, I was glad to see that Jim’s original note to diners at the seat remains, right next to the nonfunctioning pay phone. “If you sit near the phone you must answer it. Take the order, or ask them to hold.” This was followed by sample greetings: “Jim-Denny’s may I help you?” or “Jim-Denny’s, please hold.”
JOE’S CABLE CAR RESTAURANT
4320 MISSION ST | SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94112
415-334-6699 | WWW.JOESCABLECAR.COM
OPEN DAILY 11 AM–11 PM
The meat grinder is in the window—what more can I say? “It’s there mostly for dramatic reasons, but it’s there so the customer can see what they are getting,” says Joe Obegi, owner for over 40 years and the man responsible for some of the freshest burgers on the West Coast. The grinder is only five feet from the huge flattop griddle.
Joe emigrated from Armenia to Brooklyn, NY in the early 1960s and jumped a Greyhound for San Francisco the next day. He found his way to what was at the time a small walk-up diner resembling a cable car. In 1965, after working there for a while, Joe bought the restaurant, added his name to the marquee, and has held court daily since. “I see grandchildren now of customers from way back,” Joe told me as I inhaled my burger. Since the early days, Joe has renovated and expanded more than once and continually upgrades the service. Over the decades the restaurant slowly added indoor seating, beer and wine, parking (Joe spends half his day chasing off interlopers), and a larger state-of-the-art kitchen. It’s an impressive little empire.
The restaurant décor is an eclectic mix of custom neon, oil paintings of butcher shop scenes, an artist’s rendering of retail cuts of beef, and a sea of Polaroids taken of regular customers. The black linoleum floor is polished to an impossible shine and a wall of windows into the kitchen gives you the sense that there’s nothing to hide here.
Joe takes his burgers very seriously. Don’t look for half-pounders and other fractional designations here. Joe prefers to use what he calls “actual sizes,” four-, six-, and eight-ounce “fresh ground beef steaks.” The burgers are cooked medium-rare unless specified. The menu explains, “Order your beef steak the way you would like your steak cooked.”
About halfway through my “beef steak,” Joe made a strange but characteristically brazen move. He grabbed a fork and delicately pried loose a small portion of meat from the center of my burger. “Eat that, just like that with no bun or other stuff.” My burger experience had been altered and I had seen the light—Joe’s burgers really were ground steaks.
A butcher dressed in all white with a white paper cap starts the burger-making process by trimming a large chuck steak behind glass, for all the patrons to witness. The meat is coarsely ground, measured, and portioned into balls using ice cream scoops, then gently pressed into patties six at a time with a special press of Joe’s design. When the patties hit the griddle they contain 6 to 8 percent fat.
Driving down Mission in the Excelsior neighborhood, it’s hard to miss Joe’s. A huge sign, larger than the one with the actual name of the restaurant, announces with incredible candor, JOE GRINDS HIS OWN FRESH CHUCK DAILY. He really does and it makes all the difference.
HOW TO BUY HAMBURGER MEAT Making patties from fresh ground beef at Joe’s Cable Car.
OK, I’ve given you 150 reasons to eat out and you still want to make a burger at home? No problem. All you’ll need to do is drop in to your local big-box supermarket and grab a plastic-wrapped wad of ground meat on the Styrofoam tray, right? Wrong. The first step is getting the right meat. Here’s a guide to shopping for ground beef:Go to your local butcher, not the supermarket. Fresh ground beef is the prime ingredient of an excellent burger. Supermarket ground beef is rarely fresh. Also, the origin of the cow (or cows) that is in supermarket beef is usually unknown. If you go to a butcher, chances are the beef comes from one cow and is ground right in front of you.Depending on your preference, choose a fat-to-lean ratio. The best hamburgers have more fat (surprised?) but lean sirloin is always an option for the health conscious. Most butchers will choose an 80/20 percent ratio of muscle to fat if you don’t ask. This is because any more fat will cause the burger to shrink substantially as it cooks. Less than 5 percent fat may cause the burger to stick to the cooking surface.Ask for chuck shoulder. This is the most common part of the cow used for hamburger meat because of its high fat content. Some butchers will blend fatty chuck with sirloin in the grinder to increase the leanness of the mix.Ask your butcher to grind the chuck “twice” or ask for a “number two grind.” This means he’ll put it through the grinder twice to ensure that the fat and muscle fibers are blended well.Use the ground beef the day you purchase it. After the first day, refrigeration causes the juices to separate from the meat. These are the juices you need to create the perfect burger. MARTY’S
10558 WEST PICO BLVD | LOS ANGELES, CA 90064
310-836-6944 | OPEN DAILY 6 AM–6PM
In a town where finding old, established anything is getting harder and harder, look for this tiny burger stand in West LA for a genuine blast from LA’s past. What’s more, Marty’s has been serving up quality fast food made with fresh ingredients and has never succumbed to the temptation to serve processed frozen food. For nearly five decades almost nothing has changed. “Nothing,” Vicki Bassman told me. “Never will.” Vicki is the daughter-in-law of Marty himself. She told me without pause, “There’s nothing like fresh meat.”
Marty’s is the “Home of the Combo” and this fact is proudly displayed on a sign on the roof of the stand. The combo is so basic you’ll wonder why more restaurants have not followed suit. Invented in the 1950s, the combo at Marty’s is a hamburger with a hot dog on top. It’s a great-tasting way to be indecisive and order both fast-food icons together.
Both meats for the combo come from high-quality ingredients. The hot dogs are Vienna Beef foot-longs and the burgers are pattied on the premises everyday from fresh ground chuck. Longtime grillman Geraldo told me, “We take a three-and-a-half ounce measured scoop of fresh ground beef and press each patty by hand.” They use a single press that produces an almost paper-thin patty, one at a time. On the original, perfectly seasoned griddle, the combo is cooked separately, then wed. The foot-long is halved lengthwise, flattened, and then halved again, resembling a small square red raft. The burger is cooked for less than a minute on each side before the hot dog raft is placed on top. The stack of America’s two favorite fast foods piggybacked on the griddle and separated by a square of yellow cheese is a sight both absurd and beautiful, a sight that makes you proud to be an American.
Burgers come standard with mayonnaise, ketchup, lettuce, onion, and a tomato slice (which Angel slices as your burger comes off the griddle). Mustard and pickles need to be requested. One time a guy on line in front of me asked for his combo “my way,” which naturally sounded very folksy and personal, but he told me, “That just means extra mustard, extra mayo.”
Marty Bassman opened the roadside stand in 1958 and worked the griddle until the late 1960s when operations were handed over to his son, Howard. At the time Howard assumed the business, he was only 17 years old. Today, Howard and his wife run the stand, as well as a successful catering business that focuses on supplying local schools with high-quality lunches and private barbecues around Los Angeles.
I never would have discovered Marty’s had it not been for my LA cousin Dan Appel. The tiny blue and orange burger stand is a blur to most as they speed down Pico. Wedged between a gas station and a fire department, and down the street from popular Rancho Park, the stand is a daily lunch spot for firefighters. “They have a gym upstairs,” former manager Angel told me, “they have nothing to worry about.” The hard-working crew at Marty’s takes orders without writing a single thing down. “I can remember up to 25 orders at a time, in my head,” Angel told me once, tapping his temple.
A throwback to simpler times, the stand offers walk-up service and a few outdoor stools and narrow counters along the sides of the structure. A patio behind the stand (that I only discovered recently) has enough seating for 50.
Howard told me, “When I was a kid, there were mom-and-pop hamburger stands like Marty’s all over Los Angeles. They’ve all disappeared.” Across the street from Marty’s stands the ubiquitous golden arches of a popular American burger chain. Its garish presence, though, doesn’t seem to affect the brisk business being conducted at Marty’s. It seems that the waiting customers are smarter than that. They know where to find a real burger.
PIE ’N BURGER
913 E. CALIFORNIA BLVD | PASADENA, CA 91106
626-795-1123 | WWW.PIENBURGER.COM
MON–FRI 6 AM–10 PM
SAT 7 AM–10 PM | SUN 7 AM–9 PM
“That was the last slice of butterscotch pie. Hope you didn’t want one,” the waitress said to me on my first visit to this forty-plus-year-old burger counter. The customer I had just been speaking to, who had told me he was visiting from London, said he was not leaving California without a slice of butterscotch pie from Pie ‘n Burger. No big deal. I didn’t know what I was missing. Then I visited two more times and ran into the same problem (one time I showed up on a day they were not even offering the fabled pie). Finally, on my fourth visit, I got my slice. This pie is not to be missed. Their pie motto (written on the pie safe): “Take home one of our famous homemade pies for that special occasion or just when you want to live it up.”
But the obvious reason to visit Pie ’n Burger is for their incredible hamburgers. Since 1963, the long, faux-wood-grain Formica countertop has seen its share of burger perfection. The burger they made in the ’60s is the same one that is served today. Even the local retail butcher that supplies the ground chuck has not changed in over 35 years. Longtime employee and owner Michael Osborne told me, “The beef we use is top quality and ground coarse. That’s why they taste so good.”
Two other important factors that go into the great-tasting burgers are the original, well-seasoned, flattop griddle, and the homemade Thousand Island dressing. “We go through about 100 pounds of dressing a week,” Michael told me. The recipe came directly from Kraft in the ’30s. Original owners Benny and Florence Foote were in the restaurant business long before opening Pie ’n Burger. According to Michael, Benny contacted Kraft and they gave him the recipe. “We still make it the same exact way, using Kraft mayonnaise.”
A burger with Thousand Island dressing may sound familiar. California’s own burger phenomenon, In-N-Out, also uses the dressing on their burgers. If you order a double-double at Pie ’n Burger, you basically get the same burger, only much better. Both burgers are made with fresh ground beef that has been griddled, served on toasted white buns with iceberg lettuce and the dressing, wrapped in waxed paper. Pie ’n Burger takes a giant leap forward by doubling the quantity of the beef to a quarter-pound per patty. The burgers at Pie ’n Burger are also somewhat hand formed. Quarter-pound balls of fresh beef are measured with an ice cream scoop then smashed flat with a huge can of tomato juice.
The system for cooking and assembling the burgers is all about efficiency. One person flips the burgers while another preps buns with a wedge of lettuce and dressing. The grillmen are seasoned professionals—one, Franciso, told me enthusiastically, “I’ve been here for 37 years!”
Michael started working at the restaurant in 1972, flipping burgers and going to USC full time. When he graduated, he continued to work at the restaurant, gradually helping out with managerial duties. In the late ’70s, Michael bought a piece of the business and in 1992 the Foote family, in search of retirement, sold the remainder of the shares to him.
Pie ’n Burger looks exactly as it did in 1963 (with some obvious wear and tear). The wood-paneled walls and plaid wallpaper look beautifully out of date, as does the hand-painted wall menu. A cup of buttermilk is still offered with the usual diner fare of tuna sandwiches and chicken pot pie.
I asked Michael why he had stuck with the burger counter for so long and he told me, “I took the job because it was fun working here. To me, life is about having fun.” Michael also feels like he has been entrusted to Pie ’n Burger’s survival. “I feel like a caretaker to the business for the community.”
VAL’S BURGERS
2115 KELLY ST | HAYWARD, CA 94541
510-889-8257 | TUE–SAT 6:30 AM–10 PM
CLOSED MONDAY
Many diners across America attempt to re-create the ’50s malt shop experience but few offer an authentic experience. It’s not easy to bottle that feeling unless you happen to have been able to survive the last five decades with your values intact. Val’s was created to be exactly what it is today—a perfect example of a mid-century West Coast hangout that still cranks out some of the best shakes and burgers in America.
Val’s is always busy. At dinnertime, every red leather booth is taken and you’d be hard pressed to find a stool at the long counter that runs the entire length of the diner. There is a constant stream of take-out orders leaving through a side door and the wide indoor flame grill is loaded with sizzling patties. A Little League team had taken over the three booths in the center of the restaurant and a young couple was sharing a hot fudge sundae in the corner. In the center of all of this ordered chaos I spotted a tall, lanky man with a bushy black moustache sweeping up around a booth. The busboy? Nope, this was none other than owner of 28 years George Nickolopoulos. I asked him why he was sweeping and he replied flatly, “I never stop.” I soon realized that after nearly three decades of ownership he still does everyone’s job, making rounds of tables, the grill, the register, constantly checking and making sure the dinner rush is going smoothly.
Before the arched wood ceiling diner with its large windows was built in 1958, Val’s was a small barbershop across the parking lot. The original Val’s eventually morphed into a variety store and post office run by George’s aunt and uncle, Carmen and Al Valenzuela (hence the name Val). At some point Al decided to start selling “charcoal burgers,” and they quickly became the core of his business. Building a larger building with the focus on burgers and shakes was a foregone conclusion.
The burgers at Val’s come in three sizes—the one-third-pound Baby Burger, the half-pound Mama Burger, and the one-pound Papa Burger. On my first visit I was drawn to the Papa Burger mostly because of its absurd size sporting two half-pound patties on a toasted bun. I tried to compress the burger to fit into my face but still could not ram it in. I actually finished the mountain of meat-and-cheese and was amazed to find that even though the burger was cartoonish in size it was still exploding with flavor and juiciness. It seemed from looking around that the Mama Burger was the way to go.
The Papa Burger at Val’s, actual size
I asked George how many burgers he could sell on a busy day and he quickly replied, “If you have time to count you are not doing enough.” Other questions about how he runs the business were met with similar responses. I had nothing but respect for this icon of the burger world and was enjoying his caginess. He did however offer one nugget of advice: “I’ll tell you this. Our meat is far superior than anyone else’s. It’s also in the way you prepare the burgers that separates the men from the boys. No one would ever consider putting as much time as we put into these.”
Don’t miss out on the shakes at Val’s. Longtime counterperson Valerie told me, “The best milkshake I’ve ever had is the Root Beer Banana shake. It’s like milkshake crack.” She wasn’t kidding. The signature shake, also know to regulars as the Rootanana, has only three ingredients—vanilla ice cream, root beer syrup, and an entire banana. A friend of mine along for the trip took a sip of his and shouted, “That’s insane!” I agree.
Val’s is a Bay Area must on a hamburger tour of America and not just for its great burgers, shakes, and easy-going atmosphere. Go to Val’s knowing that it is a family place—not only are generations of regulars still enjoying Val’s, George’s entire family works there in some capacity. It takes a family to run a true family restaurant.
WESTERN STEAKBURGER
2730 UNIVERSITY AVE | SAN DIEGO, CA 92104
619-296-7058 | MON–SAT 10 AM–9 PM
On a trip to San Diego to film a TV show, I made plans to visit one of my favorite burger stands in America, Hodad’s in Ocean Beach. But a crew member of mine alerted me to another nearby out-of-the-way burger spot that I had to try.
Western Steakburger sits on the edge of the up-and-coming San Diego neighborhood of North Park. Opened in 1983 by Greek immigrant “Gus” Constantinos Anastasiu and his effervescent wife, Maria, the Greek-influenced restaurant kept burgers and gyros separate for the first year. But sometime in 1984, Gus piled a wad of sliced gyro meat on a finished burger and the Western Steakburger was born.
The restaurant is set back from the street, fronted by a large palm tree. If you sit on the small front patio, the soundtrack for your meal is the rustling of palm fronds and the occasional thump-thump of a passing urban party-on-wheels. Members of the San Diego police department make regular stops at this burger restaurant and have been for decades (cops always know where the good burgers are). But before you plan to sit beneath the palm fronds on University Avenue, plan on taking the afternoon off—this burger is a beast.
The menu lists many “steakburgers” and their toppings (e.g., pastrami, bacon, and chili) but there’s no mention of the burger that made them famous. The gyro-topped burger is listed simply as the half-pound “Western Steakburger.” “Gus never wanted to list the contents of the Western, he always says ‘let them ask,’” Maria told me.
The burgers are cooked over an open flame in full view of waiting patrons. Oval-shaped patties of fresh-ground beef are grilled to perfection and placed on toasted white, squishy buns. Grillman Ricky then places a one-third-pound pile of the salty gyro meat on the patty and delivers the burger with mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato, pickles, and onion.
After my first bite, I was in heaven. The familiar spice of the gyro meat complemented the burger well and somehow the pound of ingredients managed to stay neatly tucked into the soft bun. About 20 minutes after ingesting this glorious grease-bomb, I had to pull over in my rental car because I was having food coma hallucinations. My advice to you—do not operate heavy machinery or a motor vehicle after enjoying this burger.
Maria was working the counter when I visited. “You have to love what you do. Mom-and-pops are a dying breed.” Western Steakburger was the first burger available to residents of North Park. Today, the tiny familyowned burger joint feels the heat from a McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and a Burger King only a few blocks away. But thanks to recent development in the neighborhood (a condo just went up across the street), people are starting to take notice of Western Steakburger and their flair for coupling Greek and American foods. Maria told me, laughing, “How come after 28 years people are just starting to come? Why couldn’t they come when we were younger and had more energy!”
3
COLORADO
BUD’S BAR
5453 MANHART ST | SEDALIA, CO 80135
303-688-9967
MON–SAT 10 AM–10 PM | SUN 11 AM–7 PM
Bud’s Bar is not in Denver. On a map, the town of Sedalia, Colorado, looks like it could be a suburb of the Mile High City, but in person, the tiny town, surrounded by cattle farms, feels as remote as any town on the Kansas Plain.
Bud’s is one of only a few businesses in the small downtown of Sedalia. The 63-year-old bar sits between two busy railroad rights-of-way that are only a few hundred feet apart. It’s not uncommon to be stuck at either crossing for longer than 20 minutes waiting for a long coal train to pass. “Some guys walk out, see the train, and say ‘Oh well!’ and head back inside for another beer,” Mike Steerman told me. Mike should know. He owns the place.
Mike is only the third owner of Bud’s since Calixte “Bud” Hebert converted an auto shop into a bar in 1948. In the 1960s, Bud became a local judge and decided that judges shouldn’t own bars. He sold his tavern to an employee, Thurman Thompson. In the 1980s, current owner Mike started tending the bar part-time to relieve stress from his job as a salesman. When Thurman decided to sell the bar, he set his sights on Mike, knowing that he would change little about the place.
The one thing I’ll bet most people were afraid he would change was the burger. Rest assured that Mike has kept it the same. With a name like Steerman, it would be stupid to question his Colorado heritage or his affinity for fresh beef. The burger at Bud’s is a classic griddled quarter-pounder with American cheese on a white squishy bun. It’s absolutely amazing and transcends the standard notion of bar food. The burger bursts with flavor and is one of the juiciest griddled burgers I have ever eaten.
People go to Bud’s for two reasons—because they know everyone in the bar and for the burgers. Outside of drinks at the bar, Bud’s has served only burgers since the beginning. “It’s simple,” Mike explained, “we don’t offer lettuce, we don’t offer tomato, and we only use one kind of cheese.” Fries? Nope. Chips will have to do. But trust me, you’ll be focusing on this burger and nothing else.
The burgers start as 80/20 chuck hand pressed in a single patty maker. They are cooked on a smallish flattop griddle in a bright, clean kitchen next to the bar. As a burger nears doneness, both halves of a bun are placed on the burger and covered with a lid to steam the bun to softness. Your order is served with a bag of chips and a slice of onion in a plastic mesh basket lined with waxed paper. “That’s it,” Mike told me, proud of the simplicity of his product. Locals in the know request jalapeño slices that Mike has stashed in a small jar in the kitchen.
Sunday is the busiest at Bud’s, a day where the griddle can see up to 500 burgers. “That griddle stays full for six hours on Sunday,” Mike told me.
Mike seems to be one of the newer members of the Bud’s family, and the only male in an allfemale staff. Amiable bartender Nancy has been serving drinks for two decades and I’m told that Judy, the head grill cook, has been at Bud’s since Neil Armstrong first set foot on the moon.
Bud’s interior is cozy and simple. One side is lined with vintage stools, there are booths on the other side, and a few tables in the middle. An original jukebox sits just inside the front door and one wall displays a unique item—the branding board.
Of course, being from New York I was very intrigued by the branding board, something that probably seems mundane to a ranching community. The idea is simple—it’s a long piece of wood attached to one wall of the bar that displays actual cattle brands of the local ranchers. To me, it was a viable piece of “bar art.” One glance at the board and you are reminded of just how close you are to fresh beef.
Despite its roadhouse appearance, Bud’s has become a place for family and friends. Since smoking in bars was banned in 2006 Mike has seen an increase in business. “A little while ago we had an entire Little League team in here.”
4
CONNECTICUT
CLAMP’S HAMBURGER STAND
ROUTE 202 (NEAR MARBLEDALE, CT)
NEW MILFORD, CT 06776 | NO PHONE
OPEN LATE APRIL TO LABOR DAY
11 AM–2 PM, 5 PM–8 PM DAILY
Way up in the northwest corner of Connecticut is a tiny burger stand that is definitely worth the drive. It has no real address and no phone but doesn’t need these things. If you show up on a summer day at lunchtime, you’ll find a crowd that somehow found its way there regardless of its off-the-grid status.
I asked owner Tom Mendell why, after all these years, there still was no phone at Clamp’s. He told me, smiling, “It’s always been that way and I don’t see any reason to change it.” Tom’s great-uncle Edwin Clamp opened the little white-shingled stand in 1939 because he had tired of his job as a door-to-door hardware salesman. “I think he came up with this idea because he didn’t like to work,” Tom told me. The stand is still open only during the warmer months, which gave Edwin the winter off.
When World War II started, meat rationing caused Clamp’s to shut down temporarily. During that time, Edwin used the tiny stand to manufacture a faucet washer that he had patented. After his death, Edwin’s wife, Sylvia, ran Clamp’s and worked there into her late eighties. “She was a worker,” Tom told me.
Tom, who lives in Baltimore in the winter and assumed the business 13 years ago at the young age of 30, has changed very little about Clamp’s. He expanded ever so slightly the tiny kitchen, but the structure still remains under 450 square feet. Tom himself mans the griddle at the front of the stand and spends most of his day flipping patties to perfection. And like most great keepers of the lunchtime grill, Tom stays focused and politely refused to answer my questions as he managed the incoming orders.
Clamp’s gets a daily delivery of fresh ground beef from a local butcher, delivered as quarter-pound patties. Tom is very serious about the quality of the ingredients that go into his roadside fare. Everything is fresh, and he makes his own coleslaw and the chili that goes on the hot dogs and hamburgers.
Somewhat recently, the griddle was replaced. Tom wasn’t exactly sure but he thinks it happened around 20 years ago because the original finally gave up. Janine, on staff for 15 years at the stand, told me, “The old griddle had a big slope in the middle from being cleaned so much.”
Clamp’s is an outdoor place. The stand is basically a kitchen with walk-up order windows. You place an order at one of the windows, find a table (made from those huge industrial wire spools) in the grassy grove on either side of the stand, and wait for your name to be called. Don’t expect a loudspeaker to summon you back for pickup. The girls that take your order literally shout your name, sort of like your mom calling you for dinner.
The cheeseburgers are served on white squishy buns with the traditional Yankee white American cheese. Locals know to order theirs topped with a Clamp’s specialty—a pile of sweet, slow-cooked, caramelized onions.
The drive to Clamp’s is half the fun. If you are coming up from the quaint, historic town of New Milford, Clamp’s is exactly 5.9 miles north on Route 202 from the gazebo on the town’s square. Trust me, you’ll need this info as you pass farm after farm, nearly hit a deer (as I did), and wonder if you’ve gone too far. Look for the small white building tucked into the trees with an American flag tacked to its side. The only identification the building offers is a postcard-sized sign just over a side door: a small plaque that reads CLAMP’S EST. 1939.
Tom told me, “Most of the time I’m as busy as I can possibly handle.” The only break he gets is when it rains, but even then, some like to show up for his famous burgers. “I think we have a cult of people who like to show up during thunderstorms,” Tom told me. “It’s funny. They sit in their cars, eat burgers, and watch the rain.”
LOUIS’ LUNCH
261–263 CROWN ST | NEW HAVEN, CT 06510
203-562-5507 | WWW.LOUISLUNCH.COM
TUE & WED 11 AM–3:45 PM
THU–SAT 12 PM–2:30 AM
CLOSED SUN & MON | CLOSED DURING AUGUST
There are many claims to the origin of the first hamburgers in America. One of them is Louis’ Lunch (pronounced LEW-EEZ). Even if the claim here can be disputed, it is without a doubt the oldest continuously operating hamburger restaurant in the country. What’s more, one family, the Lassens, has owned and operated the tiny burger haven since 1895—four generations of passionate hamburger making. Operating Louis’ today are the third and fourth generations: Ken Lassen, his wife, Leona, and their two sons, Jeff and Ken Jr. My wife likes to call Louis’ “hamburger church”—there is no excessive banter or typical diner orders being barked, just the clanking sound of the upright flame broilers opening and closing and the crinkling of wrapped burgers going into paper bags. People stand at the counter waiting patiently for their order to be handed to them.
The structure that houses Louis’ Lunch is a tiny box with 100-year-old Victorian flair. Small as it seems, it’s the largest it’s ever been. The original Louis’ was a tiny-wheeled lunch cart that eventually went terrestrial as a three-sided cube attached to one side of a large downtown New Haven tannery. When the tannery was torn down in the early 1970s, the three sides were salvaged, dragged four blocks, and an expanded fourth wall was constructed, along with a basement.
A burger at Louis’ starts with fresh-ground lean beef, ground daily in the spotless basement. Every morning Ken Jr. rolls the meat into small balls. Two balls are pressed together to make a patty, which is placed vertically in a metal grate and then slid into an ancient upright broiler. The grill cooks from both sides and juices drip into a pan below. The burgers are then placed on Pepperidge Farm white toast, simply because when Louis Lassen invented the “hamburger sandwich” in 1900 there were no buns (in fact buns didn’t come around for almost another 20 years). In the 1970s, Ken felt the pressure to add cheese to his famous sandwich. If you ask for cheese, you’ll get a cheese spread that seems Velveetaesque. Due to the unique method for cooking the burgers, cheese slices take a back seat to the spread. Fresh-cut tomatoes and onions are standard, but don’t ask for ketchup or you may be shown the door. As Jeff Lassen explains, “We honestly believe you don’t need ketchup because it’s the best burger there is.” And Ken told me, “Ketchup is a strong flavor. If we gave you that, it would destroy everything we are trying to give you.” Jeff also pointed out that students from nearby Yale frequently try to sneak in small packets of ketchup only to be told that the burger they wanted to sit down and eat is now a to-go order.
Louis Lassen in his lunchwagon, 1907.
It’s not uncommon to walk into Louis’ and find matriarch Leona, or “Lee” Lassen operating the vintage burger broilers at a fever pitch. For over 50 years Lee has grilled burgers to perfection for the lunch crowd. In 2006, she was hospitalized with a heart condition, and after only a few months rest, she surprised us all by returning to her spot at the grill.
The Lassens are salt-of-the-earth burger royalty, and they are quite aware of their status in American food history. Regardless of the provenance that surrounds Louis’, the prices are fair and the burgers are always fresh and tasty.
SHADY GLEN
840 EAST MIDDLE TRNPK | MANCHESTER, CT 06040
860-649-4245 | MON–SAT 7 AM–10:30 PM
SUN 10:30 AM–10:30 PM
The inside of the Shady Glen looks like a cheeseburger. The yellow-striped wallpaper, warm lighting, and low brown Formica countertops mimic the colors of their famous cheeseburger concoction. Ice cream may be the number-one seller at this Manchester, Connecticut institution, but the cheeseburger is what has made them famous. In 1949, Bernice Rieg invented the “Bernice Original,” which became an immediate success and still accounts for 80 percent of their sandwich sales today. The four-ounce cheeseburger comes with four slices of cheese. The cheese is not just stacked atop the burger; it is symmetrically placed, centered on the burger as it cooks on the hot griddle. An understandably large portion of this cheese makes direct contact with the griddle. When the cheese cooks through it is curled skyward by the deft grillman until it resembles a cheese crown. Amazingly, I watched burger after burger leave the grill with the same dramatic cheese. The same burger, over and over, since 1949.
“It’s a special cheese, but that’s all I can tell you,” Michael the manager smiled. Michael started working at the Shady Glen over two decades ago as a dishwasher. “At 22 years, I’m still the new kid on the block.” Shady Glen is a very busy place. There are more than 15 employees in constant motion, waitresses in little ruffled aprons and grillmen in paper caps and black bow-ties. This is the real deal, not a mock-up like Johnny Rockets.
There are no menus at the Shady Glen, just wall menus, and they are basic. You can order a “cheeseburger” or a “big cheeseburger;” the latter comes with the four slices of cheese. The smaller “cheeseburger” comes with only three slices. It’s served on a white squishy bun and delivered to your spot at the counter with your own personal condiment tray of relish, raw onion, mustard, and ketchup. The Shady Glen can sell up to 4,000 Bernice Originals on a busy week. That’s a lot of cheese sculpture.
The Bernice Original
I stood by the grill and watched closely—the cheese, which looked like a house-sliced mild cheddar, really does not stick. One of the grill men offered some shaky science. “The carbon, uh, buildup on the griddle over the years acts sort of like Teflon.” I think he’s right. I had a hard time trying to figure out what do with my cheese wings once I had my burger in front of me. Two guys sitting near me at the counter had opposing views. One told me, “Fold the crisps onto the burger and eat it that way.” “Not me,” said the other, “I like to break them off and eat them separately.” A girl sitting on the other side of me was chewing on some cheese crown crisps with no burger in sight. “This is an order of Crispy Cheese,” she told me. This guilty pleasure is served on a bed of lettuce and is not on the menu.
In 2008 Bernice passed away and a longtime employee Bill Hoch and his wife, Annette, became owners of the 62-year-old restaurant. They did not change a single thing about the place, probably because Bill started working at Shady Glen in 1954. He told me with a chuckle, “I’ve been a lifer here.”
At first I was concerned about the large mural that spans the entire west end of the restaurant. It depicts strange elves having a picnic of burgers, hot dogs, and ice cream. As I left the restaurant I looked again at the mural and fully understood its significance—the Shady Glen is a necessary fantasy. I hope it never goes away.
TED’S RESTAURANT
1044 BROAD ST | MERIDEN, CT 06450
203-237-6660 | WWW.TEDSRESTAURANT.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–10 PM | SUN 11 AM–8 PM
If you are looking for a truly unique hamburger experience, go to Ted’s. If you are looking for a potentially healthy burger, go to Ted’s. If you are looking for a char-grilled cheeseburger, don’t go to Ted’s. Ted’s Restaurant is the epicenter of the steamed cheeseburger world—a burger that only exists in central Connecticut. A former owner of Ted’s Restaurant, Ted’s son, Paul Duberek, once told me, “Within 25 miles of here there are about seven steamed cheeseburger places, but we’re the only ones that make ten hot dogs a week and 800 steamed cheeseburgs.”
The steamed “cheeseburg,” as it’s referred to at Ted’s, is just what you’d think it would be—a steamed patty of ground beef on a bun. What you wouldn’t expect is that the cheese is steamed too, steamed to a molten goo. The process starts with a steaming cabinet that holds 20 small stainless steel trays. Specially ground fresh chuck is pressed into the trays and these are placed in the cabinet. The meat cooks through but stays amazingly moist and unfortunately, looks like gray matter. The result is a burger that loses most of its fat content (it gets poured off) and retains a truly beefy flavor. A “secret” cheese (Paul told me it’s an aged Vermont cheddar, but that’s as far as he’d go) is also placed in the small trays in a separate steamer. Once gooey, the cheese is poured onto the burger, served with tomato, ketchup or mustard (or both), lettuce, and a slice of onion, and placed on a soft kaiser roll.
The origins of the steamed cheeseburger are a bit murky, but it’s believed to have originated at Jack’s Lunch in Middletown sometime in the’30s. Ted Duberek opened his restaurant in 1959 to feed the immense local factory worker population. For over 100 years, that area of Connecticut was home to some of the largest silverware manufacturers and they had shifts around the clock. Ted’s used to stay open until 4 a.m., but started closing earlier as the factories moved their business overseas.
In 2007, suffering from back trouble, Paul Duberek decided to leave the business and sold Ted’s to his nephew Bill Cally. Bill was no stranger to the steamed cheeseburg and had worked at Ted’s on and off during high school and college. Not surprisingly Bill did not change much about the place and plans to own Ted’s for a very long time. He told me, “I count my lucky stars everyday.”
5
DELAWARE
CHARCOAL PIT
2600 CONCORD PK | N. WILMINGTON, DE 19803
302-478-2165
(2 OTHER LOCATIONS AROUND WILMINGTON)
WWW.CHARCOALPIT.NET
MON–THU 11 AM–MIDNIGHT
FRI & SAT 11 AM–1 AM | SUN 11 AM–MIDNIGHT
When Charcoal Pit opened in 1956, it was way out on the Concord Pike surrounded by fields and very few other businesses. “It was all farmland and nothing but a two-lane road,” manager of 42 years Frank Kucharski said, looking out the window of this time-warp diner. “Hard to imagine now.” Yes, it is. Concord Pike today is a densely packed commercial strip. It’s a wonder this burger gem is still standing.
From the outside, Charcoal Pit looks virtually unchanged since the 1950s. The restaurant’s boomerang-inspired marquee with its pudgy pink neon lettering is authentically retro. The interior has seen a few upgrades and design changes over the years and blends styles from the past five decades. If you’re lucky, you’ll be seated at a booth with a tabletop jukebox. These are not props. They actually work. Holly Moore, Philadelphia area food writer and a man who knows where to find the best greasy food anywhere, told me, “Think Richie, Potsie, and Ralph Malph in a corner booth and Al flipping burgers behind the counter. There’s something unmistakably genuine about eating at Charcoal Pit that needs to be experienced.”
The burgers are cooked over an open flame, as the restaurant’s name implies. The large gas grill, in full view of the dining room, is outfitted with a bed of lava rocks that help to evenly distribute the heat. Grillman of 19 years, Lupe spends hours inches from the flames, flipping hundreds of burgers a day.
For some reason, for the first time in all of my burger exploits I did not order the burger suggested by my host. A burger at Charcoal Pit comes in two sizes, a thick half-pounder and a thinner quarter-pounder. He said to get the big one; I opted for the smaller. The thing about flame-grilling burgers is this—thicker burgers taste much better when cooked on an open flame because all of the moisture stays inside the burger. Thin patties have a hard time retaining that moisture. It’s much easier to cook a thin burger on a flattop griddle because the burger stays moist and tasty no matter what you do. I found myself eyeing a neighboring booth’s half-pound burger dripping with juices, cooked to temperature, and realized I should have listened to Frank.
The half-pound burger is served on a kaiser roll and the quarter pounder comes on a seeded, toasted white bun. Seems as though someone was paying attention to burger physics when bun decisions were being made. The fresh Angus patties are delivered daily to Charcoal Pit from a local supplier. “We probably go through over a thousand pounds of meat a week,” Frank told me, “and it’s always fresh.”
Not only are the burgers fresh, other items on the menu are house made, like their crab cakes, soups, and coleslaw. The first time I visited Charcoal Pit I found Frank and another employee in the kitchen straining what looked to be about 10 gallons of homemade vegetable beef soup. “We’re hands-on here,” Frank said as he hoisted the steaming vat of soup.
Outside of burgers, Charcoal Pit is ice cream nirvana. A sign out front proclaims simply, ICE CREAM CREATIONS and they are not kidding. The menu is heavy on ice cream and there is a sundae named after each of the nine local high schools. The thick, hand-dipped milkshakes are enormous and not to be missed.
Every year as the local high schools are letting out for the summer, Charcoal Pit can count on one thing—the prom. “It’s total chaos in here,” manager Joseph Grabowski told me, “They’re really into the Kitchen Sink.” For a minute I imagined a burger with enough embellishment to fill a sink, but Joe explained, “It’s 20 scoops of ice cream, whipped cream, nuts, etc., and two bananas.” Whoa.
6
DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
BEN’S CHILI BOWL
1213 U ST NW | WASHINGTON, DC 20009
202-667-0909 | WWW.BENSCHILIBOWL.COM
MON–THU 6 AM–2 AM | FRI 6 AM–4 AM
SAT 7 AM–4 AM | SUN 11 AM–11 PM
“Most people don’t want to eat with a lot of loud music. It’s just part of our culture,” a regular for four decades named Marshall Brown told me as we sat at the counter of this 50-year-old Washington, DC, landmark chili restaurant. Marshall was referring to the sounds of Bob Marley and Luther Vandross that were oozing out of the jukebox, not necessarily loud, but definitely present. One time when I was enjoying a breakfast chili cheeseburger, the guy next to me at the counter was eating his eggs, so consumed by the music that he started dancing in his seat. I’m positive that moving to the music made the food taste that much better.
Ben’s was opened in 1958 by Ben and Virginia Ali in a former silent movie theater known as the Minnehaha. Ben, who had emigrated from Trinidad, met his wife at the bank just down the street. “She was a bank teller,” the couple’s son Nizam told me. Ben passed away in 2009 and Virginia has retired, but two of their sons, Nizam and Kamal, run the restaurant today.
Ben’s is known for its tasty chili that gloriously adorns hot dogs, half smokes, and hamburgers. The bright, airy, neighborhood restaurant, with its incredibly colorful façade, also serves a memorable breakfast, but many return from all corners of the country for their chili dogs and burgers. Over the years it also became known for the role it has played in Black American history. Ben’s fed many celebrities performing at the clubs along the U Street corridor in the ’50s and ’60s, including Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davis, and Cab Calloway.
The 1968 riots sparked by the assassination of Martin Luther King started just a block away when someone threw a brick through a drugstore window. The riots devastated the neighborhood, a curfew was imposed, and the city shut down while attempting to restore order. But Ben’s remained open by special police permission to feed firefighters, police, and members of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee located just across the street. When they did close for the night, Ben stayed behind to protect the business from looters. “He kissed my mom goodnight, sent her home, and sat inside with a gun all night,” Nizam told me. To identify the restaurant as a black business Ben painted the words SOUL BROTHER across the front window.
Ben’s survived the riots, the crack hell of the’70s and ’80s, then the construction of a Metro extension that cut off traffic on U Street for almost five years. “We had two employees and were making only about $200 a day during that time,” Nizam told me. “The construction was more devastating than the drugs.” Massive publicity from Bill Cosby and other black luminaries kept the business alive during the bad times. Cosby and his wife had many dates there while he was stationed in the Navy nearby.
Today Ben’s thrives. Even the Clintons are fans. Nizam told me, “We sent a lot of takeout over to the White House when they were in office.” President Obama paid a visit in 2009 and indulged in their famous chili dog (and humorously complained when he noticed that the guy sitting next to him had cheese and he didn’t). The U Street corridor is in the midst of a revival and the new Metro stop is directly across the street. There must be twelve people behind the counter and the atmosphere is lively and fun, with all of the employees joking and flirting with each other. The large front room with its long counter and booths gives way to two more rooms that are somewhat hidden from view. The enormous dining room in the back has a projector and screen and the walls are lined with adoring photos of a virtual who’s-who in Black America. One great photo shows Cosby and Al Green smiling, the front window of Ben’s as their background.
The burgers are quarter-pound patties and arrive fresh daily from a supplier in Baltimore. The chili that goes onto the burger is a simple family recipe that contains only finely ground meat in a dark red, tangy sauce. The burger comes on a toasted bun in a plastic basket with a side of potato chips. If you need more, go for a chili dog, or better yet, the sublime chili cheese fries.
Ben’s is a successful family business that has endured incredibly hard times. “We’ve gotten the most ridiculous amount of press, more than we could ever dream of,” Nizam pointed out. Then, remembering the importance of having a fan like Bill Cosby, he said “this place is a big part of his history.” I’m sure Ben’s is also a big part of the collective histories of all of the diners who have passed through its doors, and the future stories that have yet to be written there.
TUNE INN
331½ PENNSYLVANIA AVE SE
WASHINGTON, DC 20003
202-543-2725 | SUN–THU 8 AM–2 AM
FRI & SAT 8 AM–3 AM
Johnny Cash on the jukebox, cheap beer on tap, and copious amounts of taxidermy on the walls . . . sounds like a recipe for your favorite country crossroads bar. But the bar is the Tune Inn and it’s only steps from the Library of Congress and the Capitol Building in our nation’s capital. It’d be easy to assume the country bar trappings are an urban design choice, but all of the stuffed game was bagged by the three generations of the Nardellis, owners of the Capitol Hill watering hole since 1955. This place is the real deal—a comfortable neighborhood dive bar with an excellent burger on the menu.
“I shot that one. That’s my first doe,” Lisa Nardelli told me, pointing to a stuffed deer head directly over the bar. Lisa is young and pretty and doesn’t strike you as the hunting type. Her grandfather, Joe Nardelli, hunted most of the stuffed game, ranging from deer to squirrels to pheasant. “They would get drunk and shoot at anything,” Lisa said of her father, Tony, and grandfather hunting together. Mounted over the bathroom doors in the rear of the narrow tavern are the other ends of deer. “That’s my grandfather’s sense of humor—deer asses over the bathrooms.” The collection is so vast that the local Shakespeare theatre once borrowed a bunch of the Nardelli’s stuffed birds for a production of King Lear.
Lots of well-known politicos and other Capitol Hill heavies have been drinking and eating at the Tune Inn for the last five decades. One of the most famous couples in American politics, James Carville and Mary Matalin, had their first date here (they left abruptly because it was too crowded). Janet Reno was a regular (for the burgers) and JFK the senator had his favorite booth (second one on the left). The bar also hosts regulars who have been coming in for decades. “It’s like a big family, which is unusual in a big city, so close to the Capitol,” Lisa pointed out. It’s also home to countless numbers of students looking for cheap beer and good burgers, yours truly being one of them a few decades back.
The menu is mostly modest comfort food. The burger takes center stage and starts as a six-ounce ball of 80/20 ground chuck. Chef Mike Tate told me, “We use a measured scoop, then form a patty.” The meat is delivered fresh every morning from a local butcher that also supplies the well-known upscale Old Ebbitt Grill, a Washington landmark near the White House. “It’s the same exact meat,” Lisa told me.
The patty is cooked to perfection on a flattop griddle and served on a buttered, toasted bun. The result is a loose, moist burger that melts in your mouth. It really is the perfect bar burger—not so big that you can’t finish your beer and not so small that you go hungry. Following an appearance on the television show Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, a burger that was formerly a specialty item went to the daily menu—the “Beer Batter Burger.” “After the show, everyone who came in wanted one,” bartender Michelle told me. They basically take a griddled burger, dunk it in beer batter, then drop it into the deep fryer.
The Tune Inn was the fifth bar in the District to receive its liquor license after Prohibition was repealed, and today is the oldest drinking establishment on Capitol Hill. During Prohibition the bar served as a speakeasy and regulars have told stories about that time for decades. One day recently, Lisa was wondering about a certain out-of-place wall in the basement. She tapped on it, found it hollow, and proceeded to smash the wall with a sledgehammer. What she uncovered was an indelible piece of American history. “There was a trap door that led to right here,” and she pointed to a spot behind the bar. “Apparently they used to pass the booze through here to the bartender.”
You can visit the Tune Inn for a burger, for a few drinks, or as longtime bartender Susan Mathers believes, for love. “You think I’m kidding. Many people find their own true love at the Tune Inn,” Susan told me with a straight face. “I have observed many people meet and fall in love here.” She looked over at the third-generation Nardelli. “Lisa met her husband here.”
7
FLORIDA
EL MAGO DE LAS FRITAS
5828 SW 8TH ST | WEST MIAMI, FL 33144
305-266-8486 | WWW.ELMAGODELASFRITAS.COM
MON–SAT 8 AM–7:30 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Erase any pre-conceived notions you have about the traditional American hamburger. If you find yourself in Miami, get away from the glitz of South Beach, brush up on your Spanish, and prepare for the taste explosion that is the “Frita.” Also known as a “Cuban Hamburger,” the Frita offers one of the most unique hamburger experiences in America. It is unquestionably the most genuine gastronomic expression of the Cuban-American experience.
In the middle of the twentieth century, the Frita was a ubiquitous street food of Havana. By 1959, when the smoke from the Cuban Revolution had cleared, many fled to set up shop in America. As entrepreneurism was squashed in the new Cuba, it flourished in Miami. Today the best examples of the Frita are found not at its birthplace but in its adopted home of South Florida.
In a bright and tidy lunch counter, tucked into a strip mall with only three parking spaces out front, you’ll find, arguably, one of the best Fritas in Miami. The man behind this tasty Cuban treat is the affable septuagenarian Ortelio “El Mago” Cardenas. El Mago opened his lunch counter in 1984 after splitting from his brother-in-law’s successful Miami chain El Rey De Las Fritas. Both restaurants are on 8th Street, aka Calle Ocho, which is the main artery through Little Havana in South Miami. Many lunch counters on Calle Ocho serve Fritas but El Mago is in a league of its own.
El Mago’s Frita is made with fresh ground beef and what seemed to be chorizo and several spices mixed into the patty. I sat at the counter one day with friend, guide, and translator, the Florida burger blogger Burger Beast, Sef Gonzalez, and asked El Mago what else was in the patty besides chorizo. He turned from the griddle and shouted with a smile, “No chorizo!” Burger Beast was confused and I was in disbelief. The presence of another red, spiced meat was undeniable, but what was it?
When you place your order, El Mago disappears into the back and returns clutching a wad of refrigerated ground meat. The multihued chunk is tossed onto a hot griddle and pressed flat. He reaches for an unmarked plastic bottle and gives the patty a generous squirt of a thin, deep red liquid. A handful of chopped onion is sprinkled on as the patty cooks in the red bubbling sauce.
What makes a Frita a Frita is the generous heap of super-thin fried potatoes that virtually obscure the patty on the bun. It’s presented on a soft, warmed Cuban roll with more chopped onion, a squirt of ketchup, and a bird’s nest of the wiry potatoes. The extraordinary flavor profile made me nearly fall off my stool. When I told El Mago how happy I was he just looked at me and smiled. After inhaling that first Frita I did the only sensible thing I could think of. I ordered another.
Burger Beast told me, “There are Frita places that use those canned potato sticks instead of fresh and that’s just wrong.” El Mago makes a batch of his ethereal fried potatoes every morning.
El Mago De Las Fritas has refreshing watermelon juice and the old Cuban standby soda, Materva, on the menu. But don’t leave El Mago without trying one of his batidos, or Cuban milkshakes. You won’t find American classics like the chocolate malt here. Instead, indulge in tropical fruit flavors like guanabana, papaya, or the amazing mamey fruit. Or get the incredible flan de leche. I swear I’ve never had a better flan.
Directly translated El Mago means “The Magician” and this one hails from a long line of Cuban Frita purveyors. Like a good magician, El Mago harbors trade secrets that only his son seems to know. Let’s hope he plans to pass along those secrets so that this Frita endures.
LE TUB
1100 NORTH OCEAN DR | HOLLYWOOD, FL 33019
954-921-9425 I OPEN DAILY NOON–4 AM
After Le Tub was chosen by GQ magazine for having the #1 burger in America, the Oprah show did its own report backing up the claim. The only problem is, the most crowded no-frills burger shack in Florida just got more crowded.
Located on a stretch of A1A just a half hour north of Miami, Le Tub is a former Sunoco gas station converted into a strange pile of flotsam collected over three decades. Most of Le Tub’s seating is outside on a meandering multilevel porch surrounded by lush foliage, worn wood, chirping birds, and hot breezes. Its proximity to the Intra-coastal Waterway offers a constant boat show. I once sat at a table on the water and watched an entire bachelorette party in bikinis float by, the bride opening gifts of lingerie and giggling.
The restaurant got its name from owner Russell Kohuth’s collection of discarded commodes, tubs, and sinks, which basically hold the place together. In addition to the porcelain collection are parts of boats, buoys, and other planks that actually make up the basic structure of the restaurant. Russell started collecting stuff on early morning jogs along Hollywood beach and opened the restaurant in 1975. “This place wouldn’t hold up in a hurricane,” the guy at the next table told his wife.
The Sirloinburger at Le Tub is a beast—13 ounces of fresh-ground, hand-pattied, char-grilled sirloin served on a soft kaiser roll. When I prodded the waitress for the actual size of the burger, she told me, “They are big and messy!”
The grill cook works at a small three-foot-square grill on a level just below the bar in basically an enclosed un-air conditioned space. There is smoke everywhere and the smell of searing beef permeates your clothes if you spend any time at the bar. Why the grillman does not pass out from the heat three times a day is beyond me.
The crowd at Le Tub is a mixed bag—confused tourists, beachgoers, and boaters fill the tables. A dock on the patio allows you to arrive by water if so inclined. Order your burgers THE MINUTE YOU WALK IN THE DOOR. I’m not kidding when I say that mine took one hour and twenty minutes to arrive. When I asked our waitress upon ordering if their famous burgers really took that long, she warned, with a straight face, “Could take up to an hour and a half.” I placed an order for myself and a friend who had just landed at Miami International Airport. By the time she got off the plane, got her luggage, rented her car, and drove to Le Tub, she still had to wait 45 more minutes for her burger.
The good news is that the burger is worth the wait. Also, don’t forget, you are in a bar, on the water, in Florida—the beers will go down easy, especially because you’ll be sitting there for a while.
IS THERE REALLY A “CHEESEBURGER IN PARADISE”?Imagine that you are sitting in a beachside bar somewhere in the Caribbean or south Florida eating what you consider to be, at that moment, the best-tasting burger you have ever had. You tell the waitress or bartender, and they say, “Well it should be the best. This is the burger Jimmy Buffett wrote the song about!” This hypothetical conversation plays out every day somewhere in the warm climes of vacationland, in claims that stretch from the Bahamas to New Orleans and back to the Florida Keys. Places like the Cabbage Key Inn on Captiva Island, Florida, where the wait for the fabled burger can be up to two hours because up to 500 people a day are there just for the burger “Jimmy sang about.” Or Le Select, a comfortable beach dive on St. Barths where the claim has some merit because Buffett has been known to swoop in on his Cessna seaplane, go straight to the bar, and put on an impromptu concert.One claim that seems to make the least sense but is worthy of inspection comes from Rotier’s in Nashville, Tennessee. The burger at Rotier’s has been on the top of every poll in Music City for decades. It’s a worn-in, dark, friendly place that has served excellent burgers since 1945. Pointing at the bar, Margaret Crouse, the giggly owner and second-generation Rotier, told me, “He used to sit right here and write songs,” referring of course to Buffett, who lived and tried to make a go of his music career in Nashville in the late ‘60s. It’s easy to see how over the years a connection could be made between the best cheeseburger in town and a starving artist-cum-star’s early lowincome diet. Alas, there is no connection.Where is the famed cheeseburger then? Turns out Buffett came clean a few years back and told the truth. The “cheeseburger in paradise” stemmed from a hallucination. As the story goes, he was sailing near Puerto Rico in the mid-’70s and ran into weather and equipment trouble. He and his crew floated at sea for over five days eating nothing but canned food and peanut butter, and naturally fantasized about juicy cheeseburgers. Eventually the ship limped in to the Village Cay Marina on Tortola, BVI, and the hungry sailors headed for the dock bar. There they feasted on what he recalls as overcooked American-style burgers on burnt buns that tasted “like manna from heaven.” The song that followed was not about that burger, but about the fantasy. Buffett made his dream burger a reality in 2002 when he opened the first of his 32 Cheeseburger in Paradise restaurants. 8
GEORGIA
ANN’S SNACK BAR
1615 MEMORIAL DRIVE SE | ATLANTA, GA 30317
404-687-9207 | MON–SAT 11 AM–9 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
A visit to Ann’s Snack Bar is not for the faint of heart. I warn you now, the list of rules posted on the wall covers only a fraction of how you should behave in Miss Ann’s small outpost on the southeast side of Atlanta. I’ll do my best here to prepare you for the onslaught that will lead to one of the best hamburgers in America.
“When I die, I want them to say, ‘She was a mean bitch but she made a great hamburger!’” While she works alone in the burger and hot dog shack she has owned and tended to since 1972, she keeps the waiting patrons amused with a running comedy routine that covers everything from new condos going up and down the street to her retirement and Social Security woes. The guy sitting next to me explained, “It’s like a barbershop in here.” The routine is real, though, no acting here. I found out the hard way when she threw me out of the restaurant for wanting to interview her. “I threw Southern Living out just last week! I don’t give a damn . . . Get out!” I stuck it out and was rewarded with the only thing that seems to get ordered from her short menu—the “Ghetto Burger.”
In 1994 a Checkers drive-in hamburger stand opened up just two doors down from Ann’s. Realizing that she had to offer something different to maintain her business, Miss Ann (as she is affectionately called by regulars) ditched the frozen patties she was serving for fresh ground beef, and lots of it. The gimmick worked. “If I had known that’s all it took to be world famous I would have done this years ago,” she told the crowd at the eight-stool counter. But fresh beef was only the beginning. The Ghetto is an enormous burger, a glorious heap of sin, a pile of just about every ingredient in the restaurant. Two hand-formed patties that are unmeasured but look close to a half pound each are slow cooked on a flattop griddle and sprinkled often with seasoned salt as they cook. The construction of the Ghetto Burger includes the two patties, toasted bun, onion, ketchup, mustard, chili, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and bacon. If that were not enough, the bacon is deep-fried. The finished product resembles a food accident and tastes as it should—amazing.
“One lady came in here and watched everything I did and said ‘Miss Ann, how come I can’t make a burger at home like yours?’ and I told her ‘because you ain’t Ann, and you ain’t BLACK!’” She punctuates her delivery by repeatedly slapping the counter hard. The mostly black crowd laughs at all of it and waits patiently for their burgers, which can take up to 45 minutes.
Ann wants to retire, though she keeps pushing the date back. Preventing her retirement has been the search to find the right buyer. “I don’t want some developer coming in here and tearing the place down,” but she smiles, “though the money would be nice.”
9
IDAHO
HUDSON’S HAMBURGERS
207 EAST SHERMAN AVE I COEUR D’ALENE, ID 83814
208-664-5444 | MON-FRI 9:30 AM–6 PM
SAT 9:30 AM–5:30 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
If you had found yourself in Coeur d’Alene at the turn of the century, chances are you would have paid a visit to Harley Hudson’s tiny canvas burger tent for some greasy nourishment. The great news is that over a hundred years later you can still visit this landmark burger counter for the same greasy nourishment. The tent may have gone brick-and-mortar and has moved four times (only a few blocks each move), but the burgers are still made with pride by the fourth generation of the Hudson family.
This classic burger counter is just what you’d expect to find in picturesque downtown Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. From the front window of the restaurant you can see a piece of the enormous Lake Coeur d’Alene and imagine the hydroplane speedboat races that took place there in the 1950s and 1960s. Find a spot at the long counter and order a burger, the only thing on the menu.
“We also have drinks and pie,” grillman Eli told me, “but that’s it. No fries, no chips, no nothing.” By design, the menu focuses on the hamburger, as it should, because this one was worth the drive.
The choices are single or double, cheese or no cheese. Condiment options are pickle and a slice of raw onion. If you request pickle, watch closely what happens. You’ll witness something you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else in America. The grillman takes a whole dill pickle and hand slices five or six pieces and neatly arrays them on a waiting steamed bun. The same happens for a slice of onion, sliced in a worn groove on the butcher block in front of the griddle. Nothing is presliced.
A pan of high-quality, fresh ground round sits to the left of the small flattop griddle. The grillman takes a guesstimated quarter-pound wad of the fresh beef and swiftly forms it into a patty, and it hits the griddle with an audible splat. The griddle only holds 18 burgers at a time, so expect to wait for a stool during peak times. Eli told me that during the summer, the line can go out the door and down the street. “When it’s busy, we are behind all the time.”
Hudson’s serves what could be considered a nearly perfect burger. Relish the moment and plot your return because you’ll be forever changed. The simplicity of the elements and the burger’s ideal proportions will win your heart (and stomach).
One unique feature of the burger experience at Hudson’s is a proprietary “spicy ketchup” that locals and regulars put on their burgers. Fair warning: this stuff is HOT and looks like regular ketchup in its traditional squirt bottle. Todd explained that the ketchup was invented not for culinary reasons but for economic ones. “During the Depression, some people would come in and load up their burgers with ketchup to stretch the meal.” Todd’s grandfather added fiery spice to discourage the practice. Over 70 years later, Hudson’s still does not offer the classic red stuff.
Today, brothers Todd and Steve Hudson run the historic burger counter. They each take a three-day shift and do their share of burger flipping. Burgers have not been the sole passion of the Hudson family, though. Their proximity to the lake has led to a lifetime on the water. Great-grandfather Harley flipped burgers in the early part of the century, but also owned a steamboat that he rented for excursions on the lake. During the decade that speedboat racing was allowed on the lake, it was the Hudson family’s unofficial job to set up the racecourse markers. When you have finished your burger at Hudson’s, wander into the back of the restaurant, where you’ll find one of the most impressive collections of hydroplane racing ephemera and memorabilia anywhere.
A few years ago, a McDonald’s Express opened four doors down from Hudson’s and it lasted only two years. Seems as though the fast-food empire was no match for a 100-year-old burger institution. Todd told me that people would ask if they could go buy McDonald’s fries and eat them with their burger at Hudson’s. He repeatedly told them, “Sure, as long as you bring enough for everybody.”
“The secret is our longevity,” Todd explained as he smiled and shrugged. In 2007, that longevity was recognized when the state of Idaho issued a proclamation to honor the Hudson family for a hundred years of business. 100 years of great burger making is definitely cause for celebration.
10
ILLINOIS
The Goat enjoys a beer with Billy Goat Sianis and his nephew Sam.
BILLY GOAT TAVERN & GRILL
430 N. MICHIGAN (LOWER LEVEL) | CHICAGO, IL 60611
312-222-1525 | WWW.BILLYGOATTAVERN.COM
OPEN DAILY 6 AM–2 AM
The Billy Goat is responsible for one of the most famous lines in hamburger history, delivered by John Belushi on Saturday Night Live on January 28, 1978. But the Goat is more than just “Cheezborger! cheezborger! No Pepsi, Coke! No fries, cheeps.” The Goat is steeped in history, so much that it makes you wish you were a Chicagoan, and probably makes many Chicagoans proud. All this from a tavern opened in 1934 by Greek immigrant William “Billy Goat” Sianis.
No one is really sure if the Billy Goat got its name from the far-fetched story of how a goat wandered into the bar one day and became a mascot/pet, or if the name came from the gray goatee Sianis sported, but the nature of its origins is part and parcel of all stories emanating from the Goat. The famous “Curse of the Billy Goat” was also dreamed up by Sianis, a curse that has endured and still exists today: a curse that has spiritually kept the beloved Chicago Cubs out of the World Series for over 65 years despite Sianis’s nephew Sam’s attempts to “remove” it. And it’s all because the media-friendly tavern owner and his smelly goat were denied entry to the 1945 World Series.
The history of the Goat, carried on today by Sam Sianis and his son, Bill (Billy Goat Jr.), along with the 8x10 glossies of past newspapermen who drank and debated there and the bizarre subterranean location, actually add a different type of flavor to the burger. The Goat has what I like to call the “whole burger experience”—it’s not just about the burger. It includes the place you are eating it, and who you are eating with.
The “cheezborgers” at the Billy Goat start as fresh beef that is machine pattied into quarter pound slivers. “Triple much better!!” is the call you are likely to hear as the countermen take your order. Just try and order a single cheeseburger. A “Sosa” is four patties, named after the home run king of the Cubs. There really are no fries so don’t even ask. You remember the call “No fries, cheeps, no Coke, Pepsi!” They actually do have Coke, no Pepsi; Belushi flipped that in the skit. You dress your own burger with onions and specially made pickle slices, then take a seat at the bar, one of the longest I’ve ever seen. There are so many things to look at that it would take days to read all of the clippings and photo captions. Not a problem here, since the Goat is open every day, 20 hours a day.
Probably every old hamburger joint has its share of stories and lore, but none wears it on its sleeve like the Billy Goat. There are so many stories to hear that you’ll have to go there and ask Sam or Bill yourself. I’m sure they’d be glad to tell a few—ask about the butter on the ceiling, or the goat that ate the $20 bill.
CHARLIE BEINLICH’S FOOD & TAP
290 SKOKIE BLVD | NORTHBROOK, IL 60062
NO PHONE | WWW.CHARLIEBEINLICHS.COM
TUE–SAT 11:30 AM–10:45 PM
CLOSED SUN & MON
There’s a sign behind the bar at Charlie Beinlich’s that says, “Business hours subject to change during fishing season,” and I believe them. This 60-year-old bar in the suburbs north of Chicago is filled with an impressive collection of mounted fish, most of them caught by Charlie himself. “Grandma caught that one,” third generation owner Linda Rainey told me, pointing to what looked like the largest in the collection. Her father, John Barnes, who retired after running Beinlich’s for over 30 years, is also a fisherman and can claim two of the large fish on the walls as well. John told me, “Charlie used to say, ‘The time you spend fishing doesn’t count against your lifespan.’” In his retirement, John spends a fair amount of time in Florida . . . fishing.
Linda recently assumed ownership of the bar with her husband, Tom. “He [Tom] got this place the same way I did,” John joked loudly sitting at the bar, “the old fashioned way: he married the boss’s daughter!” The bigger-than-life former owner married Charlie’s daughter, Karen, and helped run the business side-by side with him. Over the decades virtually nothing has changed at Charlie Beinlich’s. “We added an ATM and switched to a soda gun from canned soda,” John told me. “That’s about it.”
The interior of Charlie Beinlich’s looks more Northwoods tavern than suburban hangout. The long bar sports 13 very comfortable stools and the dining area is a sea of no-nonsense black tables. The place is spotless and attracts a slightly older crowd that come for Bleinlich’s famous shrimp cocktail and of course, the burgers. Families and kids are welcome but Beinlich’s offers no booster seats. “We have phone books and duct tape for the kids,” Tom pointed out. The servers all wear white oxford shirts and crisp maroon aprons that have their names embroidered on them. They can be seen rushing through the packed dining room with up to five burger plates up their arms.
Burgers were introduced to Beinlich’s customers a few years after Charlie opened the place. “He used to give food away,” John told me. “He’d have big platters of cold cuts out.” Tom told me there used to be a sign near the bar that stated simply, “Food is served for the convenience of our customers drinking alcoholic beverages.” Eventually, a kitchen was constructed off the back of the bar and a booming burger business was born.
There’s only one burger to order and your choices are with or without cheese, Swiss, American, or cheddar. Lettuce and onion are available but you’ll have to forgo the tomato. In the half-century that Beinlich’s has been serving burgers not one has ever seen a tomato and probably never will. If you ask for a “deluxe” burger you’ll get coleslaw and fries on the side, and longtime customer Jeff Goldman told me, “I put the coleslaw on the burger.” Slow-cooked and very tasty sautéed onions are also available.
The beef for the burgers is, as John described it, “a sirloin and chuck combo, supposedly,” and is amazing. It comes to them daily, ground in bulk from a supplier that they have worked with for decades called Lakeside Foods in Winnetka, Illinois. There’s a huge sign behind the bar proudly declaring this. As John explained, “It’s just a local grocery store and sometimes they deliver twice a day.” In the early seventies John switched from hand-pattying to pressing the patty and purchased a patty maker. “I wanted a third-pound burger but the guy cut the mold too big,” John explained, leaving Beinlich’s with a burger that still today is something closer to a half pound.
As you’ve probably guessed at this point, there are a lot of great signs to read at Beinlich’s. One of my favorites hangs just inside the front vestibule and says, “No tank tops, muddy boots.” The suburban setting and mall across the street are hardly the place to find hungry burger-seekers wearing muddy boots so there had to be a story. As construction began nearby on what was the first expressway out of Chicago in 1950, workers would naturally find their way to Beinlich’s. “They were building the Edens when this place opened,” Linda told me. “My grandmother wanted to have none of that.” Although the Edens Expressway has been finished for over half a century the rule is still enforced.
Charlie is long gone but one of his more curious legacies remains. On the bar you’ll find little wooden red birdhouses with HADLEY SCHOOL FOR THE BLIND printed on their sides. You can make a donation to a charity that has been the been the recipient of loose change dropped into these boxes for well over 50 years. “Charlie was deathly afraid of going blind,” John explained.
Charlie Beinlich’s future looks strong even though John joked, “When I die, Linda’s selling the place!” Linda and Tom have two girls and no intention to sell. Linda told me, “We hope they’ll want to take over the business.” Their future husbands may get to own Beinlich’s too, the old fashioned way.
GRANT’S WONDERBURGER
11045 SOUTH KEDZIE AVE | CHICAGO, IL 60655
773-238-7200 | MON–SAT 10:30 AM–8 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
When the first version of this book came out I started getting e-mails from fans that were driving around the country trying to visit all the burger joints in the book. One of those fans was Larry Hodek from just outside of Chicago who was eating his way across America. In a long, handwritten letter to me he voiced his concern that I didn’t include his hometown favorite. I have to admit, the burger joint he was talking about was not even on my radar. It was so far south of downtown Chicago that everyone I had asked had never heard of the place. But it doesn’t take much for me to try a new burger so thank you, Larry, for leading me to this classic gem.
First you’ll see the sign. The absurdly oversized sign dwarfs the façade of the building and can be seen from blocks away. Across the street is a Burger King and owner Karen McCormick told me, “It has been there for 30 years and has not affected our business.”
The interior is a mix of 50 years of decorating style with faux-Tiffany stained glass pendant lamps overhead, bent wood café chairs, and green checked floor tile. Green topped swivel stools line a green Formica counter and the walls are wood paneled trimmed with, you guessed it, green.
Karen, wearing peace symbol earrings, is a feisty piece of work. She has a few employees that make change and such but Karen is a powerhouse and seems to fill all of the orders that come in. “I do it all, baby,” she told me as she jumped from fryer to griddle. She bought Grant’s Wonderburger in 1988 from her father-in-law, Bill Grant, who was looking to retire. Bill opened the restaurant in 1958 after working at the long-gone Superburger on Stoney Island Avenue, another Southside favorite. Bill wanted to emulate the burger that he knew so well and with Superburger’s blessing opened his own burger joint and changed the name slightly. (The owner, Moose Bowen, even came over to flip the first Wonderburger and Bill was on his way.) The restaurant moved three times, all within a block or two, with the last move in 1969 to a location directly across the street. Karen told me that Bill and a few employees even dragged the counter across the street late one night.
Grant’s burgers come to the restaurant as fresh, pre-formed patties five to the pound. They are thin and wide and cook very fast on the seasoned flattop griddle. The burger to get is the “Double Wonderburger Basket,” which comes with American cheese, grilled or sliced onion, shredded lettuce, and the super-secret Wonder Sauce. The burger is presented on a toasted white squishy, wrapped in waxed paper, and served in a green basket full of their famous curly-q fries. I asked Karen what was in the Wonder Sauce and she replied quickly, “It’s a secret.” I can tell you, though, that it was great, and was basically a tangy, sweet, red relish.
The fries are a big draw at Grant’s Wonderburger. On some days Karen can go through a few hundred pounds of potatoes to make the curly-q fries. When an order comes in, she grabs a handful of fresh-cut ribbons of potatoes from a bin and tosses them into the deep fryer. I swear I pulled a curled fry out of my basket that when stretched out was no less than a foot long. I also noticed (too late) that the curly-q fries can be ordered with melted cheddar. Could there be a better side dish?
As you scarf down your Wonderburger, take a look at the walls around you. Then take a look at the full name of the restaurant. The menu and enormous sign out front bill the place as GRANT’S GRILL & GALLERY. The gallery that covers the walls features local artists and their Chicago-centric subjects. The art is for sale and ranges from rudimentary to the bizarre. One strange phantasmagorical painting depicts a woodland scene with fully uniformed hockey players (Chicago Blackhawks?) hitting the puck around a frozen creek. In the distance is a Native American standing on the ice in traditional feathered garb watching, possibly looking to join in. “I think Bill did it just to cover the walls for free,” Karen told me. “Some of it is good, some weird.”
Make your way down to the far south side neighborhood of Mt. Greenwood and look for the oversized Wonderburger sign. Get a classic burger with a “secret” sauce and bite into a piece of Chicago history that few in Chicago have actually heard about. You will come away with a better appreciation of old Chicago, and maybe some art too.
HACKNEY’S ON HARMS
1241 HARMS RD | GLENVIEW, IL 60025
847-724-5577 | WWW.HACKNEYS.NET
SUN–THU 11 AM–10 PM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–11 PM
Before there were suburbs, there was Hackney’s. “There was nothing out here in the beginning,” third generation owner Mary Welch told me. Hackney’s sits way back from Harms Road on a lush, tree-filled piece of property. Across the street is a large forest preserve. It still sort of feels like the middle of nowhere, but drive a few hundred feet in either direction and you’ll find yourself in the center of Chicago’s suburban sprawl.
The history of Hackney’s is so complicated that Mary actually drew a chart for me on the back of a paper placemat. Here is the abridged version. In the ’20s, Helen and Jack Hackney converted the back patio of their home into an illegal prohibition-era bar that served burgers. “It was so deserted out here that they thought they’d make money on booze,” Mary explained. Eventually, the Hackneys moved the business from their backyard to a barn-like structure opposite the house. “We’re not really sure what it was,” Mary told me. “Maybe a chicken coop or a barn.” In 1939, Mary’s father, Jim Masterson, who was Helen’s nephew, and her mother, Kitz, purchased Hackney’s for $1 and endured the slow war years with business being fueled by soldiers from a World War II POW camp in the forest preserve across the street. When the war ended, the suburbs exploded and Hackney’s was suddenly surrounded by hungry families. “There were mostly German bars here then,” Mary explained, “and this was the first real family place.” It was a mixed blessing, however. Thanks to new residential zoning after the war Hackney’s was not able to expand the restaurant on the property. In 1955, Jim and Kitz were turning away 100 people a day. Their solution? They opened a second Hackney’s just down the street.
When the Mastersons assumed ownership of Hackney’s they introduced a burger to the menu that remains today—the “Hackneyburger.” This North Suburbs classic is unique to the burger world because, since day one, it has been served on dark rye. And not just any dark rye, homemade dark rye prepared daily in Hackney’s own bakery. “Originally, my parents made the bread at home,” Mary told me, in the house that sits just opposite the restaurant. The bread is soft and sweet, not what you’d expect from dark bread. In fact, it’s so soft that it has a tendency to disintegrate quickly thanks to the juicy eight-ounce burger that it cradles.
The Hackneyburger
The Hackneyburger comes unadorned, with lettuce and tomato on the side. Onions are available, and if you ask for them grilled, you’ll get an entire onion’s-worth on the side. Cheese choices are American, Swiss, and cheddar. The half-pound burger, kept thick, is cooked on a flattop griddle and can be prepared to the temperature of your choice. Hackney’s used to buy ground beef from a local butcher and Mary’s parents would hand-patty the burgers daily using a coffee cup as a mold. They eventually purchased a patty machine, and one day gave the patty machine to their butcher. That butcher, who has been supplying Hackney’s since the beginning, is now the sole provider of hamburger patties to the six Hackney’s locations in the Chicago area. “That’s all he does for a living, makes burgers for all the Hackney’s,” Mary told me.
No visit to Hackney’s would be complete without trying one of their signature sides, the french fried onions. It arrives as a deep-fried brick of thin-sliced onions fused with fried batter standing tall at about 7 inches. It’s an impressive presentation and was invented by a cook at Hackney’s in 1962. In an effort to placate a customer who had missed out on the perch one fish fry Friday, a cook named Carmen tossed a handful of battered onions into the deep fryer and invented a new side dish. The concoction emerged whole, in the shape of the fryer basket, and to this day is still served as a block of deep-fried goodness on a plate.
Not surprisingly, Hackney’s has a great selection of German beers on tap and a solid bar lined with substantial leather-topped stools. The bar is carpeted, quiet and dark, even on bright, sunny days. I could see myself passing many hours there. The small dining room is also clean, dark, and cozy and a young, cute server told me, “It kind of reminds me of a cozy Wisconsin bar.” Me too, but Hackney’s is even cozier than what I’ve seen in Wisconsin. Across the parking lot, behind the original house, Hackney’s also operates a patio that seats 200 in the warm months.
“It hasn’t really changed since my parents were here,” Mary told me, which is a good thing because everything seems to work just fine. Mary is one of seven children, all of whom are partners in the business and separately manage the six Hackney’s in the area. Mary has the shortest commute though, a short walk across the parking lot from the family home she grew up in. “I’m not complaining,” she told me with a smile.
MOONSHINE STORE
6017 EAST 300TH RD
MOONSHINE (MARTINSVILLE), IL 62442
618-569-9200
MON–SAT 6 AM–1 PM, GRILL CLOSES AT 12:30
CLOSED SUNDAY & MAJOR HOLIDAYS
The Moonshine Store is one of those places you hope no one finds out about. I never would have known about the Moonburger if I had not seen a clip on CBS Sunday Morning calling it the “Best Burger in America.” A claim like that makes me a skeptic from the start but naturally my interest was piqued. I had all but written the place off when I just happened to be in the neighborhood. Believe me, this is not an easy thing to do. Thanks to Ryan Claypool, a resident of nearby Marshall, Illinois, I was coaxed into giving the Moonburger a shot.
The Moonshine Store is at a crossroads in east central Illinois surrounded by cornfields. The drive to Moonshine (population two) is a blur of cornstalks and soybean fields for hours on two-lane roads and the nearest city is Terre Haute, Indiana. There’s a reason the lines are not out the door with city people—it’s too damn far away. But it’s true; the Moonshine does make one of the best burgers in America.
The large country-store-turned-burger-spot does a brisk business regardless of its remote locale. There are no tables inside, just recycled church pews and chairs that line the counters and cases. You place an order at the back of the store and when your burger is ready, you take it to the bountiful condiment table in the center of the room. If you can’t find a spot on a pew, there is ample seating out back at the picnic tables.
The staff is a sight to behold—a bevy of chatty country women all taking turns at the grill and register. “I don’t work here, I’m just helping today,” laughed one behind the counter. Helen Tuttle, owner and grillmaster, explained, “Friends and family all come down for the lunch hour to help out. When we’re busy we’ll even ask someone in the store to do dishes—we’re not bashful.”
The Moonburger is a beauty: pure and simple, 80/20-ground chuck cooked on a hot gas griddle until moist inside with a delicately crunchy exterior. I asked what the size of the burger was and Helen told me, “All sizes. Depends on what my hand grabs.” They look to be around a third of a pound and served on an untoasted, white squishy bun. Cheese is treated like a condiment and tossed on cold. Trust me—this burger needs no cheese.
The three new gas griddles can hold up to 150 burgers, which is an improvement over the previous electric griddle that only held fifteen. “We can sell 50 to 600 burgers a day depending, and at least 400 on a Saturday,” Helen told me. Many motorcycle tours make the Moonshine a destination for burgers every year, and one visit on April 8, 2010 resulted in a new record. “We made 1908 that day.” Helen once told me, “We do no advertising. I believe the Lord has a hand in this business.” Believe it. These burgers are touched by something.
TOP NOTCH BEEFBURGER SHOP
2116 WEST 95TH STREET | CHICAGO, IL
773-445-7218 | MON–FRI 8 AM–8 PM
SAT 7:30 AM–8:30 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
I was tipped off to Top Notch by a friend in Chicago who is a key grip in the film business, the same friend, incidentally, who told me about Mr. Beef on North Orleans (for which I am eternally grateful). This is definitely the kind of spot you need to be tipped off to because it is very far from downtown Chicago. In fact it’s about 25 minutes by car south of the Loop in a neighborhood called Beverly. The journey to Top Notch is worth it because they make, without a doubt, one of the best burgers in Chicago.
Top Notch has the standard-issue brown Naugahyde booths, fluorescent lighting, and wood paneling from the ’40s but takes it a step further to include Bob Ross–inspired oil paintings of soothing waterfalls and mountain scenes. The staff is extremely friendly and the menu lists true diner fare. The shakes, fries, and tuna sandwiches are all good, but the reason to visit Top Notch is of course for the “beefburgers.” They come in three sizes—the quarter pounder, the half-pound “King Size,” and the three-quarter-pound “Super King Size.” A deal breaker for me is the absence of fresh ground beef in a burger restaurant, so I always ask the question “fresh or frozen?” I was directed to the manager of 19 years, Sam Gomez, who, without asking for credentials, dragged me into the kitchen and into their small meat locker. There I was surrounded by the real thing—about five sides of beef and various cuts waiting for their turn in the grinder. Sam told me “our burgers are very fresh.” I had a hard time doubting him.
The burgers are cooked on a large vintage cast-iron griddle in plain view of the counter patrons. They are griddled wide and flat, allowing more of the beef to have contact with the griddle surface. A favorite condiment is the grilled onions, so much so that burgers requested without onions still gather an onion essence. The bun is my favorite kind—white and squishy with sesame seeds, probably six inches across, toasted in the same upright conveyor toaster that Louis’ Lunch in New Haven uses. Sam describes the fries as “pre-WWII,” which I took to mean from a time before fries were frozen. Sure enough, there in the kitchen one employee had the task of gathering up fresh-cut fries that soak in cold water and bringing them to the fryer. The fries are excellent.
I want to have a party there someday—the place is huge and can hold over a hundred hungry burger lovers. Bring your appetite and order at least the half pounder with cheese.
11
INDIANA
HEINNIES
1743 WEST LUSHER AVE | ELKHART, IN 46517
574-522-9101 | WWW.HEINNIESRESTAURANT.COM
MON–THU 10 AM–10 PM | FRI 10 AM–11 PM
SAT 4:30 PM–11 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Friend and food columnist Marshall King led me to this hamburger. He told me about a decades-old bar down by the train tracks in an industrial part of town that had been serving burgers forever—I was sold.
When I first visited Heinnies, Bill DeShone, third-generation owner, was doing what his grandfather and father did for decades before him—he was walking around the dining room, greeting people, and checking on their food. “There’s always a family member here,” Bill told me, “whether it’s me or my brother.” It’s that kind of pride of place that keeps people loyal. That, and of course, a world-class hamburger.
In the early 1950s, Henry “Heinnie” DeShone chose a spot for his tavern that was a bit remote for the residents of Elkhart. His new venture would be located across the street from one of the busiest railroad hubs in North America. “There was nothing else out here,” Bill explained, and told me that most of the clientele were railroad men. “It has always been a place where the working man could come get a burger, though back then it was a beer and a burger.” True to its roots, the area is still very industrial, though today the local industry is focused on motor home repair and manufacturing.
When Heinnies opened in 1951, the lowceiled bar had a sign on the door prohibiting women (but by 1956 the sign was removed). A small dining room was added to the bar in 1983, and in 1996 a full renovation was completed. Bill’s younger brother, Troy, did the decorating and his obsession with NASCAR is apparent—the walls are lined with an impressive collection of American racing memorabilia.
The menu is loaded with burgers, but the ones to focus on are the classic “Heinniecheeseburger” and the “Claybaugh.” The latter is a larger version of the classic that includes two one-third-pound patties and a wild pile of ingredients including, but not limited to, bacon, mushrooms, and four types of cheese. This one should be reserved for the truly starved. The burger is named after a local policeman and regular named Scott Claybaugh who, Bill explained, just like the burger, “is big and full of shit.” But it’s the Heinniecheeseburger that they come back for, a moderately priced, well-seasoned, great-tasting burger.
Made from fresh-ground prime beef, the Heinniecheeseburger in its simplest form (no condiments, on a bun) is a taste explosion. That’s because of a not-so-secret ingredient included in the DeShone family burger recipe—chopped onions mixed into the beef. “We used to mix in bread crumbs and egg too,” Bill told m e , “It was sort of like a meat loaf.” But because the meat turned bad quickly, the DeShone family decided to stick with the basics—chopped onion, salt, and pepper.
The meat for the Heinniecheeseburger comes from a local butcher, the same butcher Heinnies has been using forever. The butcher uses scraps from sirloin, filet, and strip steaks and grinds them for the restaurant. After the ground prime arrives, it is blended with chopped onion and pattied on an ancient family heirloom. The tool is a unique patty maker that presses the burgers one at a time to the proper thickness without forming the traditional cylindrically “squared” sides. The result is a patty with craggy edges that looks hand formed.
Bill is slightly befuddled by a newfound group of fans who have discovered the decades-old tavern—the Amish. On Friday nights the back room is full of people from the nearby Amish communities of Nappanee and Shipshewana. Bill assumes that they are drawn to the restaurant by the huge, horse stable–themed dining room that was added in 1985 to the back of the restaurant called “Heinnies Back Barn.” Knotty pine frames each booth like a horse stall and vintage farm equipment lines the walls. “They come in by the vanload,” Bill told me. “Strawberry daiquiris and steak for two!”
The Heinniecheeseburger
POWERS HAMBURGER SHOP
1402 SOUTH HARRISON ST | FORT WAYNE, IN 46802
260-422-6620 | MON–WED 5 AM–10 PM
THU–SAT 5 AM–12 AM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Powers is the real deal. Not unlike White Manna in New Jersey or The Cozy Inn of Kansas, Powers is a complete time-warp hamburger joint. You’ll be sent straight back to 1940 and a simpler time when the all-American slider was made with fresh-ground beef and your only option was with or without onions.
I could smell Powers a block away as I approached old downtown Fort Wayne. Across the street from the beautiful, well-preserved Art Deco burger joint are two stately federal buildings. If you snapped a photo of the corner in black and white it may look identical to one that could have been taken in the ’40s—virtually nothing on this corner has changed.
Onions are the name of the game at Powers. There’ll be no hiding the fact that you grabbed a few sliders here because the deep essence of steam-grilled onions will stick with your clothes for hours after. The bouquet of sweet onion wafts throughout the parking lot the minute you step out of your car.
I was clearly the only non-local regular in the place the first time I visited. Two women ran the place—one named Sarah took orders and served pop and made change while the other managed the tiny, crowded flattop griddle. Country music played and both women sang along and knew every word. Sarah greeted each person that walked in the door by their first name and said, “Bye honey,” as they left.
The classic sliders at Powers are the primary source for the American hamburger. Tiny two-ounce balls of ground beef are grabbed from a pile in a fridge behind a sliding door adjacent to the griddle. The balls are tossed on the griddle and covered with a thick layer of thinly sliced sweet onion. The griddleperson gives the onions a gentle press until the balls of beef are flattened. When the patties are flipped, a potato roll is placed on the burger to steam until soft. A burger with everything comes with cheese and onions. Pickles are available, but as Sarah curtly pointed out, “Only if you ask.” If you require a double, two balls are pressed together to make a larger patty. Several doubles with everything is the way to go.
There is no mistaking the presence of onions on a Powers slider. Even with the double meat, the soft, limp onions made up 50 percent of the burger and ruled the flavor profile. The cheese acts as a sort of glue for the whole glorious mess and the locally made soft potato roll completes the package. As I was thinking about this, a customer walked in an, ordered a bunch with extra onion, which was hard to imagine. As I popped the last bite in my mouth, I placed an order for two more. The fear of walking out of a place like Powers unsated was too much to bear.
All types of folks dine at Powers. Next to me was a tattooed dude with a mohawk and next to him a clean-cut man and his daughter. Harley types and old-timers also occupied stools and nary a word was spoken, just quiet consumption and the dull thwack of onions being pressed into beef.
In the beginning, Powers, like many other burger stands of the day, was open around the clock. Today, Powers has fairly normal hours, opening at 5 a.m. Six days a week. Sarah told me, “We’ll make burgers at 5 a.m. if you want ’em.”
TRIPLE XXX FAMILY RESTAURANT
2 NORTH SALISBURY ST | WEST LAFAYETTE, IN 47906
765-743-5373
WWW.TRIPLEXXXFAMILYRESTAURANT.COM
OPEN 24 HOURS | CLOSED SUN 8 PM–MON 6 AM
“This place was on the brink of folding,” owner Greg Ehresman told me as I sat at the twisting short-order counter for the first time. Greg would know, because he flipped burgers at the Triple XXX decades before he was an owner. He obviously saw the value in this burger counter at an early age and told me, “I wanted to buy this place when I was seventeen.”
The Triple XXX opened in 1929 as a seasonal root beer stand, or “Thirst Station,” only a few blocks from Purdue University. At one point there were 100 Triple XXX Thirst Stations around the country selling root beer by the mug to a population in the midst of Prohibition. Over the decades the stand morphed into a full-scale diner with carhop service but slipped into decline in the 1970s. Greg’s father Jack Ehresman, who grew up only a block from the restaurant, swept in and saved the iconic hamburger stand in 1980 even though, as Greg put it, “He was not a restaurant guy.” Jack, his wife, Ruth, and son, Greg, decided that the key to their success would be to go back to the old way of making everything by hand—a failsafe measure that has proved to be an enormous success.
The burgers at Triple XXX start as sirloin steaks from a local butcher that are ground daily upstairs in the restaurant and formed into tall “pucks,” not thin patties. The puck is smashed thin with great force by the hand of the grill person just before it hits the hot griddle. As I watched Greg make a burger for me he did something that caught my eye, something I had never seen before in my endless hamburger research: the patty was nonchalantly tossed into a bin of flour before it hit the griddle. Perplexed, I asked him why. Like all great stewards of tradition his only response was, “Because that’s the way we’ve always done it.” The result was predictable and amazing. The flour mixes with the sizzling fat to create an even more pronounced griddle char and flavor.
If you are looking for a hamburger on the extensive menu, you’ll need to search for the “Chop Steak.” A cheeseburger is a Chop Steak with cheese. Skip those, however, and head straight for their signature burgers, all named after All-American football stars from Purdue. One of the most popular is the “Boilermaker Pete,” a triple with cheese and grilled onions served on a toasted, white squishy bun. A triple sounds unmanageable but the proportions are perfect on this beauty, a pure expression of the classic American burger. Wash your burger down with the restaurant’s namesake root beer, still made on premises as it has been for over 75 years.
The Triple XXX is a 24-hour restaurant. That’s right, you can show up at any hour of the day to eat amazing burgers. Students make great use of this feature by filling the place well past 4 a.m. on weekends. “On a football weekend,” Greg told me, “we’ll go through 700 pounds of beef easily.”
Today Greg and his wife, Carrie, run The Triple XXX and stay very busy thanks to a visit by Guy Fieri in 2007. “We saw a 40 percent uptick in business since that show aired,” Greg told me. For a collegetown watering hole surrounded by soulless chains that is music to my ears. Even though the McDonald’s only 100 feet away from the Triple XXX is open 24 hours, Greg confidently told me, “It does not affect business here at all.”
WORKINGMAN’S FRIEND
234 NORTH BELMONT | INDIANAPOLIS, IN 46222
317-636-2067 | WWW.WORKINGMANSFRIEND.US
MON–FRI 11 AM–8 PM | SAT 11 AM–3 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
You’ll know you are close to Workingman’s Friend when the sweet smell of crude oil fills your car. This unpretentious bar sits across the street from a Marathon oil refinery on the edge of a working-class neighborhood only a few miles from the famous Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Look for the bar with the large vintage Pepsi sign and a façade made almost entirely of glass block.
Expert burger taster from Dallas, Wayne Geyer, alerted me to Workingman’s. He had asked me for a recommendation for a burger in Indianapolis and I told him I didn’t have anything. Put to the challenge, he discovered the double cheeseburger at Workingman’s and scored big. Add to this burger discovery a bar that serves thirty-two-ounce goblets of tap beer in a bare-bones tavern setting and you have a homerun.
Opened in 1918 by Macedonian immigrant Louie Stamatkin as Belmont Lunch, the place mostly served sandwiches and burgers to workers at the nearby B&O Railroad maintenance facility. Louie would run tabs for the workers knowing that they had little money to spend. The workers dubbed Louie the “workingman’s friend” and a name was born. In the late ’40s, Louie passed away and his two sons Carl and Earl assumed ownership of the bar. They changed the name out of respect for their father. They began construction on a new, larger building to replace the converted house that Louie called Belmont Lunch. To avoid shutting down for months, the brothers instead built around the existing structure. During construction, pieces of the old structure were carted out the side door and they were never once closed for business. “They did it to stay open,” Becky Stamatkin told me. Becky is Louie’s granddaughter and the third generation of the Stamatkin family at Workingman’s Friend. She has run the bar and smashed burgers to perfection for over 30 years.
Today, the large, open tavern is a sea of utilitarian red chairs and tables. Sixty feet in length, it boasts one of the longest bars in Indy. The bar sits atop a wall of glass block that is backlit by two tubes of pink neon. Decoration is minimal, and sections of the linoleum flooring have worn through to the concrete. Two non-functioning vintage cigarette machines sit by both doors to the bar as a vestige of the Workingman’s past, not some purchased history for the sake of kitchy decor.
“99.9 percent order the double cheeseburger,” Becky told me. And there’s a good reason for that—it’s amazing. Becky takes two balls of fresh ground 80/20 chuck and smashes them super-thin on the nearly half-century-old flattop griddle. The burger cooks through but stays moist and the edges become lacey and crisp. The double is served on a toasted, white squishy bun with a third bun inserted to separate the two patties. If you ask for everything, your double will come with shredded lettuce, sliced tomato, raw onion, and mayonnaise with pickle slices on the side. The grease, cheese, and mayo worked well with the beef, and I asked Becky if there was more than just mayo between the buns. She told me with a wink, “It’s only mayo, but I tell people it’s a special sauce.”
The double cheeseburger is a sight to behold. The floppy edges of the smashed-thin burger hang far outside the bun, making this beast seem unmanageable. Fortunately the entire package is quite manageable. The patties each weigh in at around a quarter pound but Becky could not confirm this. “Ah, I don’t know how big they are,” she confessed. “I’ve been doing this for so long that I don’t know anymore. I make balls of beef, then I smash them.” Whatever the size, it’s perfect.
One thing at the bar that is almost unmanageable is the beer. If you like your tap beer large, then don’t miss the thirty-two-ounce “Frosty Fish Bowl.” Bartender Terry, Becky’s half-brother, pulls a heavy goblet out of a freezer behind the bar and fills it with ice cold Budweiser or Bud Light. That’s a lot of beer and it’s almost hard to heft when the glass is full. If you don’t want to look like a Medieval king at a banquet with this ridiculously large goblet, go for the smaller sixteen- or ten-ounce sizes.
On a diet? Workingman’s Friend offers a burger called the “Diet Special” that sounds crazy but good. Becky cooks a large hand-pattied burger on the flattop (not smashed) and serves it on a plate with lettuce, grilled onions, pickles, cottage cheese, and no bun. “We sell maybe two a week,” Becky told me. But hey, you didn’t come in here because you are on a diet.
I was across the street snapping a few photos after leaving Workingman’s Friend for the first time when an old-timer on mobility scooter rolled by and offered his own review. “It’s the best burger in Indy!” he shouted and kept rolling. And he’s absolutely right.
ZAHARAKOS ICE CREAM PARLOR AND MUSEUM
329 WASHINGTON ST | COLUMBUS, IN 47201
812-378-1900 | WWW.ZAHARAKOS.COM
MON–FRI 8 AM–8 PM | SAT & SUN 9 AM–8 PM
When I first stepped into Zaharakos, my jaw dropped. What you’ll find at this 110-year-old ice cream parlor will astound you. In 2009, after being purchased (and saved) by local businessman Tony Moravec, Zaharakos reopened completely renovated to its original décor from opening day in 1900. During the century that the Greek-owned restaurant was in business the place saw many renovations (and a car through the front window) but when Tony purchased the parlor his goal was clear—to restore Zaharakos to its original grandeur, complete with period marble soda dispensers, stamped tin ceilings, wire-back café chairs, and an enormous vintage Welte player organ. I have never seen anything like this in my life.
Tony Moravec is extraordinarily passionate about ice cream parlor memorabilia, ephemera, and history. His passion is fueled in part by his very successful pharmaceutical company located nearby in Columbus. The renovation cost Tony $3.5 million and took 2 years to complete, but as he explained to me, it was his pleasure. “It was a fascinating trip,” he told me. The last Zaharakos family member running the parlor passed away in 2006 as the restaurant was in decline. Tony saw his purchase of the aging relic as a chance to give back to the community.
“In the renovation we kept the original bones of the place and renovated around that,” Tony explained. But this wasn’t just any renovation. Tony had specialists come in from all over the country to manage things like restoring and cleaning the original marble, repairing the vintage soda dispensers, and most notably to bring the Welte organ back to its former glory. “I wanted to make it first-class and make Zaharakos a destination.” He most certainly has, with stunning detail and unfaltering commitment.
The menu was also restored and updated but still reflects some of the early offerings from the Zaharakos family, like the dizzying selection of fountain soda favorites and the famous “Gom Cheese-Brr-Grr.” The Gom is not really a burger but, like the Maid-Rite “loosemeats” sandwich of Iowa, it is an intriguing take on the marriage of beef and bread. There is a regular burger on the menu at Zaharakos but trust me, go for the tasty Gom.
The Gom Cheese Brr-Grr is basically a Sloppy Joe fused with a grilled cheese sandwich, although this one has far less tomato sauce than a typical Joe. Its history is mostly unknown but it is believed that over 75 years ago the Zaharakos Brothers may have actually invented the original Sloppy Joe. The general profile of the slop is kind of sticky, or “gommy” (from the German slang for “sloppy”) and is loaded with tasty spices and a little bit of brown sugar. The buttered, toasted white bread and gooey cheese make this one savory sandwich.
I glanced around the restaurant and noticed that most people were enjoying Gom sandwiches, with and without cheese. The cheese is great on this concoction because it acts like glue to keep the loose contents together. Tony told me, “It still outsells everything we do.”
You’ll need a drink with your Gom and good luck trying to choose just one. The original soda dispensers behind the long marble counter are still functional for the most part and operated by an actual soda jerk with experience, the sassy Wilma. She suggested the “Jerk’s Special,” a cinnamon Coke, “Because that’s what the jerk likes!” The cinnamon Coke, hand-mixed from Coke syrup, cinnamon syrup, and soda water, is intoxicating. “The cinnamon enhances the flavor of the Coke, right?” Wilma asked. You can also get a number of other fountain sodas, like chocolate Coke, red Raspberry Coke, and the old Prohibition-era favorite, the neon-green “Green River” (lemon-lime flavored). The shakes and floats are amazing too. I asked Wilma for a chocolate malt and she asked me, “Do you want a real one or one made with Hershey’s?” Piqued by my options naturally I chose the real one. Instead of mixing in Hershey’s chocolate syrup she used the chocolate syrup for their sodas. The flavor was unlike anything I’ve ever tasted, a sort of refined chocolate milkshake experience.
At some point during your meal, you may hear the towering Welte player organ come to life. This perfectly restored centerpiece of the dining room was originally installed in 1908 and remained in place until the Zaharakos family, in need of cash, sold it to a California collector. Tony, hell-bent on a perfect restoration, tracked down the original and spared no expense to bring it back. He found an automatic musical instrument restorer in Baltimore who admitted that his love of player organs came from a visit to Zaharakos in his teens. The restored organ sounds like an entire orchestra in a box and is probably just as loud. If you want to be transported back to the glory days of ice cream parlors just ask manager Gary to crank it up for you. You’ll probably hear the Zaharakos theme song, Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer,” though Tony personally changes the reels every few days from his collection of over 200.
The Smithsonian Institution should honor Tony Moravec for his role in preserving this piece of long-gone history. His commitment to the culture of ice cream parlors makes him a true American hero. “I don’t think he’ll get rich from it,” manager Gary mused and he’s probably right. But we are all richer for Tony’s service to America.
12
IOWA
HAMBURG INN NO. 2
214 NORTH LINN ST | IOWA CITY, IA 52245
319-337-5512 | WWW.HAMBURGINN.COM
OPEN DAILY 6:30 AM–11 PM
Chances are that if you’ve been to Iowa City you’ve been to the Hamburg Inn. Since 1948 this hamburger destination has been serving fresh-ground burgers to University of Iowa students and professors and faithful regulars, and more recently has become a sort of base camp for politicos rambling through town on the campaign trail. Everyone from local politicians to presidential hopefuls has made press stops at the Hamburg Inn. They are there to talk to the people and, naturally, be photographed enjoying America’s favorite food. But the burger at Hamburg is not just a photo-op prop, it’s the real deal and, thanks to second-generation owner Dave Panther, a high-quality one at that.
Dave inherited the Hamburg Inn No. 2 from his father, Fritz Panther. Fritz’s older brother Joe opened Hamburg Inn No. 1 in the mid-1930s, a small, classic ten-stool hamburger stand featuring burgers for a nickel. In 1948, Fritz and another brother, Adrian, bought a defunct restaurant (the current location) and called it Hamburg Inn No. 2. At one point there was a No. 3 in Cedar Rapids but today both No.1 and No. 3 are long gone. Only No. 2 remains.
Dave, who moonlights as a professional clown, started working for his parents at the restaurant at age thirteen, peeling potatoes. After a stint in the U.S. Air Force, Dave started working full time at the Hamburg Inn and in 1979 assumed ownership.
Since the beginning, chuck steaks have been ground daily on premises. A six-ounce ice cream scoop is used to measure the balls of ground beef. The balls of meat are pressed on the griddle and assume a somewhat uneven beauty. Fritz bought a patty maker back in the 1950s but returned it after three days, fully dissatisfied with the results. “He said the patty maker changed the complexion and nature of the whole product,” Dave remembered. Five decades later not a single preformed patty has ever graced the griddle at the Hamburg Inn.
The burgers are served on large, toasted, cornmeal-dusted kaiser rolls. Five different types of cheese are available, as are an abundance of toppings ranging from the standard tomato and lettuce to the slightly bizarre pineapple. Honestly, don’t be blinded by the options—this burger, made from choice beef, is so fresh it’d be a shame to cover it with anything other than a bun.
The menu at the Hamburg Inn is enormous, offering every type of comfort food imaginable. Dave gradually expanded the menu over the decades and was responsible for adding a favorite breakfast item, the omelet. The burger takes center stage for lunch and dinner but it’s the omelet, served in unlimited combinations, that captivates the morning crowd. “We have a guy that comes in and orders a cream cheese, black olive, and raisin omelet,” Dave told me. “That’s about the weirdest combination we’ve made.” One of the restaurant’s most popular omelets contains, not surprisingly, a healthy dose of the Hamburg Inn’s ground beef. It’s called the “Zadar” and is named after a local movie that was filmed at the restaurant. With ground beef and American cheese, it’s basically a hamburger omelet. A great idea and probably the only one of its kind in America.
While campaigning for the presidency, Obama stopped in but got an omelet to go (apparently it was early in the morning). The walls of the Hamburg Inn are covered with vintage photos and one wall is dedicated to American politics. There’s even a plaque over table #6 that trumpets a visit by former president Ronald Reagan. President Clinton visited as well, but has not been honored with a plaque (yet). I asked Dave where Clinton sat on his visit to the Hamburg Inn and he told me, “Just to the left of Reagan’s table.” The political humor was not lost on me.
THE IRISH SHANTI
17455 GUNDER RD | ELGIN, IA 52141
563-864-9289 | WWW.THEGUNDERBURGER.COM
MON–SAT 10 AM–10 PM | SUN 10 AM–7 PM
If you find yourself eating a burger at the Irish Shanti, deep in the rolling farmland of northeast Iowa, it’s because you made a point of being there. “People come here to eat the burger,” son of the Shanti’s owner Hans Walsh told me, “or they are lost.” The town of Gunder, Iowa is barely on the map and the Irish Shanti, across from a defunct gas station, is the only business in town. Though remote, this destination restaurant manages to fill the dining room on most nights and suggests reservations on weekends. “People will drive for several hours to come here to eat,” Hans told me. Many of them are in search of a menu item that has made this corner of Iowa famous—the “Gunderburger.”
The Irish Shanti has only been around in name since the mid-seventies but the building itself dates to 1929 when it opened as a grocery store. The restaurant has changed hands many times over the years and at one point the tiny town of Gunder was in danger of being literally wiped off the map. The unincorporated town, with a population barely in the double digits, was rescued by a grill cook at the Irish Shanti named LaVonne Christianson. In 1985, she had an idea to concoct a colossal burger for all to see and name it after the town. The plan worked and today Gunder remains on the map, and the enormous Gunderburger remains on the menu.
Hans, the chef at the Irish Shanti, explained, “We weigh out a 20-ounce ball of fresh ground beef that cooks down to around 16 ounces.” A very large wad of beef is slapped on the flattop and pressed into a patty by hand. Hans sprinkles a bit of a “secret fairy dust” on the patty then drops a bacon weight on it. The burger cooks slowly over low heat on a griddle that has an excellent, dark patina. “We don’t aggressively clean it,” Hans said of the griddle.
If you order a Loaded Gunderburger get ready to flex those jaw muscles. To the one-pound cheeseburger Hans adds lettuce, tomato, bacon, sautéed onions, and grilled mushrooms and he is not stingy. After construction, this burger weighs in at around one-and-a-half pounds.
The appearance of the Loaded Gunderburger is part of its shock value. To say that the bun is disproportionate to the patty is an understatement. Hans purposely uses a standard-sized bun that does not stand a chance in holding back the burger’s contents. The patty and piles of condiments protrude cartoonishly from under the bun leaving the uninitiated with a challenge. I actually tried to heft the beast to my face only to find that the bottom half of the bun had virtually vanished into the copious juices. I ate the burger gripping the patty but eventually had to use a fork because stuff was falling everywhere. “The strategy I tell people is to go around the outside of the bun with a fork first,” Hans told me. The Gunderburger was a mess but well worth it. You’ll need a hose-down after this one.
Kevin moved from his native Boston and left his job as a registered nurse to buy the restaurant in 2005 with his wife, Elsie. One of the first major changes he made was to add a sizeable kitchen. “It used to be here,” Kevin explained with his arms outstretched at the end of the bar. Kevin is Irish and this probably explains the proudly displayed Irish flag in the center of the dining room and the Guinness on tap.
Start your meal with a retro appetizer, the relish tray. It’s a sort of midwestern version of the antipasto plate featuring ham salad, diced cheese, olives, carrots, and crackers. The Irish Shanti also serves fried cheese curds, one of my absolute favorite guilty pleasures available in this part of the country. Everything at the Shanti is made fresh in-house and most of the produce during the warmer months comes from their garden.
So if you are rambling around northeast Iowa in search of nourishment seek out the Irish Shanti. Indulge in a few pints of Guinness, meet some great people, and eat the burger that saved a town.
PAUL’S TAVERN
176 LOCUST ST | DUBUQUE, IA 52001
563-556-9944 | MON–SAT 8 AM–2 AM
SUN 9 AM–2 AM
There was a time in American tavern culture when the drink reigned supreme. Certain bartenders probably noticed the need to serve a modicum of edible nourishment to keep their customers from leaving for meals and the bartop grill was born. The foodservice at Paul’s is a vestige of this tavern past that holds a tiny footprint behind the bar. Although small, the bar kitchen at Paul’s still cranks out amazing burgers to comfortably buzzed patrons.
I’ve heard people refer to Paul’s as a “dive,” and after my first visit I have to say that Paul’s is the cleanest dive I’ve ever set foot in. Somehow, this broken-in bar shows its age but maintains its gritty character without coming off as a dump. The place is filled with perfectly preserved vintage beer signs and the most amazing collection of taxidermy you’ll ever see while sipping a Miller High Life. The bears, bighorn sheep, deer, and alligators that line the walls were all hunted by former owner Paul Schollmeyer. The displays go beyond the traditional random, dusty deer head over the bar. The work that went into these displays is astounding and the taxidermist was clearly a master at the craft. Think Museum of Natural History in a bar setting. There are large, well-lit glass cases on either side of the bar and one that is actually mounted on the ceiling for effect. That case contains a massive polar bear, shot in 1966. Paul, who is now 83 and still visits the bar frequently, told me he bagged the polar bear years before restrictions were placed on hunting them. As I surveyed the impressive collection of mounted big game overhead Paul leaned and whispered to me, “I don’t mean to brag, but I can shoot.”
The centerpiece of the tiny kitchen area at the end of the long bar is an ancient Norge Broilator. The thick, black stove is one of the more unique cooking apparatuses I’ve seen for burger making and clearly the precursor to the salamander broiler found in many professional kitchens. The most obvious difference in the Broilator is that the burgers cook on a small, well-seasoned flattop that can’t be more than 2 feet wide and only 1 foot deep. Burgers are slapped onto the tiny flattop and the operator pulls on a bar that simultaneously closes the door and sends the burgers up and into the center of the stove. The burgers then cook from above by indirect flame as they sizzle on the griddle. Totally unique.
Though the cooking area inside the Broilator is limited, bar manager Dave explained, “It can cook eight at a time.” The burgers start as quarter-pound scooped balls of 90/10 fresh ground beef that are placed in a single patty press. “We use lean beef because anything too fatty and it’ll flare up and burn,” Dave told me. Soft white buns are warmed in a nearby toaster-oven and the burgers are served on tiny paper plates with pickles and a slice of raw onion. When I inquired about additional condiments Dave responded gruffly, “No lettuce, tomato, or any of that stuff.” The burger at Paul’s is simplicity personified.
Today the tavern is owned by a former manager from McDonald’s, Tom Koch, a friend of Paul’s who purchased the place in 1991. Paul actually approached Tom and asked him to take the reins, probably so that his big game collection would remain intact. “Everybody loves this place,” Tom told me. “I told Paul I’d try it for a year and [20 years later] I’m still here.” Tom’s brother, Dave, helps manage the tavern and his daughter, Amber, bartends and makes burgers. I believe the future of Paul’s is secure.
As we polished off our fourth or fifth beers and finished our burgers, my wife, Casey, (the former vegetarian), surrounded by the taxidermy said, “Every bar in New York City wishes they were this cool.” It’s true. Paul’s Tavern is the real deal. Everything else is just trying to be Paul’s.
TAYLOR’S MAID-RITE
106 SOUTH 3RD AVE | MARSHALLTOWN, IA 50158
641-753-9684 | WWW.MAIDRITE.COM
MON–SAT 8 AM–10 PM | SUN 10 AM–10 PM
Taylor’s does not serve hamburgers. Taylor’s serves a “loosemeats sandwich.” For those not familiar with the popular Iowa hamburger-influenced sandwich, a loosemeats, or Maid-Rite (and sometimes referred to as a “tavern”), is basically a deconstructed hamburger, or a Sloppy Joe without the slop. The recipe is simple: fresh ground-on-premises beef is steamed and crumbled in a cast-iron cooker. Nothing is added but salt. Upon getting an order, a member of the extended Taylor family or longtime employee grabs a bun that has been “doped” with pickle and mustard, and with the other hand scoops up an impossible amount of the pebbly, moist meat. That’s it, and there’s nothing else on the menu but shakes, ice cream, pie, and soft drinks, and they have been doing it this way since 1928. The order is wrapped up even if you are eating at the counter. “Wrapping makes the bun soft,” Zac told me. Zac is a fifth-generation Taylor proving that Taylor’s is clearly a family-run business.
Cliff Taylor purchased the franchise for the third Maid-Rite in Iowa for $300 and called it Taylor’s. His son, Don Taylor, took over the business in 1944. In 1958, Taylor’s moved across the street into a new modern building, its current location. Cliff Taylor’s granddaughter, Sandy, remembers the move well. “We moved the entire contents of the restaurant overnight making trips back and forth across the street. I remember helping to carry the plates.” One element of the move that didn’t work out so well was the new steam cooker. “My dad thought the meat just didn’t taste right so he brought the cooker over from the old place,” Sandy told me. “This could be the same cooker from 1928,” Sandy said, pointing to the strange stainless cabinet with the deep, cast-iron trough.
Taylor’s is a bright, clean, friendly place with floor-to-ceiling windows in the front of the restaurant. A large horseshoe counter surrounds a short-order kitchen that offers amazing views of your food being prepared. One wall of the restaurant is covered with enormous world and U.S. maps with the phrase above, “Go ’round the world, but come back again.”
Unlike other Maid-Rites in the well-known Midwestern franchise, Taylor’s has kept things simple. The other Maid-Rites offer everything from roasted chicken and corn dogs to tacos. At Taylor’s, a loosemeats sandwich has always been the solitary sandwich on the short menu.
The loosemeats sandwich may be some of the fastest food you’ll ever come across because the meat is already cooked and warm. An order can arrive at your spot at the counter in under a minute. Unwrap and sink your teeth into one of the softest, tastiest sandwiches around and you’ll start wondering why the rest of the country has not caught on yet.
One time when I visited the Central Iowa eatery there was a debate going on about the proposed introduction of ketchup, not to the sandwich, but to the counter. The sign out front announced STOP IN VOTE YES OR NO FOR KETCHUP. The votes were tallied, and in August 2006, ketchup was introduced to the counter, 77 years after opening day.
Sandy retired from a job as a schoolteacher in North Dakota only to return home and find herself drawn to Taylor’s. Her son, Don Taylor Short, was looking to move on after 20 years managing the popular loosemeats institution and Sandy agreed to jump in. “This is my retirement!” she told me laughing. She’s there every day and makes a point to warn customers about the pitfalls of the metal cup that holds your “extra” milkshake. “You need to stir it before you pour it,” she reminds me. “Someone dumps their shake on the counter everyday.”
RECIPE FROM THE HAMBURGER AMERICA TEST KITCHENTHE BEER MAID-RITE SANDWICH
This is an interpretation of the Iowa classic loosemeats sandwich. At Taylor’s Maid-Rite in Marshalltown, there are no secrets and their recipe is simple. They grind meat at the restaurant, add salt, and use a cast-iron steam cooker that has been in use for almost 80 years. MAKES 5 OR 6 SANDWICHES1 pound fresh ground 80/20 chuck
5 pinches salt (to taste)
1 cup beer
3 squirts (teaspoons) yellow mustard
6 white squishy buns
Pickle slices
Chopped onion
More yellow mustardPlace a heavy cast-iron skillet over medium heat to warm for five minutes. Turn heat to medium high and crumble the beef into the skillet. Add salt. Using the blade end of the spatula, chop the beef as it cooks until it is pebbly. When the beef loses most of its pink, add the beer and turn the heat up to high. Add the mustard as the beer begins to bubble and stir to mix contents. Cook over high heat, stirring constantly, until most of the liquid has evaporated. Scoop onto buns that have been “doped” with onion, pickle, and more mustard. Enjoy with the remaining beer. 13
KANSAS
BOBO’S DRIVE IN
2300 SW 10TH AVE | TOPEKA, KS 66604
785-234-4511 | MON–SAT 11 AM–8 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
Bobo’s is one of only a handful of original drive-ins in America still using carhops. That’s right, the ones who come to your car, take your order, then come back with food and clip a tray onto your car door. Sonic may have capitalized on the modern version of the drive-in, but there’s still nothing like an original one-of-a-kind like Bobo’s.
At one point there were two Bobo’s Drive Ins in Topeka. The one remaining opened in 1953. The first location was opened just a few blocks away in 1948 by Orville and Louise Bobo. “Mrs. Bobo still comes in and buys pies two to three times a week,” Kim, a former carhop told me. Bobo’s is now owned by Richard Marsh who recently purchased the drive in from Bob Humes. He is only the third owner in the restaurant’s more than six decades in operation. Richard bought Bobo’s and all of the secret recipes in 2007 and kept everything pretty much the same.
Bobo’s plays the part of the mid-century American road icon with a neon tower shooting out of its roof and a large arrow pointing the way. There are twelve stalls for cars and two carhops during the day running orders and food back and forth from the kitchen to waiting drivers. You can see why so many fast-food restaurants moved to the economical drive-thru; the drive-in is without question a lot more work.
The burgers at Bobo’s are excellent. They start as fresh ground 85 percent lean one-eight-hounce patties and are cooked on a superhot flattop griddle, pressed flat. “You don’t always get a perfect circle,” grill cook Robert admitted. The thin patty is sprinkled with salt and pepper, then griddled until crunchy on the outside but perfectly moist inside.
A strange burger creation proprietary to Bobo’s competes equally with their flavorful double cheeseburger—the “Spanish Burger.” What’s on the Spanish? “Spanish sauce,” Jonette told me bluntly. Turns out, the Spanish sauce is a tangy, sweet tomato sauce. Just then, someone sat down and ordered one. “You see? We sell as many of them as cheeseburgers.”
Not to be missed are the onion rings. I mean it when I say that these were probably the best I’ve ever eaten. I still think about that inviting pile of not-too-greasy gnarled, deep-fried onions. I couldn’t stop eating them. Homemade root beer is also a draw.
Jonette knows just about everyone who drives up or walks in the door. “For a lot of people who pull in here,” Jonette said, “we can have their order on the grill before they even tell us.” Now there’s a perk that could lure you to Topeka.
COZY INN HAMBURGERS
108 NORTH 7TH ST | SALINA, KS 67401
785-825-2699 | WWW.COZYBURGER.COM
SUN 11 AM–8 PM | MON–SAT 10 AM–9 PM
The Cozy Inn is a classic well-preserved hamburger stand built in 1922 in Salina, Kansas. Not surprisingly, the Cozy, with its six white-painted steel stools and short counter, was modeled after the successful White Castle hamburger chain. In 1921, only one year earlier in nearby Wichita, a man named Walt Anderson had opened the first White Castle: it was to become the first hamburger chain in America. In the next few years the White Castle model, a clean, small stand serving wholesome burgers, would be copied by entrepreneurs all over the country. The secret ingredient to White Castle’s success was chopped onions that, when cooked with the burger, created an intoxicating smell that drew customers from near and far. Bob Kinkel, an amateur baseball player from Salina, liked what he saw (and smelled) and immediately opened the Cozy Inn.
On one of my visits to Cozy, a woman sitting at the counter named Phyllis told me, “My father built this place for Bob—$500 turnkey.” This would have been a bargain even by 1922 standards, with the possible exception that the place is incredibly small. It takes only a few people to fill up the low-ceilinged burger joint, so understandably, a line builds quickly outside at lunchtime.
To sit and watch the grillman at work is a treat. He stands in front of a smallish recessed griddle that has room for 60 of the aromatic sliders for which the Cozy has become famous. A steam cloud envelops his head as he flips row after row of the small onion-covered burgers. The cloud fills the tiny restaurant with an aroma so thick your eyes will tear and make your clothing smell for days. It’s an oniony goodness that once saturated thousands of burger stands just like the Cozy Inn from the 1920s to the 1950s. Today Cozy is one of only a handful of its kind still in operation.
So now you’re thinking, can I get a slider without onions? No. For over 80 years the same sliders have been sold at Cozy. If you don’t like onions, you won’t like their burgers. But if you do, you’ll be in heaven. A burger “all the way” comes with ketchup, mustard, pickle, and a pile of steam-cooked onions. Today you can choose any combination of these condiments, but in the old days you had no choice—a burger at the Cozy came “all the way” and that was that. And for all of these decades, cheese has never graced a burger at Cozy, so don’t even ask. “It’s amazing how many people come in here and ask for a cheeseburger,” former manager Nancy Durant once told me, “even though we have ‘no cheese’ signs everywhere.” No fries either. Grab a bag of chips at the counter.
The burgers are small, so order a bunch. A familiar call from a customer might be, “A sack and a pop, please,” which is local vernacular for, “six sliders and a soda to go.”
“We roll our own meat here,” Nancy said, referring to the one-ounce wads of fresh bull beef that make up a Cozy slider. The tiny stand will go through 500 pounds of onions and an incredible 1,000 pounds of meat a week. “On our 80th anniversary we sold 8,800 burgers in three days,” Nancy boasted. The buns, soft and pillowy, are made especially for the Cozy Inn and come all the way from Missouri.
For the first time in almost 90 years a second Cozy Inn location is opening. The lucky college town of Manhattan, Kansas will soon be able to indulge in a sack and and a pop.
On my first visit to the Cozy Inn, I was walking out, reeking of onions, and an older woman on her way in stopped me and excitedly asked, “Was it as good as you remembered?” Now that’s the kind of sentiment the Cozy deserves.
JACK’S NORTH HI CARRYOUT
603 WEST 13TH ST | WICHITA, KS 67203
316-264-2644 | MON–SAT 10 AM–7 PM
When I learned that Jack’s had sold I panicked. During research for this book I had visited the vintage 1950s Wichita burger joint, ate their double cheeseburger, and was thoroughly satisfied. I called to speak to Jack’s new owner Austin Herron just to find out how things were going and if he had planned to keep things the same. “Well, we opened today and just served my first customer,” he told me. I almost dropped the phone and said, “So why are you talking to me!” Austin had much more important things to do.
Austin, who is only 25, somehow possesses the notion that some old things are good things, a trait that few twentysomethings have. With the help of his grandmother he was able to buy Jack’s at auction. “She knows I’m a hard-working person and she liked my business plan.” Fortunately, the only changes he made were for the better.
Jack Robards opened the tiny burger stand in 1951 in an absolutely brilliant location—directly across the street from the enormous North Senior High School. For decades, students have made the short walk and lunched at Jack’s. After Jack, the burger joint was passed to Nola Behan, who ran Jack’s for over 30 years. In 2007 the restaurant had a catastrophic fire and closed its doors. A year later a man named Joe Moore, whose dream it was to own a vintage burger joint, bought the burned-out restaurant and put everything he had into its rebirth. When it opened in 2009 regulars were happy to see that Jack’s was back, but 7 months later Joe suffered a massive heart attack at the restaurant and died. Joe’s wife ran Jack’s in her husband’s absence but her heart was not in it. She put the restaurant up for sale and eventually, at auction, the young Austin became the owner.
Austin has actually made Jack’s better. He switched from using one-sixth-pound patties to quarter-pounders and got rid of the frozen fries. “We now have fresh-cut fries, no frozen,” he told me. The burgers are still made the way Jack did it 60 years ago. A flat patty of fresh ground chuck is slapped on the flattop and sprinkled with a handful of diced onion. The onion is pressed into the patty and cooks into the burger. Soft white buns are toasted on the griddle with butter and the burger is served with lettuce, pickle, ketchup, and mustard. Cheese, jalapeños, bacon, and chili are also available.
North High lets out for lunch around noon on weekdays and the Jack’s is instantly mobbed with students. “The people that live around here know not to come then,” Austin told me. “The old timers and regulars know to come after one o’clock.”
Seating at Jack’s is mostly limited to counters along the big picture windows that look out onto 13th Street and North High. In warmer months, take a seat at a picnic table outside. Also, check out the beautiful hand-painted menu board over the grill. Don’t get your hopes up, though. Twenty-five cent hamburgers are a thing of the past. The sign hails from the early days of the burger stand and depicts a mountain scene with teepees (North High’s teams are the Redskins).
I asked Austin why he bought an old burger joint and he told me, “It was something I had been looking for. I wanted to buy the burger place near my old high school but it was long gone.” Owning a Wichita tradition near a rival high school will have to do.
We owe thanks to Austin for having the foresight to own and operate a place with strong ties to the past. This is not an easy venture, but I’m glad he’s young and willing to take Jack’s into the future.
NUWAY CAFE
1416 WEST DOUGLAS AVE | WICHITA, KS 67203
316-267-1131 (4 OTHER LOCATIONS IN WICHITA)
WWW.NUWAYCAFE.COM
OPEN DAILY 10:30 AM–9 PM
When we rolled into Wichita looking for burgers I was shocked when we came across the NuWay Cafe. I know a lot about regional burgers in America and where these microcosms exist. I’m also pretty familiar at this point with how far certain burger trends have traveled, but most crazy ideas usually remain within the city limits. The Jucy Lucy has not gone much further than a handful of burger joints in Minneapolis, the steamed cheeseburg only exists in the geographic center of Connecticut, and as far as I know you can only find a Cuban Frita on Calle Ocho in Miami. So when expert burger taster Kris Brearton and I plopped down at the counter at NuWay, we found that the loosemeat phenomenon of Iowa may have found its way to Kansas.
Of course, the loosemeat sandwich is not really a hamburger. I put Taylor’s Maid-Rite in this book as a fine example of where to find the sandwich, a sort of deconstructed burger. All of the elements for a great burger are there—the soft white bun, fresh ground beef, pickles, mustard, and onion. But the beef, instead of being a patty, is crumbly and moist. It’s a sort of Sloppy Joe without the sloppy part and it’s heavenly.
At NuWay, they call them “Crumblies,” or the “Crumbly Sandwich.” The menu lists them as the “Original,” and I’ve also heard them referred to as simply “NuWays.” Whatever you decide to call them they come in various sizes and configurations at NuWay. The traditional size is the large, which is around a third of a pound of super-moist, crumbled meat that has been scooped by a spatula into a soft white bun and served with pickle, onion, and mustard. The amount of meat you’ll find in a NuWay varies but usually in your favor. “It’s a very unscientific method,” owner Neal Stong said of the amount that gets scooped into a NuWay. “We try to overserve rather than underserve.”
Neal did not open the first NuWay in Wichita but he is certainly the protector of this Wichita tradition. In 1930, Tom McEvoy opened the first NuWay on Douglas Avenue after leaving a partnership behind in Iowa of (you guessed it) a new concept called the Maid-Rite sandwich. In search of warmer weather he headed south and settled on Wichita. He found a potato patch to lease just east of downtown for 25 dollars a month and built the location that still exists today. McEvoy brought with him his patented cooker for making the crumbly beef sandwich and guarded the process. People would try to get a glimpse of the cooker in action and according to local legend McEvoy would chase them out of the restaurant.
The cooker is still out of view and the process of making the NuWay sandwich kept a secret. “We only use high quality USDA ground beef but we have a secret grind,” Neal told me. And unlike the chain of Maid-Rites in Iowa and beyond (with the exception of Taylor’s in Marshalltown) the meat is not spiced. As Neal put it, “Tender love and care is the only thing we add. People think we put something in there but we don’t.”
The NuWay is similar to the Maid-Rite sandwich but actually beefier and definitely moister. “The fat is where the flavor is,” Neal told me. Some call it sauce, some call it grease, but in reality, the NuWay is so good because some of the fat is not drained off when you get your sandwich. “You can ask for it ‘light,’” said Neal, but the sauce, soaked into the soft bun, is where the flavor is.
In the beginning, NuWay only served NuWays, malts, and root beer. Today the menu has expanded greatly, but the core menu is still available. A regular at the counter named Vicki told me, “I’ve been coming here for 40 years and back then there was only NuWays on the menu.” Everything is made fresh in the restaurant, including the popular garlic salad (which is basically coleslaw spiked with garlic) and the homemade root beer.
Neal became a partner in the business in 1981 with Gene Friedman after buying out McEvoy’s widow, and Neal has owned NuWay on his own since the late 1990s. Under their leadership four new locations have been opened around Wichita and the original location has been kept intact. “It’s an icon,” Neal told me. “I see it as a museum. Other than a coat of paint we’re not going to change a thing.”
14
LOUISIANA
BOZO’S
3117 21TH ST | METAIRIE, LA 70002
504-831-8666 | WWW.BOZOSRESTAURANT.COM
TUES–THU 11 AM–3 PM, 5 PM–9 PM
FRI–SAT 11 AM–3 PM, 5 PM–9:30 PM
CLOSED SUN & MON
Bozo’s is not the kind of place you’d expect to find a great burger. The restaurant is a destination for fresh oysters and excellent fried seafood and the burger is listed at the bottom of the menu. Southern food writer and friend, John T. Edge, led me to Bozo’s, calling their burger a “sleeper.” Nevertheless, Bozo’s has sold the same amazing hamburger po’boy (Louisiana vernacular for submarine or hero sandwich) for over 80 years.
Bozo’s sits in a fairly nondescript industrial neighborhood in Metairie, a half block from the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. The low wooden building is set back from the street with a large parking lot in front. If you didn’t know what you were looking, for you’d drive right past. No ostentatious signage or loud neon here—just a small stained-glass window with the name Bozo’s subtly printed on it. The dining room is pure function, clean and well lit with wood-grain Formica tables and sturdy industrial seating. The only real decoration is a floor-to-ceiling mural of two fishing boats near a dock. “Those were two of my dad’s boats,” former second-generation owner and septuagenarian chef Chris Vodanovich pointed out to me.
Yugoslavian immigrant Chris “Bozo” Vodanovich Sr. opened Bozo’s Oyster House on St. Ann Street in New Orleans in 1928. At one point, Bozo had a fleet of eight boats to service the needs of his restaurant. Fresh oysters, shrimp, and catfish were the reasons most locals patronized the tiny restaurant, but from the beginning, Bozo offered a hamburger po’boy as an alternative to seafood.
The burger at Bozo’s is a combination of over 80 years of experience, a proprietary mixture of meat and onions, and a twist on a regional specialty—the po’boy sandwich. Among those for whom the perfect po’boy is a passion, it is understood that the bread used is as important as what goes on it. Because of this Chris uses only the best—French bread from Leidenheimer Bakery, an institution in New Orleans for over 100 years.
I asked Chris how big the burger was and he didn’t know. “We just make them to fit the bread,” he told me, smiling. The bread is not small, making this hamburger po’boy a filling meal. The fresh ground beef has onions and “other spices” mixed in before being hand pattied and cooked on a flattop griddle. The combination of the perfectly cooked burger and the pillowy bread makes for a great regional hamburger experience.
Chris inherited Bozo’s and moved his father’s business out of downtown New Orleans to Metairie in 1979 because, as he put it, “the neighborhood was gettin’ rough.” The Metairie location was expanded to accommodate 120 diners in two dining rooms separated by a large bar.
Today, Bozo’s is owned and run by Mark and Susan Fayard, but Chris still comes in to visit. “He’s here at least three times a week,” Susan told me, and added with a laugh. “We can’t get rid of him!”
While I talked to Chris, every patron said “Thanks, Mr. Chris” as they paid their tabs and left. He speaks with a gentle Louisiana twang and has piercing blue eyes and wavy grey hair. I asked him “Why Bozo?” “In the old country, Bozo was the word for Christ,” he told me, “and my name is Chris.”
PORT OF CALL
838 ESPLANADE AVE | NEW ORLEANS, LA 70116
504-523-0120
WWW.PORTOFCALLNEWORLEANS.COM
SUN–THU 11 AM–MIDNIGHT | FRI & SAT 11 AM–1 AM
Port of Call is a bar and restaurant that sits on the far northeast end of the French Quarter in New Orleans. I say this because when people tell you this place is in the Quarter your thoughts first go to drunken tourists with their souvenir hurricane glasses, lame strip clubs, and big-ass beers. Not so here. Port of Call is on the other end of the quarter, in a quiet, beautiful neighborhood.
The building Port of Call calls home dates back to the turn of the century, where it started as a sailor bar. Over the years it went from grocery store to tavern and then opened as a steakhouse in 1962. Burger sales one day eclipsed the steak, and today Port of Call is the most popular (and best) burger destination in New Orleans.
The decor is comfortably nautical and has dark wood floors, wood walls, wood tables, and a wood bar. The entire ceiling is a web of sisal rope and the whole place feels like it might start rocking with the tide.
There are four burger choices—Hamburger, Cheeseburger, Mushroom Burger, and Mushroom Cheeseburger. It’s the Mushroom cheeseburger that keeps them coming back.
Port of Call grinds its own sirloin and forms burgers into eight-ounce patties. The burgers are char-grilled and served on a bun that seems too small for the amount of meat provided. In order to make the patty fit, the burger is a tall, inch-and-a-half-thick, perfectly cooked fist of meat. The cheese is shredded cheddar and the mushrooms are sautéed in wine, butter, and garlic and melt in your mouth. It looks like a mess when it arrives at your spot at the bar (or at one of the many tables in two dining rooms) but is actually easy to handle once you get going.
Port of Call was spared major damage during the devastating Hurricane Katrina in 2005. “The flooding stopped two blocks that way,” general manager of over thirty years Mike Mollere told me, pointing north. “We were extremely fortunate and had little damage. After the neighborhood opened back up, I just turned the key and we were open for business.” Mike followed his post-hurricane opening by serving first responders and the press.
I arrived at Port of Call just before opening, hoping to beat the crowds. No such luck. By the time the ancient, windowless wood doors were unlatched there were over 20 people waiting on the sidewalk to get their mushroom burger fix. “It’s like that every morning,” Mike said, shaking his head. I took a spot at the bar and watched as the restaurant filled almost to capacity with an additional 50 hungry tourists, locals, and construction workers. Within ten minutes the Port of Call was transformed from an empty, dark bar into a bustling, lively hot spot. Mike pointed out that they have the best jukebox in town. “Hey, where else can you hear Zappa on a jukebox?”
15
MAINE
HARMON’S LUNCH
144 GRAY RD | FALMOUTH, ME 04105
207-797-9857 | MON–FRI 10:30 AM–3 PM
SAT 11 AM–7 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
My first question for owner Pete Wormell was a dumb one—I asked, “Why Harmon’s Lunch?” Through a thick monotone Maine accent he told me, “We’re only open for lunch.” Even though this tiny burger spot in Maine is open for only four and a half hours a day, they still manage to sell over 80,000 burgers a year.
Amazingly, Pete knows exactly how many burgers he sells every year because he jots down the day’s total on a calendar. When I asked him why, he said, “I’m weird, I guess.” You can ask him how many he sold on any day in the last decade and he’ll be able to tell you. “Look,” he said, pointing to the calendar, “We only sold 144 that day because of snow.”
Pete and friend Cliff bought Harmon’s in 1995 from Marvin Harmon, who was looking for the right people to buy the place. “I blame him,” Pete said, pointing at Cliff, who was working the grill. Cliff had seen an ad in the paper that the restaurant was for sale. He has since sold his portion to Pete, who joked, “We’re still friends part-time.”
Marvin built the small wood-frame burger joint in 1960. Today, not much has changed, but Pete started an impressive collection of vintage Maine dairy bottles that line the walls. It’s a collection that is rooted in his family’s dairy past.
Both Pete and Cliff share time at the busy seasoned griddle cranking out excellent burgers. The menu is limited to burgers, hot dogs, and grilled cheese, but fresh-cut fries are also available. If you ask for milk, specify either “white” or “chocolate” or be pegged a tourist.
The burger at Harmon’s is small but tasty. Pete buys fresh ground beef and uses a patty former at the restaurant to make two-ounce patties. “We made them by hand for the first six months,” Cliff told me. “That was enough.”
A fully loaded burger comes with mustard, fried onions, and a signature sweet red relish. “Most people think it’s going to be hot because of its color,” Pete told me. A local bakery provides preservative-free buns that are steamed to limp. The bun creates an impossibly soft, warm pillow that cradles the perfectly cooked thin patty.
The wait at Harmon’s, especially on a Saturday, can be up to 45 minutes. “We get backed up,” Pete said, “but to have the quality you can’t do more.”
When Pete and Cliff first took the helm at Harmon’s, they decided to slightly alter the menu and offer a traditional Maine favorite—the lobster roll. The attempt backfired and the roll was pulled from the menu after only a few weeks. “This is a hamburger place,” Pete explained, and attributed the failure to the old adage “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
16
MASSACHUSETTS
MR. BARTLEY’S BURGER COTTAGE
1246 MASS AVE | CAMBRIDGE, MA 02138
617-354-6559 | WWW.MRBARTLEY.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–9 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Bill Bartley is an original. He stands at the griddle at his family’s Harvard Square eatery shouting things at me like “We’re the BEST!” and “This is the greatest burger ANYWHERE!” He’s smiling and extremely energetic and has the kind of cocksure confidence and running dialogue usually reserved for someone like Muhammed Ali in his prime. Fortunately, all of it is true—the burgers at Mr. Bartley’s are unbelievable.
“I’ve probably made over five million burgers in the last 30 years,” Bill told me as he shifted some thick patties on the 600-degree griddle, “All good ones too, all cooked to temp.” If you ask for medium-rare, that’s what you’ll get. Every burger goes out exactly the way Bill wants them to, which means perfect. If you ask for cheese it’s cooked separately from the burger. Where most chefs melt the cheese atop the burger as it nears completion, Bill cooks the perfect burger, tosses a thick slice of cheese directly on the griddle for a minute, then gently transfers it to the burger as it is dispatched to a table. As Bill eloquently explained, “The cheese is ambivalent to the temperature of the burger.”
Mr. Bartley’s is a busy place. Just across the street is Harvard University, so you can imagine the crowd. The restaurant feels like a big broken-in bar, yet no booze is served and the walls are covered with Red Sox stuff, political ephemera, and the types of posters a student might have in their dorm room. Many tables, including a long communal one, and green plastic chairs complete the scene.
The first time I visited, there was a line out the door at 2:30 p.m. on a Thursday. The man who started it all, Joe Bartley, was taking names outside, his wife, Joan, was managing the tables inside, and their son, Bill, was at the grill cranking out perfect burgers. “You don’t have a line outside because you’re slow,” Bill explained, “you have a line because you’re GOOD.” The turnover is quick and the service lightning fast.
The burger selection is enormous. With the same seven-ounce patty, Bill and his team can add any one of the over forty dressing concoctions on the menu. Everything you can imagine on a burger is available here, from feta cheese to baked beans, but the big seller is the Viagra Burger. The Viagra is topped with creamy blue cheese and bacon, and the menu asks you to “rise to the occasion.” The reality is that these burgers need no condiments. They are that good and don’t even need a bun. Of course Bill put it best when he explained, “The bun is just the envelope for the good news that’s coming.”
Mr. Bartley’s burger starts as fresh-ground chuck that comes from a local butcher daily. A special patty former in the restaurant is designed not to compress the meat too much as it creates the fist-sized burgers. “We use an Acu-Pat,” Bill told me. “It’s made of stainless steel so it doesn’t use heat during patty forming like most. Heat is the worst thing for an uncooked burger.” On the intensely hot griddle the burgers are seared to almost a burn to seal in the juices.
Even though the burger selection is daunting, your toughest choice will be deciding what to drink. Mr. Bartley’s serves up some of the city’s greatest frappes (milkshakes) and an amazing raspberry lime rickey. My advice? Get both.
Joe Bartley ran a lunch counter seven days a week in the back of a pharmacy in Garden City, New York in the 1950s. “I was going to be a cop on Long Island, can you believe that?” He decided to move back to his native Boston one day and opened a grocery store in 1960 in Harvard Square. By 1962 he was making burgers because, as he told me, “When I started there wasn’t a good burger around.”
As I stood and watched Bill’s genius at work, I tried to figure out what made these burgers so special. Without missing a beat Bill offered this insight: “The person who has this skill level thinks they should be doing something better. Not me. I make the best burgers anywhere.”
WHITE HUT
280 MEMORIAL AVE | WEST SPRINGFIELD, MA 01089
413-736-9390 | WWW.WHITEHUT.COM
MON–WED 6:30 AM–6:30 PM
THU & FRI 6:30 AM–8:30 PM | SAT & SUN 8 AM–6 PM
White Hut is one of the few remaining “White” restaurants in America. During the 1920s and 1930s America was blanketed with ten-stool hamburger joints with names like: White Tower, White Diamond, White Clock, and the one that started it all—White Castle. Placing the word white in your name conveyed a sense of cleanliness, an important tenet in a time when hamburgers were considered dirty food for wage earners. By the 1930s in America, thanks to the tremendous success of White Castle, the word white also became synonymous with quality fast food.
And then along came White Hut. In the late 1930s, Hy Roberts opened a small three-stool hot dog shack on a busy corner in West Springfield, Massachusetts. A year after opening, Edward Barkett was asked by Roberts to run the stand for a few weeks. Barkett liked what he saw and negotiated the purchase of the business for $300. He bought a plot of land across the street soon after and built a tiny 600-square-foot burger counter. That same burger counter, over 60 years later, serves a thousand burgers a day and is still run by the third generation of the Barkett family.
The interior of White Hut is a classic burger counter with 12 vintage stools facing a large flattop griddle, bare white walls, and a long counter supported by a wall of glass block. The floors are sprinkled with a generous amount of sawdust, giving the place an old-time meat market feel. “That’s so people don’t slip—this floor can get slippery,” manager Kathy told me. The place was built during the Depression, at a time when most building materials were scarce. “The White Hut was built with black-market lumber,” current owner and grandson EJ Barkett pointed out. “Nothing else was available during the war.” His grandfather was also forced to use the only flooring available, a slick beige terrazzo. Booths lined the back wall of the restaurant for the first few months, but were removed when Barkett noticed that people tended to hang around in them too long. “My grandfather needed the turnover and replaced the booths with a large table to stand around.”
Don’t look for a menu—there is none. White Hut offers only three things: hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and hot dogs. And, as of only a few years ago, fries. If you love onions, you’ll love the burgers at White Hut. Every morning a large pile of chopped Spanish onions is placed on the griddle. The onions cook slowly until they are translucent and limp, then hearty amounts are spooned onto the burgers. “We go through about 250 pounds of onions a day,” counterperson Roberta told me. Roberta is actually owner EJ Barkett’s mother and a fount of White Hut lore. White Hut receives an order of fresh, thin, two-ounce patties every morning made of a special blend they have been using for years. “There’s less fat so there is less shrinkage,” Roberta pointed out.
The daily lunch crowd is large and the method for ordering a burger at peak times requires well-tuned survival instincts. Order your burgers when a counterperson makes eye contact with you. Roberta told me, “People will stand four and five deep at the counter at lunchtime.” Nothing is written down and somehow everyone’s order is produced perfectly. Regardless of the hungry mob and apparent lack of order, the average dining experience at White Hut lasts only 15 minutes. A unique rule, imposed at the counter, may help. “No newspapers between 12 and 2,” Kathy told me, “because they are not paying attention.”
White Hut is a family place, run by family and visited by families. A regular named Michael, in a suit, standing and eating a quick lunch told me, “I bring my kids here just like my dad brought me here years ago.” “We’ve had four generations sitting at the counter at the same time,” EJ told me, “I love to see that.” For many in this part of Western Massachusetts, White Hut is an enduring tradition that shows no sign of fading any time soon.
17
MICHIGAN
HUNTER HOUSE HAMBURGERS
35075 WOODWARD AVE
BIRMINGHAM, MI, 48009 | 248-568-9911
WWW.HUNTERHOUSEHAMBURGERS.COM
MON-WED 8 AM–10 PM | THU 8 AM–12 AM
FRI & SAT 8 AM–3 AM | SUN 11 AM–9 PM
Hunter House is not a roadside burger joint or a fading relic of the past. It is a thriving 60-year-old diner in a Detroit suburb that probably looks the same as it did on opening day in 1952. What’s more, in keeping with its status as a surviving, historically accurate mid-century burger joint, Hunter House is located on Woodward Avenue, the first paved road in America. In 1904, when Detroit became the center of automobile production in America (thanks to the Ford Motor Company), it was inevitable that paved roads would follow.
The interior of Hunter House looks impossibly clean for a diner this old. It’s clear from first glance that the stools, the long counter, the basket weave tile floor, and the enamel steel walls that this diner is no imitation. “Everything in here is original,” charming owner Susan Cobb told me with a smile. The line of refrigerators and vintage appliances behind the counter are eye candy for the lucky ones that grab a stool, though apparently repairs to these beauties is not easy. Susan told me, “Servicemen come in here [for repairs] and always start by saying ‘I’m not going to have parts for these.’” It’s not uncommon for Susan to have parts fabricated for ailing appliances in order to keep Hunter House original.
The hamburger is the main attraction on the limited menu at Hunter House. “When you come here you need to order the burger the way we’ve always made it,” Susan told me with a smile. The way they’ve always made the burgers is with paper-thin sliced Spanish onion cooked with the burger. If you don’t want onion, you have to ask for no onion, but the flavor profile of this burger is equally about the onions as it is the beef. Just about everyone orders theirs with onions and as the server’s T-shirts aptly explain, ONION BREATH IS BETTER THAN NO BREATH.
A flattop griddle sits at one end of the counter adjacent to a functioning carry-out walk-up window. The burgers start as 80/20 chuck that comes to the restaurant as fresh-ground beef formed into “pucks,” or tall patties. The puck is pressed thin into a patty on the griddle and covered with sliced onions. When the burger is flipped, the grillperson places both halves of the bun atop the patty (or patties if you are getting more than one) and with a squeeze bottle full of water sends a thin stream that encircles the patty. Not surprisingly this sends up an explosive vapor cloud. As grillman Bret explained to me, “We do that to steam the buns.” It looks like they also do it for fun. Who wouldn’t want to spray cold water on a hot griddle and see what happens? “It’s amazing,” Susan told me, “The buns poof right up.” The result is a bun-and-burger combo that arrives impossibly soft and tasty.
The double is the way to go because the single patty, weighing in at 3 ounces, is just a snack. There are crazy eating records on the wall that go beyond the standard notion of the number of burgers consumed. One note gives props to a guy that ate 6 quadruple burgers in 8 minutes, 10 seconds, and another exclaims that “The Blue Burke” once ate “7 hamburger patties in one bite!!!” Other accolades go to kids, one only 5 years old who polished off 4 cheeseburgers, fries, and an Orange Crush with his parents watching. “The people that compete are not what you’d think,” Susan told me. “They are smaller than me!”
On the third Saturday in August every year, Woodward Avenue is transformed into the world’s longest, largest classic auto show in the form of the Woodward Dream Cruise. Over 35,000 vintage cars and one million visitors descend to “cruise” a section of Woodward that extends from Detroit out to the suburbs. The event is crushing to the tiny hamburger icon so Susan shuts down the restaurant and sets up flattops outside in the parking lot to feed the masses. “We use the restaurant for the crew to take breaks,” Susan explained. During the Cruise, Hunter House has served up to 40,000 burgers to hungry car enthusiasts.
Susan’s parents, Al and Martha Cobb, bought the vintage burger joint when it came up for sale in 1982. They were the third owners and ran the place until 2005 when Al sold Hunter House to his daughter. Fortunately she hasn’t really changed a thing, with the exception of adding a catering trailer for parties. “It’s booked every weekend spring to fall,” Susan explained. I guess the trailer was a good idea.
Hunter House is a comfortable, pleasant place that serves high quality burgers. Go there to meet the ridiculously friendly staff and if you are lucky you’ll get the impossibly extroverted server Chelsea. The future of Hunter House is secure too. “We just had a family meeting and discussed the future,” Susan told me. “The kids never want to sell.”
KRAZY JIM’S BLIMPY BURGER
551 SOUTH DIVISION ST | ANN ARBOR, MI 48104
734-663-4590 | MON–SAT 11 AM–10 PM
SUN NOON–8 PM
A visit to Blimpy Burger can be a daunting but rewarding experience. Theatrically, the cooks behind the counter engage in a sort of Soup Nazi berating of customers who do not follow the cafeteria-style rules of ordering. “Just answer the questions I’m asking you,” grill cook Brian told a group of newcomers the first time I visited. In reality, the rules are there to help you, not scare you. They are there to allow the cooks to get your food to you fast, which is a good thing because you’ll need this burger in your mouth as soon as possible.
Blimpy Burger is on the edge of the University of Michigan campus, surrounded by student rental houses with mud lawns. For students, the positioning of this decades-old greasy spoon could not be better. The interior of Blimpy Burger is wholly utilitarian and the opposite of a comfy dive. A low drop ceiling and greenish fluorescent lighting give the place a construction trailer feel. A collection of vintage cast-iron swivel stools bolted to the floor serve most tables. The original owner, Krazy Jim Shafer, purchased the stools from a department store that had gone out of business in the 1950s for $1.75 apiece.
In 1953 Jim Shafer turned a corner grocery into a burger stand to sell cheap burgers to University of Michigan students. At his previous burger venture, shoehorned into an alley in downtown Ann Arbor, a friend at a neighboring business called Jim “crazy” for selling food for so cheap. The moniker stuck, as did the famous phrase that greets customers at Blimpy Burger: “Cheaper Than Food.” Current owner Richard Manger told me, “Back then it was cheaper to buy a 20-cent burger than to eat at home.”
Richard bought the restaurant in 1992 from Krazy Jim, who was already in retirement. Jim and Rich had a past together at that point—Rich had worked as a cook flipping burgers in the late’60s for Jim at Blimpy, had met his wife, Chris, there (also a student), and had designed the Blimpy logo that is still used today. It’s a drawing of a seated, chubby bear smiling and hoisting a burger. “Jim wanted me to draw a cow. I told him ‘I don’t draw cows. I draw bears.’”
Richard’s menu design is an elaborate piece of R. Crumb-inspired line art that is suitable for framing. It lists a dizzying assortment of comfort foods and toppings for the burgers. Rich told me, “When Jim opened he only had burgers, American cheese, pie, and coffee.” Not so today. The selection of toppings and burger sizing is so vast it prompted a math student to deduce that there are more than 2,147,483,648 possible burger combinations.
The fresh chuck that is used for Blimpy burgers is ground daily in the back. When you ask for a burger, you tell the grill cook how many you’d like (up to five, a “quint”) and he’ll grab that number of one-and-a-half-ounce balls of beef. The balls are tossed onto the hot griddle and smashed together, creating a sloppy, misshaped, flat patty. The burgers are pressed and pressed until they can get no thinner, flipped, pressed some more, then tossed on a bun. You’d think these guys had pressed the life out of your burger, but relax; you are in good hands. The result is a glorious grease bomb—a pile of loose, griddled meat that is crunchy in parts and soft in others. The meat is so loose it’s practically pebbly. A grill cook once told me, “These things are held together by hope.”
The choice of roll for your burger, toasted on the griddle, includes pumpernickel, onion, or kaiser, the latter offered with or without sesame seeds because, as Rich explained matter-of-factly, “Some people have diverticulitis.” The onion roll is hands-down one of the best I have ever eaten, soft and tasty and able to soak up the copious amounts of grease a Blimpy burger produces. “Onion rolls most places suck,” Rich told me bluntly. “These really are great rolls.”
Following the rules for ordering is important. Start by grabbing a tray and getting in line. Everyone gets a tray because, as Rich pointed out, “It keeps the tables clean when we’re busy.” Then grab a drink and order your fried food of choice first. French fries and onion rings are offered, but skip the usual for excellent deep-fried vegetables like mushrooms and cauliflower. Next, order your burger, but hold your cheese selection until the end of the process. Follow the rules and be rewarded with one of the best burgers in America.
A group of healthy-looking sixty somethings were enjoying their burgers the last time I visited and told me, “This is where we celebrate our birthdays. We’ve been coming here for over 50 years.” When one of the grill guys, Skinny, heard that, he blurted out, “And they STILL don’t know how to order their burgers.”
MILLER’S BAR
23700 MICHIGAN AVE | DEARBORN, MI 48124
313-565-2577 | WWW.MILLERSBAR.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–12:30 AM | CLOSED SUNDAY
The first time I visited Miller’s it was in the middle of a torrential springtime downpour. It was 11:15 a.m. on a Wednesday, the bar was packed and everyone was eating hamburgers. Doesn’t that pretty much say it all?
Miller’s is on a commercial stretch, six lanes wide, in Dearborn, Michigan. Across the street from a large Ford dealership, the windowless bar is painted with a fresh coat of red paint and emblazoned with enormous white letters spelling out the name of this nearly 70-year-old institution. Despite the cool functionality of the exterior, the interior, with its original 1940s Brunswick bar of undulating high-gloss wood and booths made of supple deep-red leather, feels more like a long-lost private men’s club than the bunker that the outside evokes. The immaculate well-preserved dining room is dark and cozy and, according to part-owner Mark Miller, has not needed renovation since 1964.
There is no menu at Miller’s but the options are simple—burgers, fries, and onion rings are available, as are tuna, ham, and corned beef sandwiches and of course, drinks from the bar. The clientele is mostly local devotees and regulars from the nearby world headquarters of the Ford Motor Company. They come for the burgers and have been since 1941, when Mark’s uncle, George Miller, opened the bar. Today, thanks to topping many “Best-of” lists in America, Miller’s Bar sells over 1,200 burgers a day. Every one of those burgers is cooked on a griddle next to the bar that is no more than three feet square.
“Our butcher starts grinding beef for us at 4 a.m. everyday,” Mark told me. Mark owns the bar with his brother, Dennis, and the two are second-generation owners. The Miller’s father Russell bought the bar from his brother George in 1947.
The sprightly grill cook, Kim, who has been flipping burgers at Miller’s for over 20 years, is responsible for griddling the hundreds of perfect, award-winning burgers during the lunch rush. I overheard her take an order for a few burgers “well-done.” Well-done? “Oh gosh yes,” she sighed, “People don’t know how to order their burgers here.” Mark told me he won’t eat anything over a medium, and rightly so, because Miller’s meat is some of the freshest I’ve ever tasted.
The Millers have been using the same butcher for over 40 years. The bar used to get a 400-pound delivery daily of fresh ground beef that would have to be hand pattied by the kitchen staff. “It got to be too much,” Kim told me, so the butcher offered to start delivering preformed patties. Knowing that the Millers wouldn’t accept just any patty, he employs a special patty maker that injects a blast of air back into the beef. “It makes the patty looser,” Mark explained, “and it has an almost hand-pattied feel.”
The seven-ounce burger is served on a steamed white bun and delivered to you on a square of wax paper. Lettuce and tomato are not offered. Swiss or Velveeta are available, as are the standard condiments like ketchup, mustard, pickle, and sliced onion. But this burger needs no embellishment—so forgo the condiments. The meat is so good you could eat it plain. I asked what it was that made the burger taste so great and Mark told me, “It’s the meat. The meat is great. There are no seasonings and we have no secrets.”
The secret may be in longevity. The staff is great and many have been with Miller’s forever. The day-shift bartender, Jeff, has been pouring drinks for almost 30 years and a waitress named Linda has been delivering burgers at Miller’s since Nixon was in office. The secret may also be in the Miller brothers commitment to the family business. Every Sunday, when the bar is closed, Mark and Dennis take apart the entire kitchen and grill area for a thorough cleansing. Mark told me, “We completely disassemble the griddle, dishwasher . . . everything.” What did you do last Sunday?
MOTZ’S HAMBURGERS
7208 WEST FORT ST | DETROIT, MI 48209
313-843-9186 | MON–FRI 9 AM–6 PM
SAT 10 AM–5 PM
If I told you that when I first arrived at Motz’s Burgers I ran into the place with unbridled enthusiasm I’d be lying. On my first visit to the vintage burger joint that shared my name, needless to say, I was very nervous. What if the burgers were crap? What if this tiny ex-White Castle, nestled in an industrial wasteland on the outskirts of downtown Detroit, was a washed-up version of its former self? How would I explain that this perfect little burger joint was a bust?
The first five minutes inside Motz’s Burgers was a complete blur. I quickly spotted the griddle and a cook smashing balls of fresh meat, and noted the glorious smell of onions that filled the little diner. There were a few stools and a counter and people walking off with paper bags full of steaming sliders. The scene was right out of a Depression-era FSA black-and-white photo. I had stumbled into hamburger nirvana and I was beyond relieved.
Even though we share a name, the pronunciation differs. Originally, the restaurant was called “Motts Burgers,” named after the man that scooped up a handful of Detroit-area White Castles that were being sold to offset the financial strain of the Great Depression. Motts purchased a few in the ’30s and put family members in charge of each one. Robert Motts, the son of the original owner, decided to sell the West Fort Street location in 1996 to current owners Bob and Mary Milosavljeveski. Bob had just left his father’s 36-year-old local bakery and was searching for something new. Motts asked Bob to change the name since there was another Motts Burger still in operation down the street. Bob chose to replace the t’s with a z, thus making my visit to the place destiny.
Bob’s wife, Mary, makes change and takes orders at the counter while grill cook of 20 years Tammy (from the Motts days) flips burgers. At one point during my conversation with Bob, Tammy leaned over and audibly whispered to him, “Did you tell him the secret ingredient?” A pregnant pause followed and I was compelled to blurt out, “What is it?” “Love,” Tammy told me with a straight face. “Love is the secret ingredient. If you don’t love what you are doing, it ain’t gonna taste good.”
The burgers basically come in three sizes—a single, a double, and a “King Motz,” which is a triple. “Motts said ‘keep the burgers the same’ and he was right,” Bob told me at the counter during the busy lunch rush. The burgers at Motz’s are really oversized sliders but cooked the exact same way a place like White Castle would have done it over 80 years earlier. Bob picks up fresh ground beef for the restaurant every morning. A rolled ball of 88/12 chuck and rump round mixture is tossed on the flattop behind the counter and pressed flat with a spatula. A handful of thinly sliced Spanish onion is sprinkled on top that softens and intermingles with the patty once it’s flipped. The result is, well, the burger that I make at home—the purest form of the American hamburger that I know of. An original Motz Slider is served on white squishy bun with mustard, ketchup, and pickles and is very tasty. Although I prefer my burgers without ketchup, I gave in to tradition and was pleasantly surprised.
When Bob and Mary bought the place in 1996, it was a dilapidated relic. “The place was a dump,” Bob said with conviction and explained how he gave the interior a major facelift without destroying the integrity of the place. “We moved the griddle but kept it in sight.” Bob explained, “Places like this will never die out because you can see the cook, see the meat.”
The neighborhood surrounding Motz’s Burgers ain’t pretty. The only other visible sign of life is the enormous Detroit Produce Terminal directly across the street. Truckers and employees from the Terminal make up the bulk of business. “That’s the only reason we are surviving,” Bob told me. At one time in this neighborhood’s history, West Fort Street was lined with factories and bars and this burger joint probably fit in perfectly. The fact that this national treasure is still standing and serving great burgers is an absolute miracle. I wondered why Bob and Mary would take a chance in a neighborhood like this but I got my answer. “If it has survived 80 years, it’ll be around for a while.”
REDAMAK’S
616 EAST BUFFALO ST | NEW BUFFALO, MI 49117
269-469-4522 | WWW.REDAMAKS.COM
MON–SAT NOON–10:30 PM | SUN NOON–10 PM
CLOSED IN WINTER
Redamak’s is a burger destination. Vacationers come from miles around for a weekend at Lake Michigan and most visit Redamak’s for nourishment. George and Gladys Redamak opened a tiny mom-and-pop burger restaurant in the late 1940s. In 1975 the Maroney family bought the restaurant from Gladys, with the stipulation that they keep it the same. It didn’t really turn out that way, though—they actually made it better.
Redamak’s is enormous. Years of expansion and updating to the structure have created a profoundly successful restaurant that can comfortably seat 400. Crowd control is aided by two sets of double doors at the front—one marked ENTER, the other EXIT. If you have kids, you won’t be alone here—kids and families populate the place. There are two separate video arcades and a sizable kids’ menu. If you need a drink, there’s a bar right in the center of it all. And of course, if you need a burger, Redamak’s makes one of the best in the country.
The menu is round, the size of a large pizza, and has more text on it than the front page of the Chicago Tribune. You won’t believe the options you’ll have. Everything from corn dogs to clam strips is offered, along with seven different types of French fries. There’s even lake perch on Fridays. The endless selection of lakefront comfort food can’t disguise the fact that the burgers are the star attraction here. The menu proudly proclaims the Redamak’s burger is “The Burger That Made New Buffalo Famous.”
Fresh Iowa beef chuck steaks are ground in the kitchen for the six-ounce burgers at Redamak’s. Manager Matt told me, “They are grinding all of the time back there.” They have to keep grinding because the kitchen cranks out over 2,500 fresh patties a day. “We are going to break our record again this year,” Charles Maroney pointed out. In 2010 Redamak’s ground over 135,000 pounds of chuck steaks for burgers, which is amazing for a restaurant that’s only open eight months of the year. What’s even more baffling is the method by which this astounding number of burgers is cooked every day—each one is cooked in a pan by itself. This sounds impossible, but I saw it with my own eyes. There must have been five stovetops lined up, 30 burners in all. On each burner, a single skillet. In each pan, only a few burgers. “We do it that way to keep the juices with the burger,” Charles told me, “On a griddle, those juices dissipate.” Charles also pointed out that, along with their use of Velveeta cheese, the Maroney family is committed to doing things the way the Redamaks did for so many successful years.
Tomato and lettuce are not offered with a Redamak’s burger. “Redamak’s started as a tavern and there was no place for lettuce and tomato in bar food,” Charles told me. Again, a tradition the restaurant holds dear. A burger with everything comes with ketchup, mustard, pickles, a slice of raw onion, and melted Velveeta. Don’t panic. The oldest and most venerable burger destination in America, Louis’ Lunch of New Haven, also indulges in the yellow stuff. Besides, it tastes good.
Bring the family, bring your friends, bring everyone you know—Redamak’s can handle the crowds with ease. You’ll probably have to wait, so go to the video arcade or browse the merchandise at the front. It might be the only place in America where you can buy a souvenir yo-yo in the shape of a hamburger.
18
MINNESOTA
CONVENTION GRILL
3912 SUNNYSIDE RD | EDINA, MN 55424
952-920-6881 | MON–THU, SUN 11 AM–10 PM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–11 PM
There are times when a diner looks vintage inside and out but the menu and ownership fail to live up to its historical roots. The Convention Grill, a Twin Cities institution, looks the part as you first step in off the street, almost too much so. The original tiled floor, the red leather swivel stools, the off-white patina to the walls, and the griddle behind the counter all look too good to be true. The waitstaff, scurrying around in pressed white uniforms with white shoes, makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a period film from the ’30s. The good news is it’s not all show. The Convention Grill is a perfectly preserved time capsule from diner culture of the early twentieth century. The burgers at Convention Grill stand up to the image, and the whole package makes for a genuine, throwback hamburger experience.
The Convention Grill opened in 1934, built by a diner fabrication company that had planned to start a chain. When the company struggled, a Greek immigrant named Peter Santrizos took the Edina location off the company’s hands for paltry $75. Peter ran Convention Grill until Twin Cities restaurateur John Rimarcik came along in 1974 and bought the iconic burger counter from Peter. John, at the age of 34, already the owner of several area restaurants, saw amazing potential in the Convention. He also knew that by changing anything he would destroy the ethos of the place. John has worked in the restaurant business since he was 12 years old, loves hamburgers, and clearly also has a soft spot for the classic American diner.
The only major change visible at the 76-year-old diner is the expansion to the dining room. In the late ’80s, and again in the early ’90s, John purchased the neighboring beauty salon and barbershop, greatly increasing his seating capacity. The additions lack the genuine feel of the original section of the diner but most regulars don’t seem to care.
The burgers are cooked on a flattop in plain view of anyone seated at the curved counter. The Convention Grill uses fresh ground 80/20 Angus beef that is hand-pattied daily to around a quarter-pound. The burgers are basic because John believes that when you stray from the simplicity of an all-American burger you end up with, as he put it, “Something else.” Stick with the cheeseburger and you can’t go wrong. The Convention offers Swiss, American, Muenster, and an amazing smoky cheddar cheese and standard condiments like tomato, lettuce, and bacon.
There’s a very curious burger on the menu at the Convention that I had been warned about—the “Plazaburger,” served on a dark bun with a dollop of sour cream, chives, and chopped onions. In all my travels I had indeed come across the actual Plazaburger at the Plaza Tavern in Madison, Wisconsin, and right there on the menu, the Convention was giving credit to this University of Wisconsin staple. “It was suggested to me years ago by a regular named Dudley Riggs,” John explained. Dudley told John that he ought to have the burger on the menu. “It sounded despicable,” John told me, “but I put it on there out of respect for him and it became our biggest seller.” Years later, John went to the actual Plaza Tavern to try the burger that made it to his menu. “Theirs was the furthest thing from what had been described to me, and ours was better.” Thanks to a healthy dose of the telephone game the two burgers have very little in common. I know how tight-lipped Plaza Tavern owner Dean Hetue is about the recipe for his secret sauce and was actually happy to find that the code had not been cracked.
A large chunk of the menu at the Convention Grill is dedicated to ice cream and drinks. Indulge in a malted milk, the Convention’s vernacular for a milkshake. They come ridiculously thick and with the steel cup it was mixed in. Or get a phosphate, the old-time terminology for soda water with flavors mixed in. The Convention offers cherry and lime phosphates, and they are pleasantly refreshing.
We should all be glad a guy like John Rimarcik owns the Convention Grill. He told me, in complete seriousness, “I love hamburgers and we take pride in serving them here.” John explained that the name of the restaurant came from a “meeting place” or “a place for people to get together and have fun.” Considering the Convention Grill’s legacy its meaning is probably even deeper today.
GORDY’S HI-HAT
411 SUNNYSIDE DR | CLOQUET, MN 55720
218-879-6125 | WWW.GORDYS-HIHAT.COM
OPEN MID-MARCH TO MID-SEPTEMBER
OPEN DAILY 10 AM–8:30 PM
“We are the real deal drive-in,” Gordy’s owner Dan Lunquist said with confidence. “You won’t find burgers with fancy stuff on them here.” And you won’t, because nothing has changed since what Dan’s father Gordy refers to as the “good old days”—fifty-some years ago when the drive-in first opened. “Consistency is the key,” Dan told me, and he was serious. Pretty much, the burger you ate there years ago will be no different than the one you’ll get today.
Gordy and Marilyn
Gordy’s is a destination burger stand. “Forty percent of our business comes from people from Minneapolis stopping on the way to their lake cabins,” Dan explained. Gordy’s is just off I-35, the main artery connecting the Twin Cities to Duluth. “They get in a pattern of stopping here.” And they do. During the six warm months that Gordy’s is open, the restaurant will serve up to 2,000 burgers a day. That’s pretty impressive for a place that’s not in or near a major metropolis.
The most popular burger at Gordy’s is the double cheeseburger. Ask for everything, and you’ll get a burger with pickles, ketchup, mustard, and raw or grilled onion. Other condiments are available like tomato, bacon, and lettuce but you really need to follow history and appreciate the simplicity of this amazing burger. My wife, Casey, pointed out that she had never seen a better-constructed hamburger. Somehow this burger, even though it was soft, tasty, and loaded with cheese and more managed to not drip or fall apart before you finished. A perfect package of beefy goodness.
The fresh ground beef comes from a supplier in Minneapolis and is hand-pattied daily using an ice cream scoop for sizing. Dan told me that they wear out the flattop griddle every 7 years.
Today, Gordy’s is owned by Dan but his parents, both in their eighties, still come up from Florida to spend the summer working at the drive-in. When I was there (during a busy early dinner rush), Gordy was sweeping up with a broom and dustpan and Marilyn was at her post in the kitchen warming and prepping buns at a griddle. “I’ve been doing this 58 years,” Marilyn said with a smile as she gave multiple buns a squirt of ketchup without looking. “58 years!”
The kitchen is alive with energy and dozens of employees (a lot of them Lundquists). During a rush, the kitchen kicks into high gear, working like a well-oiled machine. Everyone has a task and repeats that task over and over again as the orders come pouring in. Marilyn is the point person, calling out orders from tickets as they are handed to her, all the while toasting and prepping buns. It’s truly mesmerizing.
Before there was the Hi-Hat, Gordy and Marilyn Lundquist opened the first A&W Root Beer stand in Minnesota in 1950, and after that the wildly popular London Inn of Duluth in 1955. In the ’40s Gordy did some research out in California and came across a little-known burger stand called McDonald’s Famous Hamburgers. He liked what he saw and immediately hatched a plan to replicate the stand in his home state of Minnesota. The London Inn became the spot to go in Duluth in the mid-fifties and Gordy told me, “It was a riot. I think we had every student from University of Minnesota–Duluth, every day!” Dan added, “My father used to always say, ‘If I had a nickel for every time someone burned rubber in the parking lot, I’d be a rich man.’” Gordy and Marilyn sold the London Inn in 1960 because, as Gordy put it, “Someone offered us too much money to stay.” They decided to move 20 miles west to the village of Cloquet to raise a family and set down permanent roots. Soon thereafter, Gordy’s was born.
Gordy’s has expanded many times over the years and started as a tiny box with a walk-up window to order from. Today, the kitchen area is still where it was half a century ago, but many rooms have been added, bringing the seating capacity to over 100 inside and out. The efficient ordering system and enormous staff is all geared toward getting you a hot hamburger as fast as possible. This is the unwavering, 50-year-old mission at Gordy’s. Dan left me with these words: “We don’t do anything magical. We just keep it simple and don’t screw it up.”
MATT’S BAR
3500 CEDAR AVE SOUTH | MINNEAPOLIS, MN 55407
612-722-7072 | WWW.MATTSBAR.COM
MON–WED 11 AM–MIDNIGHT
THU–SAT 11AM–1 AM | SUN NOON–MIDNIGHT
“We had a bad Sunday,” waitress Devon told me on my first visit. Before I realized what she was talking about, I assumed that things were slow at this South Minneapolis bar. Devon pointed out that the bad Sunday was attributed to the large number of “Jucy Lucys” that had exploded on the griddle that day. If one explodes, the grill cook starts over. There’s no way to mend a broken Lucy.
If you have no connection to or have never visited the Twin Cities then there’s a good chance you have never met the beloved Jucy Lucy. The famed burger concoction can be found all over Minneapolis, but the epicenter of the Jucy Lucy legacy is a small, friendly, stuck-in-a-time-warp bar on the south side of town. In 1954, then owner Matt cooked up the first Jucy Lucy for a customer sitting at the bar who asked for “something special.” The result was two fresh quarter-pound patties crimped together with a folded slice of American cheese hiding inside. What happened next was pure science.
Over 50 years have passed and the burger recipe remains unchanged. The burger is griddled and closely monitored (much like a science project), delicately flipped, then pinpricked to prevent it from exploding. As it nears doneness, it resembles a large clam wobbling on the griddle.
The delivery of the burger to your table always comes with a warning. Bartender of 18 years Margaret Lidstone said to me sternly, “You will burn your mouth off if you bite into it too soon. Let it sit.” The phrase FEAR THE CHEESE printed on the waitstaff’s shirts was warning enough. I tried to wait, but became a victim instantly. The molten goo was HOT, really hot, and kept the burger moist all the way through. Everyone who ordered the Jucy Lucy got the same stern speech. “I know,” a regular responded, “not my first time.” A woman sitting at the next table had no problem saying to me, “You’re doing it all wrong. Just nibble at it, take small bites while it cools down.”
The Jucy Lucy comes on waxed paper— no plate, no utensils. Onions, fried or raw, are optional and pickles are standard. No tomato, no lettuce. Coke? Sure, no ice. Diet Coke? No lemon. Matt’s is bare-bones dining at its very best.
The griddle is positioned behind the bar in full view. The grill cook told me, “We can sell up to 500 on a good day.” The staff, and whoever is available, spend hours a day pinching and stuffing Jucy Lucys. “It’s endless,” said Margaret, and opened a low bar fridge to reveal hundreds of prebuilt Jucys ready for their turn on the grill that day.
The only menu is the one on the wall behind the bar and it has not changed in over five decades (with the exception of the prices, of course). It’s on this menu that the “Jucy Lucy” is misspelled. “I think it was a mistake that just stuck,” Margaret told me.
Matt Bristol worked at the bar, then named Mr. Nibb’s, before purchasing the quiet corner tavern in 1954 and changing the name to his own. Scott Nelson bought the bar from Matt’s daughter in 1998 and changed nothing. Even the crazy ’50s wallpaper (which can be viewed on the tavern’s website) remains. “It’s quite tacky, actually,” Scott explained, “but people don’t want change.” In a time when so many restaurants, and even bars, all look the same from city to city because of franchising, Scott believes that there is a place for Matt’s. “Everything looks like a chain. We don’t.”
Matt’s commitment to hamburgers starts with a concept that has its roots in the 1950s, and the simple menu is a testament to the fact that great burgers are immune to fads. Scott said it best when he pointed out, “Burgers and fries don’t go out of style, and neither do we.”
THE 5-8 CLUB
5800 CEDAR AVE SOUTH
MINNEAPOLIS, MN 55417
612-823-5858 | WWW.5-8CLUB.COM
MON–WED 11AM–11 PM
THU–SUN 11 AM–12 AM
“5-8” was the address for this former speakeasy in south Minneapolis on the corner of 58th and Cedar Avenue. In 1928 when it opened illegally, it was a small stucco house out in the country where the owners had constructed a secret underground garage to make smuggling booze easier.
Today the 5-8 is a crossroads restaurant that is no longer rural. The dirt road that ran beside the building is now a highway, and the end of the runway for the Twin Cities airport is only half a mile away. It is not uncommon to get a close-up view of the belly of a Northwest jumbo jet as you walk from your car to the restaurant.
The 5-8 is home to the “Juicy Lucy,” the same cheese-stuffed burger concoction made famous by Matt’s just up Cedar Avenue, though Matt’s spells theirs “Jucy Lucy.” Regulars and waitstaff were reluctant to talk about the origins of south Minneapolis’ favorite burger. “Oh, I don’t know,” said one regular, “they both make pretty good Lucys.” The only person willing to talk was the kitchen manager at the time, coincidentally named Matt. He was still pretty vague saying, “It’s always been a thing between here and Matt’s on who invented it.”
Regardless, the 5-8 makes a great “upscale” Juicy Lucy, because there’s a twist to the recipe—you can order one stuffed with classic American cheese, Swiss, pepper Jack, or blue cheese. Matt told me, “People love them—we sell tons.” As a burger hits the grill, it is marked with a colored fuzzy-tipped sandwich toothpick to identify its corresponding molten cheese core. Yellow for Swiss, blue for blue cheese . . . you get the idea. Has Matt ever gotten them mixed up? “Never.” That’s pretty impressive for cranking out over 300 Juicy Lucys a day for the large sit-down lunch and dinner crowd. All of the Juicy Lucys are made from fresh-ground Angus chuck. Two large patties are pinched together and stuffed in-house daily. The buns seem too large to fit in your mouth but are superlight, locally made, and fresh.
In a nod to Matt’s Bar’s T-shirts (which ask you to “Fear the Cheese”) the 5-8 sells tees that ask you to “Free the Cheese.” It’s recommended that you wait to eat your burger after it shows up in the basket at your table. The hot cheese interior will burn your mouth if you are impatient. I made the mistake of cutting mine in half to let it cool; I was left with a cheese-goo mess.
Don’t do what I did and enter the 5-8 through the welcoming front door, complete with a lawn, low hedges, and a flag. True to its speakeasy heritage, the back door is the way to enter. And don’t be put off by its clinical looking rear entrance—behind the door is a comfortable dining room with a large outdoor patio.
The 5-8 may be known for its burgers but don’t miss out on its long list of comfort food like jojo potatoes, pork tenderloin sandwiches, and the Midwest’s own fried cheese curds. And if you order a drink with that, the 5-8 guarantees “free refills ‘till you float.” I don’t think this applies to beer, though.
19
MISSISSIPPI
BILL’S HAMBURGERS
310 NORTH MAIN ST | AMORY, MS 38821
662-256-2085 | SUN–FRI 7:30 AM–5:30 PM
SAT 7 AM–5 PM | BAR OPEN TILL MIDNIGHT
The drive to Amory is quintessential backcountry Deep South—miles of two-lane roads lined with cotton fields, cotton gins, and, when I visited, lots of loose cotton all over the road. Amory is a small town and Bill’s is a small restaurant at a spot where Main Street bends. Locals affectionately refer to this spot as “Vinegar Bend.”
Bill’s has twenty-three stools and about two tables, so chances are you’ll probably be sitting at the counter. Nothing fancy here—in keeping with tradition, burgers are still served at your spot at the counter on waxed paper.
Before it was Bill’s, it was Bob’s. In 1929 Bob Hill borrowed $48 from a local baker named James Toney to open a hamburger restaurant. A stipulation of the deal was that Bob had to buy all of his hamburger buns from Toney’s bakery.
One year after opening, Bob hired Bill Tubb to help slice and prep buns with the only two condiments available in the ’20s at Bob’s—mustard and onion. World War II meat rationing forced Bob’s to close, but after the war Bob reopened and later sold the business to Bill in 1955. Naturally, Bill changed the name to his own, then turned around and sold it in 1957 to another Bill, who then rehired Bill to work there. After a string of Bill’s relatives owned and operated the small burger stand, Bill’s was sold to the current owners, Reid and Janice Wilkerson.
“I grew up eating here. It was such a big part of my childhood. When it came up for sale, I had to buy it,” Reid told me as he emerged from the back room of the restaurant. He grinds fresh beef there every day for the burgers as it has been done since 1929. Another tradition Reid and Janice adhere to—mustard and onion only—also dates back to the beginning. “Not much has changed here, except that the burgers got bigger,” grill girl Amy told me. Toney’s bakery closed in 1970, which led Bill’s to start using standard four-inch buns. The new burger size was determined by the size of the buns.
The burgers start as quarter-pound balls of beef that are pressed onto a well-seasoned flattop griddle. The burgers at Bill’s are unbelievably tasty, beefy, and rich with grease flavor. The mustard, onion, beef, and bun combination is heaven. Cheese is unnecessary, though available, but tomato and lettuce are nowhere to be found. If you really need ketchup or mayo, Amy hides packets behind the counter. “They’re really only for takeout orders.”
Ever had a burger for breakfast? Bill’s opens at 7:30 most mornings and does not serve eggs or bacon. “We serve burgers all day. People do come in here first thing and order burgers, especially the third shift at the local factories,” Amy told me as I polished off my double.
On the front of the restaurant is a large painted portrait of the beloved former employee Junior Manasco, a gently disabled fixture at Bill’s for over 20 years starting in 1977. On a wall opposite the counter is a framed resolution from the State of Mississippi presented to Junior “for his service to his community.” Reid recalled, “He knew and greeted everyone that came in the door.”
As I was leaving an old-timer at the counter told me, “The first time I came here the burgers were 25 cents.” When I pressed for just how long ago that was he said, “A long time ago.”
PHILLIPS GROCERY
541 EAST VAN DORN AVE
HOLLY SPRINGS, MS 38634
662-252-4671 | MON–FRI 10 AM–4 PM
SAT 10 AM–6 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Downtown Holly Springs, Mississippi, looks like it may have looked 70 years ago. American flags and freshly painted turn-of-the-century storefronts line the streets. Phillip’s Grocery is not here though. Phillip’s is down the road by the train tracks across from a semi-restored 150-year-old ornate train depot, and the area looks a lot like William Eggleston’s photography of the South—gritty and real. I got lost trying to find this burger destination, and you will too.
Phillips serves one of the best burgers in America. Not just because I said so; their burgers have been the subject of many journalistic accolades, including being awarded, “Best Burger In America” twice by USA Today.
The restaurant was first established as Phillips Grocery in 1948 when the Phillips family bought an existing grocery that sold hamburgers. Current owner Larry Davis told me, “The burger’s been made here since the ’30s.” Mrs. Phillips had planned to do away with the burger when they bought the store, but changed her tune when she saw how many they were selling. “She put her kids through college with burger money.”
Their success is no accident. The secret lies in the mixture of ground beef and other “secret” ingredients. Adding breading to ground beef was popular in the South during the Depression, and I suspect the burger at Phillips may be a vestige of this lost art. I arrived at Phillips before it opened and interrupted Larry’s morning ritual of making the ground beef mixture for the day’s burgers. He actually disappeared behind a closed door and reappeared a few minutes later with rubber gloves and large stainless mixing bowls filled with ground beef. “It’s the same recipe since the ’30s,” Larry said of the secret recipe he purchased with the store in 1989. “I do this every day, sometimes 40 to 50 pounds on Saturdays.”
A burger at Phillips can be ordered as a single one-third pound patty, a double with two quarter-pound patties, or a deluxe half-pound patty. That sounds confusing, but not to the kitchen staff who electronically weigh and portion each ball of ground beef. The balls are pressed on a well-seasoned flattop griddle and served on white buns with only mustard, pickle, and onion. Mayo, ketchup, cheese, and bacon are offered (but unnecessary). The burger is so tasty as is you could eat it with only a bun and emerge contented.
Phillips no longer sells groceries. The business shifted in the ’50s when supermarkets killed the corner store. The décor is pure country store kitsch today—Coke advertising from every decade is represented, as well as old grocer’s scales, saws, and a vintage John Deere bicycle dangling from the ceiling.
You can sit at one of the random tables offered or find an old school desk to enjoy your burger and one of Larry’s homemade fried pies. Look out the window of this 120-year-old building toward the train crossing and savor the sounds of locomotive whistles and the clanking of the active Mississippi Central Railroad rumbling by.
20
MISSOURI
TOWN TOPIC
2021 BROADWAY ST | KANSAS CITY, MO 64108
816-842-2298 | OPEN DAILY, 24/7
Most people might drive by Town Topic and see a cute old hamburger stand, an icon of the past, or a relic in a rundown neighborhood. Not me. The people who know better see a vibrant keeper of the flame, a lesson to learn from, and a restaurant that knows its place in history. I couldn’t drive by anyhow. Every time I try, I need to stop for a burger.
There are three Town Topics left in Kansas City where there once were seven. Today, only the Broadway location, also known as #3, is open 24 hours. At one point all of the Town Topics were open 24/7, as were many other ten-stool mid-century hamburger joints across America.
When I approached the Town Topic for an interview for this book, I had already been there a few times. The night I chose to visit I hit the jackpot—Bonnie Gooch was at the grill. Bonnie should be defined as a hard-boiled sweetheart. She’s just what you’d want from a short-order lifer—a woman who takes no crap but takes care of the regulars. “See that guy down there?” she said to me, pointing down the counter to an older man. “He’s been like a daddy to me. I’ve known him since the day I started so I try to take care of him.” With that she slid an unordered slice of lettuce onto his burger and sent it off.
Bonnie started working at the little burger counter in 1965 when she was 13. For the next 23 years she worked the night shift alongside her husband Richard. When he passed away, she switched to the early evening shift. To date she has put in 40 years at the Town Topic. Needless to say, she knows how to make a great hamburger.
The burger at Town Topic is a classic thin patty. Small one-eighth-pound wads of fresh ground 80/20 beef are delivered to the restaurant daily. Bonnie presses the meat thin on the hot, well-seasoned griddle and drops a small handful of shredded onions on the patty. Not unlike the fried onion burgers of El Reno, Oklahoma, these onions are then pressed into the patty as it sizzles on the grill. The result is a tasty combination of griddled beef and caramelized onions.
“Ninety-nine percent order their burgers with onions,” Bonnie told me as she built my double cheeseburger, the most popular burger on the menu. It comes with pickles on a white squishy bun and resembles a burger Popeye’s Wimpy might have eaten—a classic American burger. Bonnie imparts to each burger a sort of nonchalant perfection that is reserved for those who have made short order burgers for decades.
Fortunately, those of us who understand the significance of a counter like Town Topic need not worry about its future. “The city tried to turn this place into a parking lot,” Bonnie’s counter partner Keisha told me, but a grandfather clause spared the restaurant based on its age. “Some people have been coming in here since they were kids,” Bonnie reflected during a lull at the grill. “They just love the place.”
WHEEL INN DRIVE-IN
2103 SOUTH LIMIT AVE | SEDALIA, MO 65301
660-826-5177 | OPEN DAILY 10 AM–10 PM
Just before the first edition of this book came out I received some really bad news. A friend had called to say that the 60-year-old burger icon Wheel In Drive-In was closing. The drive-in was featured in my film Hamburger America and seemed, at the time, to be invincible.
The vintage diner sat on the busiest corner in Sedalia, Missouri and expansion of the road was going to cut the parking lot in half. “They are putting in a turning lane that will come right up to the window,” former owner John Brandkamp told me. And as you can imagine, it’d be kinda hard to run a drive-in with no parking lot. John had the option to move and start over, but he opted to throw in the towel. With the closing of the restaurant, we all said good-bye to the famous peanut-butter-covered “Guberburger.”
But at the last moment someone stepped in to save the Wheel Inn. Longtime employee Judy Clark offered to move the business down the street and reopen in a defunct video store, and the plan worked. It took 2 months, but moving items piece by piece, Judy and her sisters managed to resurrect the Wheel Inn. The horseshoe counter and the stools made the trip, and even the big wooden wagon wheel that used to sit in the center of the drive-in made it. Judy literally saved the Wheel.
Judy started at the Wheel Inn when she was 14 years old. “I’ve worked here on and off all my life,” she told me. The Keuper family opened and ran the drive-in from 1947 until they leased the business to John Brandkamp in the 1980s. John had worked his way up from washing dishes and was at the Wheel Inn for an astounding 47 years. I guess we can’t really blame him for wanting to retire.
The key to the success of the Wheel Inn may be a burger that they’ve had on the menu forever. The Guberburger starts as a portioned wad of fresh-ground chuck that is scooped into balls daily. The beef balls are pressed thin on the flattop and when the patty is flipped a spoonful of warmed, creamy peanut butter is ladled on top. In theory it sounds disgusting but in reality the burger is perfect. The Wheel Inn offers lettuce, tomato, and mayo on a Guberburger but I like mine plain with extra “guber.” The peanut butter works so well with the burger grease that it actually adds to the complexity of the beefy profile. Think beef satay and you get the picture. Southeast Asian countries have been putting peanut butter on beef since the 1800s.
Carhop service is long gone at the new Wheel Inn but the place is a lot larger. “We have booths and tables now,” Judy told me. And the original rotating neon Wheel Inn sign is still showing people the way to Guberburgers, but at a location just down the road from where the old one was demolished. The new location is directly across the street from the Missouri State Fairgrounds, and the Wheel Inn stays busy all summer long. Judy was afraid that with the move they’d lose customers. “It’s actually better than we expected,” she says. “People have found us.”
Most of Judy’s sisters work with her at the Wheel Inn as they did at the old location. And the Guberburger is back and safe in the hands of a woman that cared enough to save this drive-in. You could say that it’s business as usual, except that Judy told me quietly, “They say ours are better.”
WINSTEAD’S
101 EMANUEL CLEAVER II BLVD
KANSAS CITY, MO 64112
816-753-2244 | WWW.WINSTEADSKC.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–8:30 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
In the hearts of many Kansas City natives Winstead’s is the only place in the world that serves great hamburgers. Even Kansas City’s own Calvin Trillin, food writer and journalist, once said jokingly about Winstead’s, “Anyone who doesn’t think his hometown has the best hamburger place in the world is a sissy.” More than three decades have passed since Trillin made that statement and almost nothing has changed—Winstead’s still serves one of the best burgers in America.
Gone are the carhops, replaced by a drive-thru in 1989. On my first visit to the vintage time-warp diner I was led to longtime employee Judy Eddingfield. Judy started working at Winstead’s when she was only 16 years old, over 45 years ago. “When I was just a kid my father would take me here for a strawberry shake and a single burger,” she told me. Over the decades her mother, brothers, sisters, and aunts would all work at Winstead’s in some capacity.
I asked Judy how she was on skates as a carhop and she quickly pointed out, “No, no. There were no skates back then. Winstead’s opened in 1940, which predates skates.” True, carhops on skates were a fad and gimmick for some drive-ins of the 1950s. Winstead’s maintained carhops for 50 years until the popular drive-thru was installed.
Today there are ten Winstead’s restaurants in the Kansas City area but the mini-chain was actually started in Springfield, Illinois by sisters Katherine and Nellie Winstead. Their first location in Kansas City, located adjacent to the Midwest shopping mecca Country Club Plaza, remains the flagship restaurant in the chain.
The physical structure of Winstead’s is a stunning, well-preserved example of mid-century restaurant architecture. The entire building is sheathed in pastel pink, and yellow, glazed enamel brick. The dining room is large and seats 280 comfortably. The wide, clean, open space is a sea of well-laid-out booths sitting beneath enormous hot pink neon-rimmed ceiling light fixtures. On one of my visits, an entire elementary school (close to 75 kids) had comfortably taken over the restaurant for an early lunch and there was still plenty of room for regulars.
The menu at Winstead’s is split—one half lists food items, the other shakes, malts, and drinks, reminding one and all that ice cream is just as important as burgers to drive-in clientele. Winstead’s has built its reputation on the “Steakburger,” which served with “everything” includes a toasted white bun, a fresh-ground two-ounce patty, pickles, a very large slice of onion, and a “secret sauce” that is really just a mixture of mustard and ketchup. Make it a double and add cheese and you have a meal.
Bobby Chumley spends his entire morning at a patty maker in the restaurant’s basement making hundreds of the day’s burger patties. I met him as he emerged at noon one day to be greeted with a high five from the manager. The burgers are smashed thin and cooked on a flattop griddle. The result is a moist, loose burger with a salty, crunchy exterior. Order a limeade and fries with your Steakburger to round out the perfect diner eating experience.
Winstead’s today does a brisk business and employs over eighty people at the Country Club Plaza location. Judy told me as I took a sip from my ice-cold Mr. Pibb, “There are still a handful of us that have been working here for over 30 years.” Now that’s commitment to making and serving great burgers.
21
MONTANA
MATT’S PLACE DRIVE-IN
2339 PLACER ST | BUTTE, MT 59701
406-782-8049 | TUE–SAT 11:30 AM–6:50 PM
Matt’s Place is a drive-in on the edge of the boom-bust Old West mining town of Butte, Montana. As you approach the hillside town on I-90, you’ll notice first the abandoned copper mining equipment and the brick buildings of a somewhat underpopulated downtown. The streets of Butte are lined with vintage neon signage that reflects its colorful past—Irish pubs and Chinese restaurants among many others that existed to entertain and feed the large number of immigrant mine workers.
Matt’s Place opened in 1930 during the peak of copper mining in Butte. Through it all, Matt’s has survived, so much so that it can proudly boast that it has a spot on the National Register of Historic Places. Recognized as historically important for its contribution to early American road culture, Matt’s also serves amazing, fresh-beef burgers and milkshakes made from homemade ice cream. I visited Matt’s for all of these reasons, but mostly to sample their fabled “Nutburger.”
Of the thousands of burgers I have eaten across America, few piqued my interest like the Nutburger. Maybe it was the remote, beautiful, Western locale, or the fact that Matt’s has been in existence for over 70 years, but it was the description of the Nutburger that had me planning a trip almost immediately.
In 1930, after a visit to Southern California, Matt Korn returned home and opened a small drive-up burger stand only a few feet from a busy railroad right-of-way. After a few years of hanging trays on car doors, Matt built a structure 25 feet away that would serve as a drive-in, a counter with 16 stools, and living quarters upstairs for him and his new wife, Betty. That structure still stands today, a vestige of car culture stuck in time that was placed on the National Register in 2002.
Today, nonagenarian Mabel Laurence, only the second owner in the burger counter’s long history, owns Matt’s. Mabel started at Matt’s in 1936 as a carhop, and in 1943 she and her husband bought the restaurant. Many people from “Mae’s” family have worked at the vintage burger counter and for the last 25 years Matt’s has been run by Laurence family member Brad Cockhill. Brad is proud of his family’s heritage and committed to quality burgers.
Matt’s is split in two; one half is a horseshoe counter, the other an efficient short-order kitchen. A server works the counter while Brad flips patties at the freestanding griddle in the kitchen. “This is the original cast-iron griddle from the 1930s,” Brad told me. “There’s nothing like cast-iron.” He’s right. Very few burger restaurants in America cook on vintage cast-iron because they are impossible to find.
The Nutburger
Brad uses an ice cream scoop to make balls out of the fresh, lean ground round. When I asked Brad about the size of the burgers, he shrugged and showed me the scoop. “They’re this big. We should probably have better portion control, but we don’t.” Brad believes the burgers are around a quarter pound each.
The most popular burger at Matt’s is the double cheeseburger deluxe, which comes with mustard, pickle, onion, lettuce, and tomato. But do yourself a favor and indulge in a Nutburger.
“We don’t really sell many Nutburgers anymore,” former employee Paula told me. “Maybe six a day?” Just then the phone rang and in came an order for two Nutburgers.
The counterperson spoons chopped salted peanuts from the sundae bar into a coffee mug and adds Miracle Whip. It’s that simple. The texture of the nuts and the creamy sweetness of the Miracle Whip synthesize perfectly with the salty, greasy meatiness of the burger. Standard condiments are available to dress up the Nutburger, but why mess with the simplicity? I understand if you are a little squeamish at the concept, but after your first bite, you’ll be a convert.
The interior of Matt’s is worth the price of admission alone. Grab a seat at the small horseshoe counter and take in the décor. You’ll be hard pressed to find a single fixture not dating back to the 1950s. Everything, from the knotty pine walls to the Coke dispenser, is original. Even the cash register dates back to simpler times—it only goes up to $5, so they have to ring up big orders $5 at a time.
A carhop at Matt’s will still take your order from your car if you drive up and toot your horn. “We’ll still go out and hang a tray on a window,” Brad told me as he dumped out a basket of fresh-cut fries. Imagine that. A functioning drive-in where you can pull up and order a fresh-beef Nutburger with a side of nostalgia. Can it get any better than that?
THE MISSOULA CLUB
139 WEST MAIN ST | MISSOULA, MT 59802
406-728-3740
OPEN DAILY 8 AM–2 AM (GRILL CLOSES AT 1AM)
The Missoula Club is not the only bar in town. In fact, there are more great bars and vintage neon signage in this western Montana town than I’ve ever seen in such close proximity to one another. Having 10,000 students at nearby University of Montana probably helps, but the Missoula Club is a local institution that has been serving beer and burgers to students and regulars, some believe, since 1903.
If you were expecting a cozy, dark pub, you’ll be shocked by the Missoula Club’s first impression. During the day, the “Mo Club” (as it’s affectionately known) looks like any well-worn watering hole, but at night the daylight seems to linger. Thanks to super-bright bluish overhead fluorescent lighting, the place is lit up like an operating room in the midst of triple bypass surgery. There’s no hiding at the Mo Club, and the lighting allows one to observe every detail of the bar. The lighting also seems to make patrons overly sociable, so expect to be involved in a random conversation with a stranger almost immediately. The first time I visited the famous burger and beer destination, I walked in with my friend Greg Ennis and we were greeted by a group of rugby players and a boisterous “Hello, LADIES!” It’s a rowdy, drinker’s bar that serves great burgers. You have been warned.
The burger at the Mo Club is legendary. “The hamburger is the best thing on the menu!” employee Jim Kelly told me. Of course the joke is that the hamburger is the only thing on the menu, aside from chips and milkshakes.
Tell the bartender what kind of burger you want. The choices are single, double, or the absurd triple known as the “Griz” (named after the University of Montana’s sports teams, the Grizzlies). American, Swiss, “white,” horseradish, and hot pepper cheeses are available and the burger is served with a slice of raw onion and a pickle. The preferred burger at the Mo Club is the double with hot pepper cheese, a tasty pepper jack that doesn’t really melt, but softens on the burger. Add some of the Mo Club’s signature hot mustard and you’ll be in burger heaven. As my friend Greg, a Montana native, squirted copious amounts of the fiery mustard onto his double cheeseburger, grillman Tyler warned, “Whoa, have you had this mustard before?” Greg just laughed and said, “Oh yeah, the hotter the better!”
Soft white buns are toasted on the tiny electric bar griddle alongside the burgers. I asked Tyler if the buns were buttered and he told me, “No, but the burger grease might work its way over there.”
The burgers at the Mo Club are hand-pattied from unmeasured scoops of ground beef. The beef comes in fresh daily from the same butcher they have been using forever. One time while I was at the Mo Club, a man rushed in and dropped two enormous white paper-wrapped wads of fresh meat on the bar right next to me. They had run low and needed to augment the meat supply before the night crowd showed up hungry.
“Our burgers are over a third of a pound each,” owner Mark Laslovich said of the large, juicy patties. Mark also revealed that the amazing tasting burger has chopped onions mixed into the raw meat before they are pattied. Mark has owned the century-old bar since 2000, but has worked there at some capacity for over 45 years. One of the recent changes Mark made at the Mo Club was installing a larger griddle. Well, not too much larger. “This one’s a burger wider than the old one,” Mark said of the tiny two-foot-wide griddle.
Expect to find all types enjoying burgers and beer at the Mo Club. “We get lawyers, doctors, bums, whatever,” Mark pointed out. There is an old-school sports bar feel to the place, but not the kind that hangs gaudy memorabilia on every usable inch of wall space. The Mo Club’s walls are blanketed with decades of UM team photos up to the high ceiling, as well as signed sports portraits of Missoula natives who went on to professional fame elsewhere in America.
As bars go, the Mo Club is a clean one. “It wasn’t always this clean,” Mark told me. “When I took over, this place was a mess.” I asked Mark why the lighting was more conducive to a well-lit truck stop than a cozy Irish pub and he explained, “People come in here and look for themselves in these team photos.” He and the other bartenders also believe it keeps people honest and the fights to a minimum. Mark told me that a group of women who frequent the bar once asked him to install a dimmer because they were getting older. His advice: “Have another beer.”
22
NEBRASKA
STELLA’S HAMBURGERS
106 GALVIN RD SOUTH | BELLEVUE, NE 68005
402-291-6088 | MON–SAT 11 AM–9 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
Stella’s is not a fancy place. If you are looking for tablecloths and silverware—go elsewhere. If you are in search of a burger fix and don’t mind eating off a napkin, you’ve come to the right place.
When I first found this burger outpost south of Omaha it was a ramshackle place on a hill surrounded by a dusty gravel parking lot. You could barely make out the name of the restaurant haphazardly spelled out in vinyl lettering on the front window. Today, the dirt lot is now paved and the entire restaurant has received a much needed facelift. In 2007 Stella’s son, Al, and his wife, Mary, sold the decades-old restaurant to cousin Stephanie Francois. The restaurant is now run by Stephanie with the help of her parents Gene and Pam Francois. Stella’s Hamburgers remains a family business after all these years.
Tiny Stella Francois Sullivan Tobler opened the sunroom at the front of her home to burger lovers in 1936. Within a few years, her home had morphed into a restaurant with a gas station and a general store. She purchased the bar next door and in 1949 purchased a plot of land a mile away and moved both the house and bar. The bar became the restaurant, and the house and sunroom went back to being a home, and since then nothing much has changed. Look for the portrait of Stella hanging near the bar with the inscription OUR FOUNDER.
The burgers have increased in size since Stella’s time from 5.2 to 6.5 ounces. Fresh ground beef is delivered to the restaurant, portioned, and made into patties daily. Frozen patties are not an option at Stella’s and as Gene pointed out, “We go through so much that it would be impossible for it not to be fresh.”
The burger at Stella’s is an explosion of grease and flavor. Stella’s granddaughter, Lisa, told me once, “You don’t come to Stella’s because you are watching what you are eating.” It’s served on an impossibly soft white pillow of a bun with lettuce, tomato, pickles, and a choice of either grilled or raw onion. Both top and bottom halves of the bun receive a generous layer of mayonnaise, and the burger is delivered no-nonsense on a paper napkin. Stella believed that good food didn’t need to be fancy.
The menu has changed slightly under the new ownership and a new burger “challenge” has been added called the “Stellanator.” If you can finish this 6-patty burger that stands over a foot tall, you’ll get your name on the “Wall of Fame” and eat for free. If you can’t finish, you’ll have to pay for your meal. “Over 40 have tried,” Gene told me, “but only 2 have finished it so far.
Stella’s son, Al, took over the restaurant in 1974, and Stella continued to come in daily. “She worked up to three days prior to her death,” Lisa told me. Al still comes into the restaurant just like Stella did in her retirement.
Stella’s today may look very different but rest assured the same cast-iron griddle and practices are in place. Gene put it best when he told me, “Stella made it simple to follow in her footsteps.”
23
NEW HAMPSHIRE
GILLEY’S PM LUNCH
175 FLEET ST | PORTSMOUTH, NH 03801
603-431-6343 | WWW.GILLEYSPMLUNCH.COM
TUE–SUN 11:30 AM–2:30 AM | MON 11:30 AM–6 PM
“You can always tell that it’s someone’s first time here when they pull the door like that,” short-order chef Bambi told me. I had trouble getting in the front door of this six-decade-old diner because the door is not normal. It slides open like a pocket door, revealing one of the most beautiful hidden gems in all of New England.
Gilley’s PM Lunch is an old Worcester diner. In the first half of the twentieth century, the Worcester Lunch Car Company of Worcester, Massachusetts, was the premier supplier of mobile lunch carts and prefabricated diners. Their distinct design set the precedent for all diners that followed in America.
Gilley’s is now permanently situated on a lot donated by the City of Portsmouth, but prior to 1973 the cart was towed out to the center of town and served food to late-night workers and other hungry people until the wee hours of the morning. There was a time in America, especially in New England, when carts like this were everywhere at night. Many of them were Worcester diners and very few exist today. Gilley’s is one of the last.
Though slightly modified, Gilley’s retains its barrel-shaped roof and enamel steel paneled interior, and its kitchen still occupies one narrow end of the car. It’s a true step back in time with its tiny griddle and eight stools lining the wood-framed windows. New owner (as of 1993) Stephen Kennedy told me, “I had to take two stools out because it gets pretty crowded in here from 11 p.m. to 2 a.m.” He says sometimes over 40 people are crammed into the tiny diner waiting for their hamburgers and hot dogs. During the late shift Gilley’s can move over 500 burgers.
“Isn’t that beautiful?” a customer said as he tilted his plate showing off his double cheeseburger. Both hamburgers and hot dogs are served at Gilley’s; the hot dogs preceded the burgers by more than sixty years. Starting in 1912, the first owners had a horse-drawn cart with wooden wheels that sold mostly hot dogs. Hamburgers were introduced in the 1970s, and share equal popularity today.
The burger to order at Gilley’s is a bacon double cheeseburger. Gilley’s uses only fresh-ground pattied chuck loin that is 85 to 88 percent lean. The patties are small, thin, and just under 3 ounces. Stephen pointed out that it was done that way traditionally for speed, adding, “A smaller burger cooks faster.” The white squishy bun is toasted and no lettuce or tomato is offered. The tiny fridge next to the minuscule two-foot-square griddle is really only big enough for the day’s hot dogs, hamburgers, and cheese.
In 1996 Stephen attached a construction trailer to the original lunch car to expand the kitchen. This allowed him to add a deep fryer and more refrigeration. Adding a barrel roof to one end of the trailer mimicked the original structure and preserved the integrity of the restaurant. The last truck to pull the mobile diner is still attached to one end of Gilley’s, as are the diner’s wheels, now covered by wood paneling.
“Portsmouth is the kind of place where things don’t change much,” cook Bambi mused as I ate my burger. That’s a good thing, especially when it involves a historically significant slice of Americana like Gilley’s. Thanks to people like Stephen Kennedy this tiny lunch cart may be around forever.
24
NEW JERSEY
HOLIDAY SNACK BAR
401 CENTRE ST | BEACH HAVEN, NJ 08008
609-492-4544 | WWW.HOLIDAYSNACKBAR.COM
OPEN MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND TO LABOR DAY
DAILY 11:30 AM–9 PM
The ocean is only three blocks from the Holiday Snack Bar and you can smell it in the salty air. But once you step inside the tiny, seasonal beach diner the smell shifts to burgers. If you arrive at the peak of summer, there’s a good chance that all of the stools at the counter will be taken. All of these customers, fresh from the beach, will be eating either burgers or one of the Holiday’s signature cakes or pies. High school-aged server Hunter told me, “At lunchtime in the summer this place is packed. There are people up against the wall waiting for a spot.” Most likely this is because the burgers are fresh and the bakery is on the premises.
A large, four-sided knotty pine counter takes up just about all of the real estate in the dining area of the Holiday. In the center, proudly displayed, are homemade pies and cakes that all counter patrons are forced to stare at, making a meal without a slice an impossibility. The kitchen adjacent to the dining area is where most of the menu is produced but in one corner of the dining room sits a tiny 2-foot-square flattop griddle. There’s even a stool at the counter that can’t be more than 3 feet from the griddle, a great front-row seat for the burger-obsessed. “In August the griddle is jammed,” owner Glenn Warfield told me. Glenn and his wife are only the third owners of this Jersey Shore landmark that was opened in 1948 by the Whiting family. Glenn bought the restaurant in the ’80s and with the purchase gained the Holiday’s famous recipes.
Glenn is adamant about preserving the history of the Holiday Snack Bar and is hesitant to change a single thing about the place. One curious phenomenon I noticed at the Holiday was a dual menu system. If you ask for a menu you are handed one whose contents, for the most part, date to 1948. It includes classics like onion rings and burgers but also a strange old-time favorite, the Tomato Aspic Salad. Glenn has added items to the menu but did not want to add them to the original so he posts these items on a separate menu on the counter. I asked him why he hasn’t merged the menus and he told me, “We don’t want to stir it up too much.”
The classic “Holiday Hamburger” is not the burger to order at the Holiday Snack Bar. Ask for that and you’ll end up with an unadorned three-ounce patty on a toasted white bun. Ask for the double cheeseburger and you are getting somewhere. The ratio of meat-to-cheese-to-bun for this burger is perfect. Be sure to add some house-made sweet pepper relish that sits on the counter in plastic tubs.
One item on Glenn’s separate menu sells as well as the burgers from the original menu—the “Slam Burger.” Lettuce, tomato, and a large onion ring are piled high on a single-patty cheeseburger. A homemade Russian dressing is added and the entire creation is held together with a large toothpick. As you can probably imagine, the additional ingredients dwarf the three-ounce patty so I would suggest a double Slam Burger.
The burgers at the Holiday are made from fresh ground 90/10 lean chuck steaks that are ground in the kitchen daily. After grinding, a team of two use an ancient manual patty press to make the burgers. It’s easy to assume that this contraption pre-dates the electric patty press. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. A large canister holds 15 pounds of ground beef that is extruded through a hole in the bottom. One person handcranks the press while the other slides a plate back and forth on the bottom that has a cutout the size of the patty, effectively “slicing” off a perfect patty every time. Glenn is clearly in the market for a new, fully automated patty, press but I don’t think he’ll be getting one anytime soon. He told me, “We’ve paid mechanics to fix it.” Glenn does not want to change a thing about the Holiday Snack Bar.
The Holiday is run almost entirely by high school and college kids and this is their summer job. When I asked Hunter if she sees orders for the Tomato Aspic Salad, she winced and said, “Never.” Then after a moment said, “The people who do order it go crazy for it. But most people come here for the burgers.”
ROSSI’S BAR & GRILL
501 MORRIS AVE | TRENTON, NJ 08611
609-394-9089 | WWW.ROSSIBURGER.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–2:30 PM, 5 PM–10 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
“Now we’ll see if he knows how to eat a Rossiburger!” Sharon Jemison, part owner and Rossi family member, was heckling me and warned, “If you cut it in half, you’re a wuss.” As I stared at the enormous, inch-thick burger, I did the smart thing—I put the knife down.
Most great burger joints have their share of multi-generational family pride, but few are as proud as Rossi’s. Throw in an Italian-American pedigree and you have a recipe for a burger born of unrelenting pride.
In the early 1930s, Michael Alfred Rossi bought a corner soda fountain in the Italian neighborhood of Chambersburg in Trenton, New Jersey, and lived upstairs. When prohibition was repealed in 1933, Rossi promptly turned the fountain into a bar. “Back then,” Sharon told me, “they just had a meatball sandwich [on the menu].” Rossi eventually expanded the menu to include other Italian fare and made a dining room out of the family’s living space. But it was Michael’s son, Alfred Michael Rossi, who would bring their now-famous burger to the menu in the early 1960s.
Al Rossi had a promising career in professional baseball and played for the Washington Senators farm team for 11 years. Just as he was offered a spot on the Philadelphia Athletics roster, his brother shipped off to fight in World War II. Al’s dad told him to leave baseball, come home, and help run the restaurant. In this family, that’s just what you did.
Maybe if Al Rossi had continued on his path to be a major league ballplayer there would be no Rossiburger, a thought most would probably not like to entertain.
There’s only one burger to order at Rossi’s and it is very large and only comes in one size. “That’s the million-dollar question, ‘Can we get a smaller burger?’” Sharon told me, “Nope.”
Don’t be put off by the enormous mound of meat in front of you though. Despite its size, the burger at Rossi’s is moist and loosely packed, its center almost pebbly. It’s actually a breeze to eat, especially if you are hungry.
Rossi’s gets a delivery of fresh-ground 87/13 chuck daily and can go through 250 pounds over the weekend. The burgers are unmeasured but are around a half pound. They are loosely hand-pattied by Rossi family member and head chef Ted and cooked by indirect heat in a steak broiler. Nothing is added, no salt, no pepper, and it’s served on a freshly baked kaiser roll with nothing but a slice of raw onion.
Just about everyone involved at Rossi’s is family. Sharon explained, “When we run out of family, we pull in other people.” Today, Rossi’s is run by Al’s children, Sharon and Michael. They have both been at Rossi’s for almost 40 years. The Chambersburg neighborhood is also like one big family. At one point during my interview with her in front of the restaurant, Sharon stopped a passing car for some fact-checking on the history of Rossi’s.
Thanks to his involvement with professional baseball, Al Rossi had an impressive roster of buddies. Joe DiMaggio was a frequent visitor, as were Mickey Mantle and Ted Williams. Joe D didn’t go to Rossi’s for the burger though, he went to see his good friend Al and have a bowl of his lentil soup. The restaurant is filled with authentic baseball memorabilia and the bar evokes a time when baseball greats might have mingled freely with their fans. For years, a pair of Mickey Mantle’s cleats that were given to Al hung in a corner of the dining room.
Al worked at Rossi’s right up until the day before he died in 2007. “He loved it,” Sharon recalled of her father, “People came here just to talk to him.” Al was involved with the business his entire life and, according to Sharon, “He’d see a pasta dish go out that wasn’t right and he’d send it back.”
WHITE MANNA HAMBURGERS
358 RIVER RD | HACKENSACK, NJ 07601
201-342-0914 | MON–SAT 8:30 AM–9 PM
SUNDAY 10 AM–6 PM
White Manna is, beyond a doubt, one of the most historically important burger joints in America. As the burger business began widespread franchising in the 1960s, most of the tiny burger counters across America were wiped out. Amazingly, White Manna survives and thrives, even with a McDonalds directly across the street.
There was a time in America when the burgers you ate were small and came from a tiny stainless steel or white porcelain paneled diner. Thanks to the success of White Castle in America, most burger counters used the word “white” in their names to convey cleanliness. In the case of this diner, the biblical word “manna” is used, as in bread from heaven.
White Manna is a vintage Paramount diner that still proudly serves the early-century American classic “slider” burger. The diner is the descendant of the 1939 Worlds Fair “Diner of the Future” that was built to represent the future of fast food. The original White Manna was purchased by Louis Bridges and brought to Jersey City, where it remains today. Louis built four other White Mannas around northern New Jersey, but only the Hackensack and Jersey City locations survive. Inside and out, the tiny diner remains true to its original design. The structure is sheathed in stainless steel, has vertical white porcelain panels beneath the windows, and includes Paramount Diner Company’s signature use of glass block throughout.
The interior cannot be more than 130 square feet. Behind a small horseshoe counter surrounded by stools, a short-order cook takes one order after the next, never putting pen to paper. You sit patiently, taking in the thick oniony aroma, until the cook makes eye contact with you. When you place your order, the cook reaches into a pan below the counter, grabs golf ball–sized balls of meat, presses them onto the tiny griddle, and places a wad of thinly sliced onion on top. If you ask for a double, two of the small balls of beef get pressed together. The cook uses a right-to-left system on the griddle to keep track and miraculously keeps all of the orders straight. Similar to the original White Castle system, buns are placed atop the cooking burgers to soften and soak up the onion essence.
The sliders are served on soft potato rolls on a paper plate with a pile of pickle chips. If you order cheese, expect not a picture-perfect burger, but a glorious pile of tangled beef, onions, and cheese that is barely contained by its bun. The burgers at White Manna may not look pretty, but they sure are delicious. You’ll need more than a few sliders to fill you up. Order doubles to accomplish a better beef-to-bun ratio. Esteemed food writer and blogger Jason Perlow prefers to make a meal out of four doubles.
Ronny and Ofer Cohen bought White Manna in 1986 as a business venture, but were also seduced by its charm. “You just fall in love with this place,” Ronny told me. They have changed very little about the White Manna, but admitted an attempt to add potato salad and coleslaw to the menu early on in their ownership. “People walk into White Manna to buy burgers.” Ronny feels the crush of commercial fast food all around him in Hackensack, New Jersey. “The only way I can survive is to do things the old-fashioned way.”
Before walking into White Manna, strip down to the least amount of clothing. Not because it’s hot in there, but because after you leave, your clothes will be infused with the unmistakable fragrance of grease and onions. There’ll be no hiding the fact that you just dined at the famous White Manna.
WHITE ROSE SYSTEM
1301 EAST ELIZABETH AVE | LINDEN, NJ 07036
908-486-9651 | MON–SAT 5 AM–3:30 PM
At one time in north Jersey the slider reigned supreme. As the homogenization of burger culture in America swept over the tri-state area, the tiny slider emporiums started to disappear. Many of these gleaming, stainless-steel-and-porcelain diners had the word “white” in their names no doubt as a nod to the most famous slider joint of them all—White Castle. Places like White Diamond, White Manna, and White Tower were all trying to share the limelight with the more successful Wichita chain. What’s incredible is that after all of these years, unlike White Castle, the places that survived have remained virtually unchanged and still serve the same classic slider that they always have. So if you really want to see what White Castle was like back in the day, you’ll need to drop into a place like White Rose System in Linden, New Jersey.
The idea of a “system” in hamburgers was basically started by White Castle as a way to promote the uniformity of the product. Today, there are a few White Rose Systems in north Jersey but they are all owned separately. The Linden White Rose, according to the authority on Jersey sliders, Nick Solares, may be the best example. The first time I ate there with him I heard him quietly exclaim, “This is a great fucking hamburger,” and he is absolutely right.
The White Rose sits on the edge of residential Linden on an industrial stretch that used to be dotted with automotive shops. “This used to be body shop row,” Rich said. Rich has owned the White Rose since 1992 when he purchased the diner from Jack and Bobby Hemmings, the family that started the mini-chain. The White Rose was moved to this location at some point in 1967, its origins unknown.
The menu has expanded slightly since Rich took over, but the original griddle still sees its share of sliders. Rich uses the same local butcher that he has for years, whose 75/25 ground beef comes from steak trimmings. They arrive in 2-ounce wads of beef that Rich presses thin on the flattop. You can order a “slider,” which is one wad, or a “large,” which is two wads pressed together. There is also a quarter-pound burger on the menu (three wads) that’s served on a very soft Kaiser roll. Although it tastes amazing, I go to White Rose for the large slider, which has the best beef-to-bun ratio. The burger is served with a pile of pickle slices on the side on a small porcelain plate.
After the wads have been pressed, Rich tosses some thin-cut onion onto the patty. When the patty is flipped, the onions cook into the burger and both halves of a white squishy bun are placed on top to steam. The result is a soft, hot, simple burger that explodes with flavor.
The burgers at White Rose, with caramelized onions and gooey cheese, basically melt in your mouth. It really makes you concentrate on the simplicity of these elements and wonder why so many chefs overthink the hamburger. This slider, for me, is hamburger perfection.
Rich grew up in the restaurant business and you could say that owning a classic lunch counter was his destiny. “After college I was looking for something other than sitting in an accounting office,” he told me with a smile. But his father, who had owned five luncheonettes in north Jersey, may have been a major influence. Rich told me that when he was a kid, “Every chance I got, I worked there. I loved it.”
In 2010, White Rose became the subject of a CBS Sunday Morning episode with Bobby Flay. After the show aired, the tiny, out-of-the-way diner started to get visitors from near and far. Rich was so perplexed by the influx of new customers that he started keeping a log. “We have been getting people from all over.” He then pointed to a regular at the counter named Teddy and continued, “But these are my friends. Teddy has been coming here for 18 years,” and Teddy nodded quietly. “I think that’s why I have been successful.”
25
NEW MEXICO
BOBCAT BITE
420 OLD LAS VEGAS HWY | SANTA FE, NM 87505
505-983-5319 | WWW.BOBCATBITE.COM
TUE–SAT 11 AM–7:50 PM
CLOSED SUN & MON, AND TUE IN WINTER
A visit to the Bobcat Bite for a green chile cheeseburger results in what I like to call the “Whole Burger Experience.” The restaurant, the people who work there, the relaxed environment, and a stellar burger all coalesce into a perfect hamburger moment.
I was tipped off to the Bobcat by my father-in-law, Don Benjamin, a man whose only red meat intake is at this burger spot. He had a perfect burger moment there, sitting on the porch watching the sunset. It was a perfect moment that turned into a decision to move to Santa Fe.
The Bobcat Bite is way out of town, southeast on the long, lonely Old Las Vegas Highway. The low adobe structure sits on a rocky washboard incline at the foot of what once was a large quarterhorse ranch. The interior is cozy New Mexican with a low viga ceiling and a large picture window that looks out toward the old ranch and a hummingbird feeder. Seating is limited— there are only eight stools at the counter, five tables, and just recently added, three tables on the front porch (weather permitting). The restaurant got its name from the bobcats that used to come down from the surrounding mountains to eat scraps that had been tossed out the back door. Co-owner Bonnie Eckre told me, “People used to come down and watch the bobcats eat.”
In 1953, Rene Clayton, owner of the Bobcat Ranch, turned a gun shop into a restaurant. Today, Bonnie and her husband, John, keep tradition alive by serving a green chile cheeseburger that has been on the menu since the place opened. Fresh chuck steaks are ground and pattied by Bonnie’s brother nearby. In 2006, John decided to switch over to naturally raised antibiotic- and hormone-free beef. He made one of the best burgers in America even better.
A green chile cheeseburger at the Bobcat is a beauty. Steamed and diced Hatch, New Mexico, green chiles are held in place atop a nine-ounce patty by a slice of melted white cheddar. The well-seasoned cast-iron griddle creates a crunchy exterior and leaves the interior perfectly moist. John is also a master of cooking temperatures, so if you ask for your burger medium-rare it’ll be medium-rare. He employs a complex system of bacon weights to manage the different temperatures of the burgers.
I beg of you, please do not pollute this burger with ketchup and mustard. The simplicity of the green chile cheeseburger should not be tampered with. The chiles, hot and flavorful, enhance the beefiness, creating one of the greatest marriages of flavors and textures in the burger world.
The decades-old cast-iron griddle is one of the secrets to the Bobcat’s success. John Eckre once told me, “I’ve tried to find another like it, but it’s impossible.” John stands at the grill making perfect burgers while Bonnie takes orders, makes change, and delivers food to the tables. Bonnie knows just about everyone who walks into the restaurant and greets them by name with a smile.
The Bobcat has strange hours so check before you go. They are open 5 days a week (and only 4 days in winter), and only until 7:50 p.m. Why 7:50? “Apparently there was a curfew in Santa Fe years ago,” Bonnie told me. “You had to be home by 8.”
John Eckre
RECIPE FROM THE HAMBURGER AMERICA TEST KITCHENBOBCAT BITE COLESLAWTurns out I was not the only one who has asked John and Bonnie Eckre for their amazing coleslaw recipe. Unlike most proprietary secrets restaurants possess, this recipe was adapted from a Depression-era recipe by a previous owner of the Bobcat, Shelba Surls. During America’s economic dark days, the U.S. government issued recipes like this one that could be made with inexpensive ingredients (in this case, no cream).MAKES A LOT OF COLESLAW(THIS IS A DAY’S WORTH FOR THE BOBCAT)
2-3 heads cabbage, shredded
1 green bell pepper, chopped
1-1½ cups sugar
2 cups distilled white vinegar
½ cup canola oil
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon celery seed
2 tablespoons prepared mustard
Place the cabbage in a large bowl. Place the green pepper on top of the cabbage. Pour the sugar over both (for 2 heads, use 1 cup sugar, for 3 heads use 1½ cups).In a large saucepan bring to a boil the vinegar, canola oil, salt, pepper, celery seed, and mustard. According to Bonnie, the smell of the boiling vinegar concoction will drive you out of the kitchen. Boil until the mustard is dissolved (about 5 minutes). Pour the hot brew over the bowl of cabbage and peppers and let sit. When the bowl has cooled, mix the contents and refrigerate. Bonnie told me that the slaw tastes best when it has had time to marinate. Bobcat makes its coleslaw the day before serving.
OWL BAR & CAFE
US 380| SAN ANTONIO, NM 87832
575-835-9946 | MON–FRI 8 AM–9:30 PM
CLOSED SAT & SUN
The Owl Bar & Cafe seems an unlikely candidate for producing a world-famous burger. The bar sits at a crossroads deep in the dry desert of central New Mexico. Its adobe structure has barely a window and is one of only a handful on the main drag in the tiny town of San Antonio. Even though you have to wait until your eyes adjust after entering, and there is a large supply of booze behind the bar, the Owl is a friendly place, a family saloon with an excellent burger on the menu.
The Owl Burger is what many call the “other great green chile cheeseburger in New Mexico.” I drove 280 miles to eat this burger so my expectations were high. I sat at the bar at 11 a.m. and watched as burger after burger was dispatched to the booths opposite the bar. Thankfully, mine showed up in only four minutes—the smell of green chile wafting through the air was making me very hungry.
All of the burgers are served on plastic plates with a napkin between the burger and the plate. Their famous green chile cheeseburger starts as a patty of fresh ground beef that has been pressed flat on a flattop griddle (the Owl grinds its own beef daily). Cheese, onion, tomato, mayo, and pickles are standard, and the green chiles pack a punch. They come from Hatch, New Mexico, and are lovingly prepared by Pinto, the kitchen prep cook. Pinto has been preparing the green chile for the Owl for over 40 years.
The clientele is a mix of silver-haired motorhome enthusiasts and servicemen in fatigues. The bar’s entrance celebrates its proximity to the infamous Trinity Site, the spot where scientists tested the first atomic bomb only 25 miles away. Large photos of the mushroom cloud and other missile-site ephemera are proudly displayed. Frank Chavez opened the Owl Bar in 1945, just in time to accommodate the entertainment-starved scientists who were frequenting the area. At the request of these scientists, a griddle was installed and the Owl Burger was born.
The shelves of the bar are covered with hundreds of donated servicemen’s uniform patches from all over the country. Current owner Rowena Baca, Frank Chavez’ daughter, started the collection years ago. Bartender of 30 years, Cathy Baca, explained, “Rowena told a cop she liked the patch on his uniform so he ripped it off and gave it to her. Since then, we get patches from everywhere.”
Another item tacked to the walls is money. Tourists are encouraged to sign and donate a bill of their choice and pick a spot on the wall. Once a year the money is taken down, counted, and given to charity. “We’ve collected over $15,000 in the last six years,” said Cathy. The walls account for up to $2,500 a year, with the exception of a recent late-night robbery. “They stole $600,” Cathy told me. “I don’t know how they got it off the walls so fast—it takes us forever.”
26
NEW YORK
CORNER BISTRO
331 WEST 4TH ST | NEW YORK, NY 10014
212-242-9502 | MON–SAT 11:30 AM–4 PM
SUN NOON–4 AM
For two decades the Corner Bistro in Greenwich Village, New York City, served my “hometown” burger. It’s the burger that became the standard by which all others would be measured. I’ve eaten over a thousand burgers at the Bistro in different states of intoxication or sober, for lunch and dinner, and a few times I even ate them with friends at 3 a.m. on a Tuesday. For five of those years I lived a block away and secretly wondered if my motive for moving had been burger proximity. I knew the right times to visit to avoid the crowds, and their phone number was in the speed dial of my cell phone. I placed phone orders and used the quiet side door to sneak in, grab my waiting hot paper bag, and make a swift exit. My burger quest started here and ends here as well. I went forth into Hamburger America, ate well, returned, and was confident that the “Bistro Burger” really is one of the best in the nation.
Inside and out, the Corner Bistro defies its name and looks the part of the Irish pub. Carved-up wooden tables, well-worn, wide plank floorboards, and a long bar with a noticeable dip in the center create your lasting first impression. “The building is still settling,” Bill O’Donnell said in defense of the sloping bar. Bill has been the owner of the Bistro for over 40 years and its famous burger has been on the menu just as long.
The building housing the Corner Bistro dates back to 1827 and before it was a bar it was an inn. The existing décor surrounding the bar (stained-glass cabinetry and mirrors) as well as the brass-foot-railed bar itself is said to date back to 1880. After Prohibition was repealed, the bar became Barney McNichols and attracted mostly the longshoremen who populated the neighborhood. After its short stint as a gay bar, in 1961 a Spanish woman bought it and attempted to put a European spin on the old tavern by calling it the Corner Bistro. It didn’t last and went back to being what it has been for well over a century—a cozy dive with a great jukebox.
In 1977, Mimi Sheraton, the well-known food critic from the New York Times, wrote a favorable piece on the Bistro Burger that kick-started the surge of popularity that has not slowed since. “I came in the next day and the place was packed,” Bill told me. “I was shocked.” Bill himself admits that there’s nothing special about the burger and nothing has changed in 40 years. “We still use the same butcher around the corner. It’s good meat, mostly chuck and sirloin but I think he puts some porterhouse in there too.” Two hundred and fifty pounds of the fresh ground beef gets walked over by hand cart from 14th Street to the Bistro everyday. This was the way all restaurants received their meat in the first half of the twentieth century, delivered by hand from a local butcher.
The Bistro Burger doesn’t try to be anything but a great hamburger. It’s a thick, 8-ounce burger whose only flourish is three crispy strips of bacon that have been flash-fried in the deep fryer (ever wonder why those fries taste so damn good?). It’s served on a toasted, white squishy bun with lettuce, tomato, and a thick onion slice hidden beneath the burger. It’s cooked in a tiny, postage stamp–sized kitchen staffed by two. They cook the burgers to your preferred temperature in a salamander broiler, a small, specialized oven that cooks the burgers slowly by indirect, overhead heat. Bartender of 40 years, Harold, explained, “It keeps the burgers soft and juicy.”
Hard-working Louis has been the head chef and chief of burger operations at the Bistro for over 25 years. He is a man of few words but will always get your order right. Louis is in charge of the line that builds most nights for people waiting for a table and will take your order. The infamous line starts at the phone booth and can go all the way to the front door, so grab a beer at the bar first.
Many people try to bad-mouth this burger because they are embarrassed by its simplicity. In a city with no tangible burger identity (you really can find any type of burger in New York City, from the bloated wallet busters to tasty sliders), the Bistro Burger stands out as an unflappable success grounded in modesty. The success has spread to other bars in the neighborhood that claim to “know the secret of the Bistro Burger” and have even hired cast-off Bistro kitchen staff to boost business. “There are no secrets,” Bill told me laughing, “The recipe is ‘good meat,’ you idiots.”
DONOVAN’S PUB
5724 ROOSEVELT AVE | FLUSHING, NY 11377
718-429-9339 | OPEN DAILY 11 AM–11 PM
Regulars, God bless ’em, show up at this Woodside, Queens, Irish pub at 11 a.m. daily to slowly drink their Guinness stout and just talk. They are cared for by Robert Kansella, bartender of 40 years who was at the pub before there was even a restaurant. The bar he tends to is an impressive one—long, dark, solid and with the type of patina that only comes with age. It’s a great bar to sit at, drink a Guinness, and just talk, but even better to enjoy a burger, one of the best I’ve ever eaten.
I asked Robert how big the burgers were and his only response was, “They are pretty big.” He was not far off. This pub has been serving half-pound burgers since 1970, and a lot of them. Artie Kardaras, head chef at Donovan’s for over 35 years, told me they hand-patty 400 pounds of quality ground shell steak (New York strip) a day for their burgers. “I make every day fresh,” he proudly explained with his thick Greek accent.
The Donovan’s burger is a lesson in how a large burger should be prepared. It’s cooked in a way that few burgers are in America—in a broiler used for cooking steaks. The loose-pattied burger is broiled to the temperature of your choice with little attention paid to it by the chef. “Too many people press them too much,” Artie explained with big hand gestures and twisted facial expressions. Artie believes, and is correct, that the best burgers are left alone and touched the least.
When you bite into the inch-thick Donovan’s burger, the first thing you notice is how loose the meat is. The delicate exterior char can barely contain the tender, steamy beef inside. A half-pound burger may sound tough to tackle, but the meat-to-bun ratio is nearly perfect, making the entire experience incredibly satisfying.
Other than a bar, burgers, and regulars, Donovan’s also has an impressive dining room and a great menu loaded with comfort food. Go during the colder months and enjoy your burgers by the cozy fireplace in the dark-paneled dining room with Tiffany lamps hanging overhead.
The most obvious landmark you’ll notice outside Donovan’s Pub is the undeniably old–New York elevated subway rumbling overhead every few minutes. What you may not pick out is the tavern’s odd proximity to a church only a few feet away, directly across the street. “This place was here before the church so they were allowed to stay,” regular Don Moran told me from his spot at the bar. According to New York City zoning law, no drinking establishment may be operated within 500 feet of a place of worship. So this may be the closest you’ll get to a church to drink and eat great burgers in New York City—in fact, the stained glass windows do give the place a churchlike feel.
In 2004 Time Out NY called the burger at Donovan’s the best in New York City. That’s quite a claim in this town of diverse food possibilities and unlimited types of burger joints. Did the press increase sales at the sleepy neighborhood tavern? “Sure,” bartender Robert admitted, “but we’ve been selling a lot of burgers forever.”
HILDEBRANDT’S
84 HILLSIDE AVE | WILLISTON PARK, NY 11596
516-741-0608
WWW.HILDEBRANDTSRESTAURANT.COM
TUE–SAT 11 AM–8:30 PM | SUN 10 AM–4 PM
Densely packed suburban Long Island, New York, is a place where new malls and homes are constantly springing up and, unless protected, the past is unceremoniously swept away. In a part of the country where it’s getting harder to find genuine nostalgia, locals embrace Hildebrandt’s Luncheonette. This early-twentieth-century landmark soda counter, confectionery, and ice cream parlor offers a glimpse into the past. The counter, though, is not a washed-up has-been. It’s as vibrant as ever and happens to serve some of the tastiest burgers this side of Manhattan.
Hildebrandt’s opened in 1927 and was the only business in the newly developing dirt road suburb of Williston Park, 20 miles from New York City. Today, Hildebrandt’s is owned by Joanne Strano and her son-in-law, Bryan Acosta. Joanne and her late husband, Al, bought the vintage luncheonette in 1974 when longtime owner and chocolate maker Henry Shreiver was looking to retire. The Acostas learned the chocolate-making trade from Shreiver and made a major improvement to the existing burger on the menu—fresh ground beef.
This classic luncheonette, with its checkertiled floor and long marble counter with 13 stools, maintains a vintage look by making use of the soda fountain trappings of a bygone era. The seltzer and syrup dispensers are not vintage props. They all function daily, as does the long bank of ice cream chests behind the counter. Ice cream is a big draw at Hildebrandt’s because it’s made right at the restaurant.
But according to Bryan, most come for the food, which is a mix of classic diner fare and Italian specialties added by the Acosta family in the 1970s. Surprisingly, this amazing burger has been exiled to the bottom of the menu. Look for your cheeseburger in a section marked “sandwiches” at the bottom of the list, just after the meatball hero.
“We have the greatest burger,” Bryan told me without pause, and added, “I’ve never really had a better burger. I really haven’t.” He can boast all he wants. It really is a great burger. The burgers at Hildebrandt’s start as fresh-ground sirloin the restaurant receives from the butcher down the street. Bryan himself hand-patties the four-ounce burgers just before the lunch crowd shows up. The burgers are offered at the four-ounce size, or ask for the eight-ounce and get twice the meat. “We just take two four-ounce patties and smoosh them together on the grill,” Bryan explained. On the flattop griddle, Alfredo presses the burger flat and places a bacon weight on top. It’s served on a classic white bun with tomato, sliced onion, and a wedge of iceberg lettuce. Bacon is available, but not necessary (this meat is so good you won’t want anything to hide the flavor). Ketchup is king at Hildebrandt’s (there’s a bottle every few feet on the counter) but mustard has to be culled from the countermen in small pouches.
Hildebrandt’s fries are a great addition to your hamburger lunch. They are large, hand-cut, deep-fried slices of potato that, if ordered well done, resemble homemade potato chips. Order a milkshake, listed on the menu in Long Island vernacular as a “frosted,” and you’ll get a tall glass and the obligatory metal cup the shake was made in. Since the ice cream is homemade, the shakes are superb.
The clientele at Hildebrandt’s ranges from little old ladies to large families with kids. Bryan, waiting tables in the back, makes jokes as he takes orders. “These are the best seats in the house,” he tells two older ladies looking for a table, “unless of course I’m waiting on you!”
In the vicinity of New York City, Hildebrandt’s is not alone. The long-gone business model for this type of soda fountain survives at places like Hinsch’s in Bayridge, Brooklyn, and Bischoff’s in Teaneck, New Jersey. They too make their own chocolates, and in the case of Bischoff’s, countermen still wear white paper caps and striped shirts. At all of these vintage soda fountains of German descent, you can take home hand-packed ice cream by the pint or quart, but the similarities end there. Only Hildebrandt’s makes a top-quality burger. That, and the mocha frosted, will keep me coming back.
JG MELON
1291 THIRD AVE | NEW YORK, NY 10021
212-744-0585 | OPEN DAILY 11:30 AM–4 AM
The Upper East Side of Manhattan is known more for its high cost of living and less for good old places like JG Melon. The humble, dark, no-nonsense tavern should have been in the first edition of this book, and was prevented only by scheduling conflicts. When Mayor Mike Bloomberg saw my book, he told me, “JG should be in here. They make a great burger.” He should know. The mayor lives only a few blocks away and is crazy about hamburgers.
Jack O’Neil and George Mourges (the J and G of JG Melon) were working at midtown restaurant Joe Allen when they decided they wanted to open a place of their own. In 1972 they leased Bar Central on 74th and 3rd and changed the name to JG Melon. The building dates back to the 1920s when the tavern was built by a local brewery to dispense its own products following Prohibition. Almost immediately, JG Melon became a watering hole for socialites and politicians, as well as locals and Wall Street types. Every sitting mayor for the last 40 years has felt comfortable at the tavern and the burger is at the center of it all.
Today, JG Melon retains its friendly broken-in pub ambiance thanks to the dapper Shaun Young, who plays the role of the New York City tavern proprietor perfectly. His clean-cut presence clearly sets the tone here and has done so for decades. After a stint as a bartender in the early 1980s at JG Melon, Shaun became a partner. “Jack and George made me the manager, and after 6 months I was ready to leave,” he told me. They offered him a partnership and 30 years later he’s still there. George passed away in 2003, leaving Jack and Shaun as partners.
I asked Shaun what kind of meat he used for the burgers and without missing a beat he shot back, “It’s a secret,” and looked away. JG Melon’s burgers start as a special blend of cuts ground by the same butcher they’ve used for years. He added, “What I can tell you, though it’s not really a secret, is that we have a hot grill, very hot.” The burgers are portioned into 7-ounce balls then gently flattened on a large griddle, and Shaun pointed out, “Like a steak, we only flip them once.”
A cheeseburger and a Bloody Bull
The result is a substantially thick two-fister whose construction is perfect. No crazy toppings here, just a basic, beefy, uncomplicated burger that is truly satisfying. Because of the high heat and the steak-treatment, the exterior of the burger is seared to a serious griddle char that helps retain all of the moisture. You’ll need a napkin—this one is juicy.
Equally famous at JG Melon are the cottage fries that have been on the menu since the beginning. At one point, Shaun convinced Jack and George to switch to shoestring fries. “There was a complete revolt!” Shaun remembers. “We had to switch back immediately.”
Do not leave JG Melon without having a Bloody Bull. A drink you don’t see often that hails from New Orleans, the Bloody Bull is like a Bloody Mary but half of the tomato juice is replaced with beef broth. What could go better with a beefy burger than a beefy drink?
There are a few tables in a rear dining room and 16 coveted seats on the sidewalk, but grab a stool at the bar if possible and listen to the burgers sear on the flattop adjacent to the bar. The sound is heavenly.
Shaun is a true New Yorker, having grown up only a few blocks away, and he knows that JG Melon’s success is no mistake. “Why fix something that’s not broken?” he asked me. He also pointed to Jack and George for the reason that simplicity and quality trump all. “I give them credit for staying on top of the product.” And that’s why people keep coming back.
P.J. CLARKE’S
915 THIRD AVE | NEW YORK, NY 10022
212-317-1616 | WWW.PJCLARKES.COM
OPEN 7 DAYS A WEEK 11:30 AM–3 AM
BAR CLOSES AT 4 AM
There are few taverns in America as steeped in history as P.J. Clarke’s. All at once a neighborhood bar, broken-in dive, and a celebrity hang for decades, it’s also a great place to find high-quality pub fare. Among that fare is the world famous P.J. Clarke’s hamburger. P.J.’s has not been affected by its own celebrity status. It remains a comfortable place in the heart of a sometimes cold city—a friendly pub with a welcoming staff and a remarkably unpretentious hamburger on the menu.
The iconic corner saloon, in a two-story brick tenement-style structure, looks totally out of place surrounded by the tall glass and steel office buildings of midtown Manhattan. Irish immigrant Patrick J. Clarke started working at the corner bar in 1902, and in 1912 he purchased the business and changed the name to his own.
Before the skyscrapers, the neighborhood surrounding P.J.’s was mostly breweries and slaughterhouses. And those who are old enough will remember that the Third Avenue subway was elevated, giving the area a radically different feel. By 1960, the elevated tracks were down and the slaughterhouses were long gone. P.J.’s neighborhood has undergone a profound transformation in the last century but the tiny saloon remains, dwarfed by its neighbors.
The tin ceilings, faded mirrors behind the bar, and stained-glass windows in front remind the casual observer of the saloon’s rich past. Sinatra made P.J.’s his last stop on nights out and even had his own table (#20). Affable young general manager Patrick Walsh told me, through his Irish brogue, “If there was anyone sitting there when Sinatra came in they’d get the boot.” Buddy Holly proposed to his wife here and Nat King Cole once called the hamburger at P.J.’s “the Cadillac of burgers.” Even the famed 1970s sports painter LeRoy Neiman put brush to canvas to create a portrait of the bar in full swing that proudly hangs in the dining room. There are many more stories, but you have to ask Patrick. He told me, “Every single day I learn a new story.”
The Béarnaise Burger
The meat for the burgers comes from cattle that are handpicked for P.J.’s. They grind chuck steaks in the kitchen and the fat-to-lean ratio is kept secret. The eight-ounce burgers are hand-pressed one by one, cooked on a flattop griddle, and served on a classic white squishy bun. Don’t be surprised to find a slice of onion underneath your burger. Today’s burgers are served on a porcelain plate, but Patrick told me, “They used to be served on paper plates and the onion was there to soak up the juices”—presumably to prevent the plate from falling apart.
I’ve been going to P.J.’s for decades and the burger has always been perfect. The bun-to-beef ratio, the slight griddle crunch, and the moist, meaty flavor are what burger dreams are made of. There are a few burger choices at P.J.’s, but I always get the “Béarnaise Burger.” Imagine the simplicity of the elements—the perfect burger, a soft white bun, and a healthy dose of pure béarnaise sauce.
The dark dining room walls are covered with an amazing collection of New York City ephemera (including P.J.’s death certificate) and old photographs of past patrons. The 100-year-old men’s urinals are as famous as the burgers and must be seen to be believed (they’re over five feet tall with thick porcelain embellishment). Sinatra once said they were “big enough to take a bath in.”
P.J.’s has been part of the collective unconscious of literally millions of former and present New Yorkers. Just like your favorite jacket or an old pair of shoes, the tavern has always been a familiar, unchanging place that many rely on for hearty comfort food, a drink, and good company. The burger at P.J.’s is part of that legacy of comfort and hopefully will be forever.
SOUTH DAKOTANOTABLE BURGER CHAINSIn the corporate burger world, all burgers are created equal by design. Most are frozen, then shipped for miles to their intended fast-food outlet. There are, however, a few hamburger chains that buck the system and offer burgers made with fresh ground beef: places like Red Robin, Cheeburger! Cheeburger!, and the Northwest’s own Burgerville. Here is a short list of my personal favorites:
Steak ‘n ShakeLocations throughout the Midwest and the Southwww.steaknshake.comThis classic drive-in burger stand opened its first location in Normal, Illinois in 1934. Since then, Steak ‘n Shake has expanded to over 450 locations and still serves burgers made from fresh-ground strip steak, sirloin, and T-bone. A seat at the counter offers excellent views of the white paper-capped grill man preparing your “Steakburger.” A wad of beef is smashed thin and seared on a super-hot flattop griddle. Within just a few minutes, a moist yet crispy patty is placed on a toasted white bun and delivered to you on real china. Get a double with bacon for an unforgettable meal.Oh, and the shakes are pretty good too.
SmashburgerLocations throughout the United Stateswww.smashburger.comHow could I not love a burger chain that smashes fresh ground beef the old-fashioned way? In 2007 there was one Smashburger, in Denver. Today there are over 60 locations all over the country and many more on the way.
Five GuysLocations throughout the United Stateswww.fiveguys.comThis relative newcomer to the burger scene is making quite a dent in the business corporate fast food is doing, across the country, especially since the Five Guys business plan calls for up to 1,000 new locations in the next few years. One college student I spoke to told me he’d never visit a Mickey D’s if there was a Five Guys nearby. What’s all the fuss about? Great burgers made in large portions from fresh ground beef, not to mention free refills and the bottomless bag of fresh-cut fries. Corporate burger biggies are in trouble when even drunken students can tell the difference between fresh and frozen burgers. 27
NORTH CAROLINA
CHAR-GRILL
618 HILLSBOROUGH ST | RALEIGH, NC 27603
(AND FIVE OTHER LOCATIONS IN RALEIGH-DURHAM)
919-821-7636 | WWW.CHARGRILLUSA.COM
Racing to catch a flight I was sure to miss out on Raleigh, North Carolina’s own burger mini-chain, the Char-Grill. Fortunately, I did stop, but would have missed the flight had the service not been super-fast.
The set up is pure 1950s drive-in, but the ordering process is peculiar. No honking for service here. You park your car, walk up to the window, and fill out a cryptic order form. Once you have marked your choices, you shove the slim piece of paper into a thin slot in one of the large plate glass windows. Your order form slides down a stainless chute to the waiting grill cook. The lack of indoor seating and a glass-enclosed kitchen creates a sort of public hamburger laboratory—as you wait, you can peer inside and watch your burger being constructed according to the condiments you checked off on your order. Within minutes, your number is called and you are rewarded with a white paper bag full of hot food by a smiling employee.
The burgers are grilled over a flame and come in three sizes, the largest being the half-pound hamburger steak sandwich. Any combination of mayo, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, cheese, and bacon can be created. The staff all wear white paper caps and aprons and work at stations to keep this model of efficiency chugging along. The beef comes in fresh daily, as square preformed Angus chuck patties. The manager at the original Hillsborough stand, Scott Hobby, told me “All of the lettuce, tomato, and onion come from a local farmer’s market.”
Bruce Garner opened Char-Grill in 1959. In 1975, two fraternity brothers, Mahlon Aycock and Ryon Wilder, assumed ownership and over three decades later are still partners in the business. They have expanded from the one location they purchased in 1975 to five locations with more planned. All of the locations are in the Raleigh-Durham area but Mahlon plans to expand throughout North Carolina—and as he put it, “probably beyond.”
By design, not much has changed at Char-Grill. The Hillsborough location is a piece of American architecture stuck in time. The deliberately oversized, overdesigned structure is almost sculpture—the enormous white wavy roof looks as if it could crush the floor-to-ceiling windows supporting it. The other Raleigh locations also serve their well-known Charburgers, but it’s the original location that has that great drive-in feel. And for over 50 years Char-Grill has continued to serve the same tasty, flame-grilled burgers and creamy shakes.
All walks of life visit Char-Grill for a dose of nostalgia. Mahlon told me, “We get everybody from the governor of North Carolina to construction folk and anybody in between.” And me. I’ll be back. I hope my flight gets delayed.
PENGUIN DRIVE-IN
1921 COMMONWEALTH AVE | CHARLOTTE, NC 28205
704-375-6959 | MON–THU 11 AM–12 AM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–1 AM | SUN 11 AM–11 PM
When the doors open at 11 a.m. at the Penguin, people pour in. On most days, especially weekends, the seats are filled within 30 seconds and stay that way through lunch with a wait for a table before noon not uncommon.
The first time I visited, I sat at the bar and watched as longtime manager Rhyne Franklin unlocked the front door for lunch. At the same time the door swung open, a tattooed server named B-Mac flicked on the jukebox and out came the punk classic, “Sonic Reducer,” at a decent volume. The Penguin went from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds and the first customer through the door was a gray-haired woman with a cane in a powder-blue suit. She was followed by a couple of guys with ties and a handful of other younger locals. I was shocked by the varied demographic and Rhyne just shrugged and said, “That’s lunch.” Everyone is welcome at the Penguin.
The Penguin opened in the early 1950s, first as an ice cream stand and then in 1954 as a drive-in with carhops, burgers, and fries. The neighborhood went into decline in the 1970s and the Penguin became a biker bar. “It was a complete hole in the wall,” Rhyne told me. In 2000, two friends, Brian Rowe and Jimmy King, bought the business from Jim Ballentine and spent months renovating the place. Ballentine retained the rights to the Penguin name and ownership of the property. Brian and Jimmy kept the overall integrity of the place intact and brought in chef Greg Auten to help them develop straightforward fare for the revamped menu. When they opened, the Penguin was reborn in a neighborhood that was on the rebound. The timing was perfect.
The burgers come in three basic sizes at the Penguin, the “Small Block,” the “Big Block,” and the “Full Blown Hemi.” The names are probably a nod to NASCAR since the Charlotte area is where most of the race teams call home. The Small Block is a one-third-pound burger, the Big Block two one-third-pound patties, and the Hemi is a ridiculous three stacked one-third-pound patties. “Most people get the Small Block,” Rhyne told me, and for good reason—it’s a totally satisfying burger, and just the right size, especially if you plan on indulging in the Penguin’s famous fried pickles. The Big Block uses the same sized bun, but the contents tend to slip and slide. The Full Blown Hemi is just a colossal mess, but a damned tasty one. “A lot of people ask for a knife and fork for the Hemi,” Rhyne laughed, and B-Mac pointed out, “We really only sell one or two Hemis a day.”
How do you want your burger? At the Penguin, the options are “all the way” (lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, and pickles) or “Southern Style” (chili, mustard, onions, and cole slaw). Southern Style is the way to go because you can get lettuce and tomato anywhere. The chili that the Penguin uses is made in-house and is simple, beefy, and spicy. The coleslaw is also made at the Penguin and is shredded impossibly thin. You can get American cheese on your burger but the pimento cheese at the Penguin is incredible.
The Big Block with pimento cheese
The burgers are cooked on a flattop and start as portioned wads of fresh ground chuck. The grillperson takes a wad, tosses it onto the griddle, and presses it into the shape of a burger. They are obviously not over-pressed because the resulting burger is very juicy.
The entire staff is young, energetic, and mostly tattooed. The tone at the Penguin was set by Jimmy and Brian, both ex-military, and both tattoo-covered themselves. Jimmy is a big fan of punk music and the jukebox reflects this. At first glance you’ll see a bunch of Elvis and Johnny Cash in there, but check out the black folder to the left of the juke. It’s loaded with hundreds of punk and hard rock tunes.
At the time of this publication, the Ballentine Family had no plans to renew Jimmy and Brian’s lease, effectively pushing out the two guys that saved an icon and turned the Penguin into a destination burger joint. There’s no guarantee that the soul of the Penguin will remain, but when your restaurant fills up within 30 seconds of opening your doors, you’d be a fool to change anything.
SNAPPY LUNCH
125 NORTH MAIN ST | MOUNT AIRY, NC 27030
336-786-4931 | MON–WED & FRI 6 AM–1:45 PM
THU & SAT 6 AM–1:15 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
The Snappy Lunch sells one of the best pork chop sandwiches in America and it is “World Famous” according to the menu. But this is a hamburger book, and the restaurant does its part to offer a bit of hamburger history as well. Popular with the locals, the Snappy Lunch sells a curiosity called the “Breaded Hamburger.” Sometimes referred to as the “No-Burger” or the “old fashioned,” this throwback to the Depression was invented when meat was scarce. At the Snappy Lunch, the breaded burger still outsells the regular burger on the menu three to one.
“I don’t even get into it with out-of-towners,” said Mary Dowell, wife of longtime owner and local food celebrity Charles Dowell. “I don’t even like them!” she told me with a smile. I tried my first Depression-era burger at the Snappy Lunch and really liked it. It kind of resembled a bland crab cake with ground beef inside. “What do ya think?” Mary asked. I told her it tasted like a biscuit and she informed me that I had named the main ingredient.
The breaded burger, referred to as just a “hamburger” by the staff (a nonbreaded burger is a “burger with meat”) starts as a blend of ground beef, crumbled cooked biscuits, and day-old bread. The blend, which leans mostly toward bread, is then formed into patties and cooked on the flattop griddle. A finished burger “all the way” has on it coleslaw, mustard, onion, tomato, and chili.
The chili, a tasty, sweet, and chunky concoction, is ladled onto both the pork chop sandwich and the burgers. It was created by Charles in the 1950s by accident. “I was trying to make up something to put on the pork chops—the recipe has not changed since then and everyone wants it.”
Charles was a fixture at the Snappy Lunch since 1943 when, at age 15, he was paid $10 a week. Eight years later his father, a local grocer, helped Charles negotiate the purchase of a share in the restaurant and in 1960 he became the sole owner.
The name Snappy is fitting for the turn-of-the-century post office turned lunch counter because the doors close most days at 1:45 p.m. Oddly on Thursday closing time is 1:15 p.m. “As part of the war effort,” Charles told me, “restaurants were asked to choose a day to close early.”
Mary and Charles met over twenty years ago when someone tried to set her up with Charles’s son at the restaurant. Charles, now in his early 80s, is retired and Mary holds down the fort at Snappy Lunch.
In the recently renovated, gleaming kitchen at the rear of the restaurant, I met 16-year veteran cook, Diane. “I never thought a breaded burger could out sell the regular burger, but they do, every day.”
Mount Airy, North Carolina, exists in the minds of The Andy Griffith Show fans as the inspiration for Mayberry, the setting of the popular 1960s TV show. Not only did Andy grow up in Mount Airy, he also ate at the Snappy Lunch frequently as a child. Because of this, and his massive fan base, you may want to avoid the restaurant in late September when thousands descend on the small country town for Mayberry Days. Diane told me “We’ll actually stay open late those days just to make sure all those people are fed.”
SOUTH 21 DRIVE-IN
3101 EAST INDEPENDENCE BLVD
CHARLOTTE, NC 28205
704-377-4509 | WWW.SOUTH21DRIVEIN.COM
TUE 11 AM–3 PM | WED & THU 11 AM–9 PM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–10 PM | CLOSED SUN & MON
Traveling along Independence Boulevard just east of downtown Charlotte, NC, you’ll notice a vintage red neon sign that blinks with the words “curb service” and beckons you to pull in and float back in time. Slip into one of the many stalls, check out the menu, and push the order button. You are on your way to a classic South 21 Drive-In experience.
Since 1959, very little has changed at this Charlotte institution. Owned by the same family of Greek immigrants since the beginning, South 21 serves the same fresh, thin-patty burger that has come from the same local meat supplier for over 45 years. In 1955, George Copsis and his two brothers decided to open a drive-in on South Boulevard in Charlotte. The business boomed and the brothers opened another nearby in 1959. They leased the original location and made the Independence location their flagship. Over the years, the family would open and sell off other drive-ins across town, but offspring Maria and her husband, George Housiadas, have held on to the flagship icon.
You’ve heard the story before but it bears repeating—Greeks in the hamburger business. The Housiadas family is not alone. Many proud Greek families still own classic burger stands across America, namely the famous mini-chains of the Billy Goat of Chicago, Burger House of Dallas, and Crown Burger of Salt Lake City. Or the one-offs like Helvetia Tavern near Portland, Oregon, and Western Steakburger in San Diego. All of these restaurants were the result of hard-working Greeks finding their way in America.
Not surprisingly, most stories of Greek burger entrepreneurism in this country start the same way. “They came here with nothing,” Maria told me. “They didn’t know what else to do so they started flipping burgers and didn’t stop!” She told me that in the beginning the brothers would sell a few burgers, take the cash, run down the street to the Winn-Dixie supermarket, and buy another few pounds of ground beef. “Can you imagine if we did that today?” Maria pondered.
South 21 is the real deal. Expect carhops, window trays, and tasty, classic burgers. The burgers start as preformed fresh-ground four-ounce patties and can be ordered as singles or doubles. Make it a “Super Boy” and you will get two patties on a toasted white bun with chopped lettuce, onion, mustard, and tomato. If you want cheese, you’ll need to order the “Jumbo.” The burgers show up on your window tray with a large pickle speared to the top bun.
The fries at South 21 are great, but it’s the onion rings that have received decades of accolades. The kitchen at South 21 slices and breads fresh onion rings daily, tasty circles of deep fried goodness.
You’ll also notice an item on the menu that sounds almost cartoonish but is anything but—the “Fish-O-Burger.” Imagine two pieces of fresh (not frozen) lightly breaded and deep-fried trout served with tartar sauce on a toasted white bun. It’s a heavenly sandwich, especially for those who want to partake of the drive-in culture without the red meat.
One thing you may find odd about South 21 is the black fedora your carhop will be wearing as he clips the tray to your car window. It was part of a uniform that was retired about 20 years ago according to Maria. “The uniforms used to be absolutely ridiculous.” For years, carhops were required to wear what looked like a period carriage driver’s getup—a long red coat with two gold buttons and heavy black pants. “They looked nice,” Maria remembered, “but the carhops hated to wear them. The heavy material was really only comfortable in the three colder months of the year.”
South 21 still employs a hard-working staff of four; some have been at the drive-in for over 40 years. One of those is Nick, the Greek griddle master who has been flipping perfect patties at South 21 since 1971.
Late-night cruising is a thing of the past, as the last burgers are sold at 10 p.m. on weekends. Check the drive-in’s hours before you head out to South 21 to show off your ’66 Corvette Stingray.
Maria is at the drive-in every day to take orders and manage the staff. She seems confident in the quality of their fare and understands why people continue to patronize South 21. “Diehard fans tell people, ‘If you haven’t eaten there, you haven’t eaten.’”
WHAT-A-BURGER DRIVE-IN
210 SOUTH MAIN ST | MOORESVILLE, NC 28115
704-664-5455
(4 OTHER LOCATIONS IN KANNAPOLIS AND CONCORD, NC)
MON–SAT 11 AM–10 AM
This is not the well-known Texas burger chain you are thinking of. In fact, this What-A-Burger actually opened in 1950 in Virginia, the same year as the 700-store Whataburger chain, but both owners were unaware of the existence of the other. After a lawsuit brought more than 50 years later, the two chains agreed that they would not expand into each other’s territory and that was that. Today, the Texas based burger chain has expanded into eight states and Mexico but has stayed away from North Carolina and Virginia where a handful of What-A-Burgers still exist.
Eb Bost opened the first What-A-Burger in North Carolina in 1955. At one point, through the ownership of many members of the Bost family, there were up to fifteen locations in the Charlotte area. Today, Eb’s son Mike Bost is the president of the company and there are now five locations that still retain their original number in the chain (for example, the Mooresville location is still called No. 11). Some of the locations still offer curb service.
Built in 1965, the What-A-Burger of Mooresville is an authentic artifact of the drive-in era that sits just south of the main drag. Twenty-eight curb service stalls sit under a retro corrugated shelter and the dining room inside can hold up to a hundred hungry burger lovers.
The burgers at What-A-Burger are very wide, cooked on a flattop, and are made from fresh-ground beef. “The patties come in every morning from a butcher in town,” employee of 25 years Diane told me. They are served on soft white buns that have been toasted on a large press. The thin patty and the squashed, toasted bun make for a very flat but satisfying burger. If you are hungry, go for the “Double What-A-Burger.” Priced at under 4 dollars this half-pound burger could be the best deal going. There’s also a kid-sized What-A-Burger, a smaller version of the original.
You’d have to be a local to understand the baffling burger combinations that What-A-Burger offers. The signature “What-A-Burger” comes with shredded lettuce, sliced tomato, mustard, and onion. The “What-A-Cheeseburger” adds cheese, but mysteriously takes away the mustard. The “What-A-Salisbury” has no mustard, either, and no cheese and, follow me here, the “What-A-Hamburger” comes Southern Style with mustard, coleslaw, and chili. In reality, you can get a burger any way you want it. Just ask.
On my first visit I was compelled to order a crazy sounding drink on the menu called the “Witch Doctor.” When I asked what was in the drink, through the muffled vintage drive-in speakerphone, I could not make out what the kitchen was telling me. All I could hear was, “Wah, wah waah, wah waaah.” When the drink appeared at my car I took a sip and tasted cherry and lime soda, and something savory. Then I opened the lid of the Styrofoam cup to find a wedge of lemon and three pickle slices floating in ice. The Witch Doctor, a drink that goes back five decades at What-A-Burger, is made by filling a cup with a little bit from each soda on the fountain. “There used to be a raw onion ring in there too,” Employee Jeff told me, and Diane added, “Some people still ask for the onion. Yuck.” Mike Bost told me, “The customers dreamed that one up a long time ago.” The drink was amazing with a flavor that was complex and refreshing. Just don’t make the mistake I made and take a sip hours later after the ice had melted and the pickles had marinated.
The Witch Doctor is a great drink, but the bestseller at What-A-Burger is the “Cherry-Lemon Sundrop.” It’s so popular that Mike told me, “If we couldn’t sell those and burgers I think we’d go out of business.”
Each curb stall is set up in twos and you’ll need to follow curb service etiquette to park correctly. Imagine two gas pumps and you’ll get the idea. In a row of two curb stalls, pull through to the second one so that someone can pull in behind you. I did not do this the first time I visited and received some quizzical looks from regulars.
For many years the curb service at the Mooresville location was not up and running. A lack of qualified carhops led Mike to shut down the talkback speakers and send all of the business indoors. But after pressure from regulars, three years ago the curb service returned. Thanks to that pressure you can now enjoy your What-A-Burger and Witch Doctor curbside.
28
OHIO
CRABILL’S HAMBURGERS
727 MIAMI ST | URBANA, OH 43078
937-653-5133 | MON–FRI 10 AM–6:30 PM
SAT 10 AM–5 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Crabill’s is very, very small. What’s amazing is that the original Crabill’s was much smaller. Eight stools sit bolted to the floor at a small counter and there is barely enough room to pass behind them. “The old place was five times smaller,” grill cook Andy Hiltibran told me. Andy is married to third-generation owner Marsha Crabill, the granddaughter of Forest Crabill, who opened this heartland burger stand nearly 100 years ago.
Crabill’s started as a hamburger counter in picturesque downtown Urbana. It’s the sort of town that Norman Rockwell would have painted in his depiction of everyday life in mid-twentieth century America. Two men, Crabill and Carpenter, opened the minuscule six-stool counter in 1927. After only three days, Crabill bought out Carpenter for $75. The counter remained in operation, run by Forest’s son and daughter-in-law, David and Joyce, until it closed in 1988.
Marsha and Andy decided to restart the family business soon after with the help of Marsha’s parents. They were eager to leave their factory jobs (she worked at Honda, he worked at Bristol-Meyers) so they purchased a small motor home and dubbed it “Crabill’s on Wheels.” They made the rounds of county fairs and horse shows, and after three years on wheels the couple decided to go brick-and-mortar. Crabill’s was reborn on the west side of town, just a few blocks from, and not much larger than, the original location.
The first time I visited the reincarnation of the burger counter, I sat next to a white-bearded regular named Will Yoder who for decades has played the annual town Santa. Will had recently had his teeth removed and was on a soft food diet. Personally, I couldn’t think of a better spot to dine on tasty, soft food. The tiny burgers at Crabill’s, with their pillowy Wonder buns and healthy dose of burger grease, actually do melt in your mouth.
The burgers at Crabill’s are cooked in a wide, shallow griddle. The griddle is filled with about a half inch of grease. “The griddle in the old place was much smaller,” Andy told me, and showed me with his hands only a foot apart. “It was also much deeper.” Small balls of fresh ground beef are tossed into the grease, then pressed once with specially made spatulas. The grillperson uses two of these spatulas at a time to systematically press and flip the dozens of patties floating in the grease with a sort of Benihana-like speed and dexterity. As your burger nears doneness, it gets a splash of grease from a spatula and is transferred to a waiting tiny Wonder bun.
Chopped raw onion, spicy mustard, and relish are standard, but cheese and ketchup are also available. There is a sign on the wall menu that explains that ketchup was introduced in 1990. That’s right, it took ketchup 63 years to be accepted at Crabill’s.
On a busy Saturday Crabill’s can move up to 300 burgers in ten minutes. When someone walks in with an order for 20 doubles, the griddle is quickly filled with the balls of meat and the spatulas start whacking at lighting speed.
Don’t waste your time with singles; go for doubles. Twice the beef, twice the grease, and half the bread. If you are feeling brave, do what some regulars do—ask for yours dipped and you’ll get the top of your bun dipped in the grease. “Some people even like theirs double-dipped,” Andy told me. “That’s where we dip the top and bottom of the bun.” A double, double-dipped anyone?
GAHANNA GRILL
82 GRANVILLE ST | GAHANNA, OH 43230
614-476-9017 | WWW.GAHANNAGRILL.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–10:30 PM | SUN NOON–8:30 PM
“This used to be all farm fields out here,” owner of the Gahanna Grill Jimmy Staravecka told me, waving his arm. He pointed to a photo that shows the bar in 1900, not surrounded by much of anything. Looking at the restaurant today in this busy suburb of Columbus, it’s hard to imagine its former surroundings. No one seems to know the age of the building, but supposedly the business dates back to the days of mud streets and horse-drawn carriages. This means the tavern has been pouring drinks for well over a century and makes the Gahanna Grill one of the oldest restaurants in the area.
The nondescript exterior of the tavern yields to a comfortable interior. The wood-paneled walls are covered with photos of the tavern’s past (one depicting the former Gahanna Lanes, a bowling alley on the premises) and the large bar is surrounded by televisions. The surface of the bar is a potpourri of advertisements for local services—from real estate to a hair salon—laminated directly into the finish. One corner of the bar is dedicated to the Beanie Burger Hall of Fame. Floor-to-ceiling photographs show the brave souls who have ingested the burger that has made the Gahanna famous—the “Double Beanie Burger.”
The regular Beanie Burger itself is a monster, with its patty of fresh ground beef weighing in at about half a pound. The Double gives you two half-pound patties, a photo on the wall, and a free T-shirt for your efforts. But the Beanie Burger, named after the cook who invented it decades ago, does not just contain a perfectly griddled patty. The burger is also piled high with lettuce, tomato, grilled onions, bacon, cheese, and a hearty scoop of homemade coleslaw. The burger is a sloppy, tasty mess that is barely contained by its toasted, soft kaiser roll. For that reason, the kitchen staff takes great pride in stabbing the vertical burger with a large steak knife. I know of no frilly toothpick that could keep this beast together.
Beanie Vesner still mans the grill and turns out hundreds of burgers for the lunchtime crowd consisting mostly of construction workers and faithful regulars. Jim Ellison, a friend who alerted me to this hamburger destination, calls the Beanie Burger “A good, manly lunch,” referring to the nearly 100 percent male population at noon. “Dinnertime is different, mostly families,” Jimmy, the newest owner of the restaurant, told me. “This used to be mainly a lunch crowd with the bar busy at night.” Since he purchased Gahanna in 2005 he has updated the kitchen and added steaks and pastas to the menu.
I asked Beanie how long he had been making burgers at Gahanna and he refused to give me a straight answer. Smiling, with a toothpick in his mouth, he told me, “Maybe 20 years, maybe?” But by other accounts, the figure is more like 30 years.
To make the burger, Beanie grabs a half-pound wad of ground beef measured by hand and presses it flat, also by hand, onto the hot griddle. The burger is flipped once and a bacon weight is placed on top. I asked him how he knew the burger was a half pound and his deadpan response was, “Because I’ve made up probably about three million of them.” I ordered my Beanie Burger cooked to the chef’s specs and ended up with a medium-well, but moist, burger. Beanie told me later, with a shrug, “Most people around here like their burgers well done.”
Jimmy is far from the typical Midwesterner or Ohio native. That’s because he was born in Albania and lived in Brooklyn, New York, for 17 years. He attended cooking school in New York City, owned a pizza parlor, and for a few years was Mayor Rudolph Giuliani’s chef at Gracie Mansion. He came to Columbus for opportunity and the quality of life it promised. “In Bensonhurst, we lived in a studio apartment on the sixteenth floor. Here, I live in a mansion, wife, two kids, two-car garage, backyard, and a pool.” All that, and he owns a restaurant that makes one of the best burgers in America.
HAMBURGER WAGON
12 EAST CENTRAL AVE | MIAMISBURG, OH 45342
937-847-2442 | WWW.HAMBURGERWAGON.COM
MON–SAT 10:30 AM–7 PM | SUN 11 AM–7 PM
Every day of the year two dedicated employees of the Hamburger Wagon open a small garage door and drag a tiny spoked-wheel lunch cart 50 feet to a spot across the street. “It’s pretty awkward to pull,” an employee told me once, “but if you get a running start it’s okay.” The wagon has been selling burgers in roughly the same spot for almost 100 years to faithful regulars from the center of this picturesque town south of Dayton. I asked former owner Michelle Lyons if the Hamburger Wagon would be around for a while and she told me, “I think there would be civil unrest if they tried to get rid of the wagon.”
Born of necessity, the Hamburger Wagon was started by Sherman “Cocky” Porter just after the devastating Dayton Flood of 1913. Miamisburg was evacuated and in shambles, left without power or water. Cocky served burgers from a cart to relief workers and locals who were put to the task of rebuilding the town.
Today, the Wagon still sells the one thing it has sold for almost a century—hamburgers. It’s as basic as you can get. The burger comes one way only, on a bun with pickle and onion, no cheese. You can always tell when someone in line has never been to the wagon when they ask for cheese. Various cranky old men have owned and worked on the Wagon through the decades and Michelle told me, “If you asked for cheese, they’d tell you, ‘If you want cheese, get yer ass over to the McDonald’s!’”
The small patties, around three ounces apiece, come as singles or doubles on tiny Wonder buns. Chips and pop are offered, but that’s about it. If you were looking for variety, you came to the wrong place. If you were looking for one of the tastiest burgers in America, dig in.
The burgers at the Wagon are unique. The first thing you’ll notice upon first bite is the extraordinarily crunchy exterior and the pleasantly moist interior. Think chicken-fried burger. You also probably watched your burger being deep-fried in the enormous skillet through one of the Wagon’s windows. The reason for the super-crunch of the burgers is kept secret, but I’d venture to guess that one of the ingredients is some sort of breading. Adding bread to ground beef was a government-sanctioned method for stretching food during the Depression. It’s a method that a few old-time burger stands in America still operate successfully with.
An average order at the wagon is four burgers. A customer of over 60 years named Glenn makes the 40-mile round trip twice a week for four of the tasty deep-fried burgers. One day when I was there he added a Diet Coke to his order. Rubbing his belly, he told me, laughing, “I’m watching my figure!”
Two employees work at lightning speed to prep, cook, and bag over 200 burgers an hour. One stands at the skillet managing the tiny bobbing and bubbling patties while the other preps buns and makes change. This sounds entirely ordinary except that it is accomplished in a space that is no more than four by five feet wide. The illusion of the small cart is perpetuated though by a large commercial kitchen across the street where the meat, onions, and buns are prepped and stored.
New owner Jack Sperry bought the Hamburger Wagon in 2007 and changed virtually nothing, except that now the Wagon is open year round. Jack told me, “Unless there’s a 10 foot snow drift we’re dragging out the Wagon.” This is a big change from the previous owners who would close down for the month of February much to the dismay of the regulars.
Jack is also working on building a second wagon that he can send out to fairs and festivals. Even though the new wagon will have the same menu, it’ll be twice the size and totally tricked out. Jack explained, “It’ll be like the Hamburger Wagon on steroids.”
JOHNNIE’S TAVERN
3503 TRABUE RD | COLUMBUS, OH 43204
614-488-0110 | MON–SAT 11 AM–10 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
On my first visit to this semi-suburban burger destination I was invited into the kitchen to interview the chef and I was sort of shocked by what I found. Although Johnnie’s is a tiny out of the way tavern they do manage to crank out a ton of burgers during the lunch hour and all of those burgers are prepped, cooked, cheesed, and placed on buns by the one-man hamburger machine Joe Lombardi.
“When I get real backed up it can take me a while,” the twenty something fourth-generation Lombardi told me. “I’m alone back here.” As he jumped from griddle to prep surface and back again with lightning speed, the band Phish poured out of a beat-up boom box. The only other employee during lunch, the bubbly server/bartender Brittney, burst into the kitchen with the next large order of burgers and announced, “You’re gonna HATE this order.” The order contained about nine burgers, all with different types of cheese and different toppings, not to mention that the order was hard to read. When I asked why she thought Joe would hate the order she told me, “Just because it’s a bunch of mumbo-jumbo.”
Joe’s grandfather, Dominic, opened the comfortable, broken-in bar in 1948 by turning his family’s local grocery store into a tavern. Joe’s great-grandfather emigrated from Italy to open the grocery store around the turn of the century. Johnnie’s sits near a busy freight rail crossing in the old-world Italian neighborhood of San Margherita, an attractive spot to Italian immigrants at the time due to its proximity to a large, nearby marble quarry.
As I stood talking to Joe in the kitchen at Johnnie’s, I saw him reach somewhere and toss what looked like perfectly pressed frozen burger patties on the griddle. My heart sank and I shouted out in disbelief, “Are your burgers frozen?” Fortunately, my trip to Johnnie’s was not in vain and Joe explained with a chuckle, “No, that’s fried bologna.” The fried bologna, which is clearly linked to the strong Ohio roots in European sausage making, is a local central Ohio favorite.
The “Super Burgers” are the only burger on the menu and they come in one size—huge. Every morning Joe and other family members hand-patty enough burgers for lunch and dinner. Joe told me, “I usually don’t weigh them but they are around a pound.” These burgers are beasts and after cooking they are still just north of three-fourths-pound. The fresh-ground chuck comes from two local sources and blended in the kitchen. Why two sources? “That’s just the way it’s always been done,” Joe told me with a straight face. I love those answers.
A burger with everything comes on a seeded, white squishy bun with your choice of cheese (six to choose from), raw onion, a slice of tomato, and lettuce. The regular’s cheese of choice is Pepper Jack, which has a decent kick and is the perfect cheese for the Super Burger. Fried onions are also available, but you’ll have to ask for them.
On my first weekday visit to Johnnie’s, the place was full by 11:30 a.m. and there were beers on every table. A pool table dominates the dining area, leaving only enough room for about 28 hungry patrons. The bar is also an option with its 13 stools but a wait seems inevitable after 11:45. On one wall is a poster of grandpa Dominic standing at the bar, a mug of beer in front of him with a strange contraption protruding. I asked local friend and burger expert Jim Ellison about the beer and he explained that more than once Johnnie’s has been awarded the “Coldest Tap Beer in Columbus.” The thing sticking out of the beer? A thermometer.
People who love Johnnie’s really love the place. A guy in the booth next to me announced, unprovoked, “I’ve been coming here for 25 years.” That’s the kind of burger-love I’m looking for across America. Jim pointed out that for most people who live in Columbus a trip to Johnnie’s is not serendipitous because it’s way out by itself in a quiet part of town surrounded by homes with perfectly trimmed lawns. “If you are coming here you are making a choice to be here.”
Joe plans to keep Johnnie’s in the family and eventually buy the place from his dad. When his dad asked him to step into the business, Joe told me, “I took about a month to decide.” Let’s hope a Lombardi runs this American icon for at least another four generations.
KEWPEE
111 NORTH ELIZABETH ST | LIMA, OH 45801
419-228-1778 | MON–THU 5 AM–10 PM
FRI & SAT 5 AM–MIDNIGHT | SUN 3 PM-10 PM
In the center of Lima, Ohio, sits a slice of Americana that is impossible to ignore. A well preserved Art-Deco restaurant with a big history, this 1920s hamburger tradition once existed throughout the Upper Midwest with over 200 locations that competed with White Castle and outlived White Tower. Today there are only six Kewpees remaining, and of those, three are in Lima.
Owner Harry Shutt hasn’t done much to his enameled-brick burger restaurant that was built in 1938 (and replaced a version built in 1928). “We have tried to maintain our image and not change much.” That’s a good thing because this Kewpee has been turning out tasty square-patty burgers for over 80 years.
Yes, the burgers at Kewpee are square, not round. Sound familiar? In 1969, Dave Thomas, the founder of the ubiquitous Wendy’s chain, introduced a square burger to America. It may have been a new concept to some, but both Kewpee and White Castle have been serving square burgers since the 1920s. Dave was clearly influenced by the local Kewpee in his hometown of Kalamazoo, Michigan. But unlike both White Castle and Wendy’s, the burgers at Kewpee are made from fresh ground beef, not frozen.
Step into the Kewpee of downtown Lima and instantly step back in time. Very little has changed from the food to the 1930s fast-food décor. The restaurant’s original curved white enamel steel wall and ceiling panels look as clean as if it were opening day. Newish orange plastic booths, a low counter with stools, and random tables fill the small terrazzo-floored restaurant. In the dining area two large Kewpee dolls stand watch over customers enjoying their burgers and thick shakes. Fortunately, Harry has held on to these icons of a forgotten age and has even had the priceless dolls refurbished recently. The Kewpee name comes from the popular early twentieth–century doll of the same name (but different spelling), the Kewpie doll.
The burgers are fresh. “I buy boneless carcass beef and grind it here,” Harry told me. The beef comes from a Lima slaughterhouse that uses local cows only. Harry said it best when he explained, “The worst thing you can do to meat is haul it. These animals have never been more than 40 miles from Lima.” This makes Harry and Kewpee an anomaly in fast-food America. The hamburger über-chains today, with their cross-country shipments and city-sized warehouses, could not even begin to imagine this sort of localized business plan.
Two separate griddles work full-time during the lunch rush; one services the drive-thru and the other walk-up customers inside. All of the women working behind the counter slinging patties and dressing burgers have been at the Kewpee for over 30 years. Amazingly, grill cook Nancy has been employed at Kewpee since the Kennedy administration.
The burgers are super-thin and so fresh they are almost falling apart. The usual condiments like mustard, ketchup, and pickle are available, but most order “The Special,” which is a burger with mayonnaise, lettuce, and tomato. The produce for Kewpee comes from a local farmer and is hydroponically grown. One menu item, the vegetable sandwich, appears to be a late addition for a health-conscious America, but this is not the case. On the menu for decades, the sandwich was probably added during World War II to make up for the lack of available burger meat. “We’ve had a vegetable sandwich for over 70 years,” Harry pointed out. Harry has been at Kewpee for over 50 years and owns the rights to the franchise, as well as two other “contemporary” Kewpees in Lima. He started flipping burgers at the downtown Kewpee when he was 25 and became the owner in 1980. Harry has a lot to say about the “Wal-Marting” of America. He feels the crush of commercial fast food and the lack of support for small business in America. Coincidentally, one of his Kewpees is threatened by highway expansion designed to accommodate . . . a new Wal-Mart! Regardless, Kewpee does a brisk business and is hardly fazed by the seven McDonald’s restaurants in Lima.
You owe it to yourself to visit Kewpee. It’s a part of American hamburger tradition that remains vital in the face of a homogenizing fast-food culture. Pay homage to a burger chain that preceded Burger King and Wendy’s by almost 40 years. Look for the wide-eyed smiling Kewpee doll over the front door and remember the Kewpee slogan, “Hamburg pickle on top makes your heart go flippity-flop.”
THE SPOT
201 SOUTH OHIO AVE | SIDNEY, OH 45365
937-492-9899 | WWW.THESPOTTOEAT.COM
MON–SAT 7 AM–9 PM | SUN 8 AM–9 PM
The Spot has been a fixture in the center of downtown Sidney, Ohio for over a century. The large, gleaming neon sign over the front door is a beacon to those in search of genuine diner food and one of the best burgers in the country—the “Big Buy.”
The first time I stepped into this updated time-warp diner with its two-tone leather booths and vintage Coke signage I thought the place may have lost its way. Then an old-timer got up from his booth, approached the vintage jukebox and put on Little Anthony’s “Tears on My Pillow” and the whole place was transformed. The ownership had not fallen prey to ’50s kitsch. They had merely embraced it. A major remodeling effort in 1976 updated the interior of The Spot to a wood-paneled “country kitchen” look and it took sixth owner Michael Jannides to rescue the diner and restore it to its original character. “I wanted to bring the place back to the way it looked in the ’40s,” Michael explained, and he did so with amazing detail.
Don’t let the sock hop décor fool you. The Spot actually dates back to a time well before Elvis was King. In 1907 Spot Miller was selling food from a cart on the location where the restaurant now sits. The cart eventually became a permanent structure that burned down in 1940. A year later, the second owners rebuilt The Spot in the Art Moderne style that remains today.
Michael was no stranger to The Spot when he assumed ownership of the Ohio hamburger icon in 1999. In 1989, Michael took a part-time job at The Spot and liked what he saw. His grandfather owned an ice cream parlor in Sidney when he was growing up, and this most likely influenced Michael’s decision to buy The Spot.
There are many diner favorites on the menu like the BLT, the tuna salad sandwich, the seasonal mincemeat pie, and a house-made tenderloin sandwich. Michael confessed, “We’ve added things to the menu over the years but people come in for the burgers.” For sure, the burger remains the number one seller at The Spot. The restaurant can go through up to 1000 on a busy Friday.
I had blinders on when I saw the best seller on the long burger menu—the “Big Buy.” Advertised as a triple-decker, the Big Buy is actually a double patty burger with one of those bun inserts in between the patties (like you’d find on a Big Mac). Cooked on a flattop griddle, the Big Buy is served on a toasted, white squishy bun with shredded lettuce, pickles, American cheese, and a house-made tartar sauce. The taste of this thing is phenomenal, although you’ll find lifting the Big Buy to your face a challenge. The two quarter-pound square patties slip and slide in the tartar sauce and make a mockery of the bun. If you can manage to get a solid bite that includes all of the ingredients, you are in for a treat. The tartar, tangy and sweet, plays to the beefiness of the burger with the cheese lending a salty hand.
The Spot grinds and patties their own burgers and have done so for years. Michael showed me the patty maker he inherited with the purchase of the restaurant, a strange looking contraption with many parts. From what I could tell, the burgers are not “pressed” or “stamped” like most patty machines, rather they are extruded sideways through a narrow opening and cut into squares. The patty, when cooked, stays loose and almost crumbly, most likely from not being pressed in the patty-making process.
Grab a booth or a spot at the counter along the window, then place your order at the register in the rear of the restaurant. When your order is ready, listen for your number to be called over a loudspeaker and pick up your burgers at the counter. At The Spot you can also enjoy traditional carhop service in one of the restaurant’s 21 parking spaces. Regulars have enjoyed carhop service for decades and as Michael put it, “It never went out of vogue here!”
After six owners I have a feeling this place will be around for a while. Almost everything at The Spot is fresh and made to order, which is a tough claim for most diners today. Michael is committed to keeping the dream alive and continues that spirit by sticking to the basics.
SWENSON’S DRIVE IN
658 EAST CUYAHOGA FALLS AVE | AKRON, OH 44310
(6 OTHER LOCATIONS IN AKRON, CANTON, AND CLEVELAND)
330-928-8515 | WWW.SWENSONSDRIVEINS.COM
SUN–THU 11 AM–MIDNIGHT
FRI & SAT 11 AM–1:30 AM | CLOSED MONDAY
I was happy to find that classic carhop drive-in culture is alive and well in Ohio. Anyone who has ever visited the Cuyahoga Falls Avenue location of Swenson’s can tell you that. There are other large burger chains in the United States that employ carhops but I’ve never seen anything like the energy displayed by the carhops at Swenson’s. For these carhops, delivery of a burger to your car is a true sport.
My first impression of Swenson’s, with its young men and women in white polo shirts darting back and forth, was that something was wrong. These carhops were moving way too fast for college-age kids. A half-dozen carhops crisscross with trays of burgers and drinks at lightning speed, often running into each other entering and leaving the kitchen area. When a car pulls up to the 58-year-old drive-in, the driver barely has to flash lights before a carhop is sprinting in their direction. And when a regular pulls up, the carhops all shout out their name in singsong fashion, “Angela’s here!” or “Omar’s here!” It’s pretty incredible to witness and a great show to watch. Swenson’s hires only college students for their youth and their flexible schedules. “It’s a rigorous, hard job,” Patty Palmer from Swenson’s main office told me. “It takes a special person to do that.”
The Cuyahoga Falls Avenue location is the oldest physical structure dating back to 1952 but the local chain now boasts seven locations in Akron, Canton, and Cleveland, all drive-ins with carhops, or “curb-servers” as they are referred to at Swenson’s. Wesley “Pop” Swenson opened his first drive-in in 1934 after he had success selling burgers from his station wagon to high school students as classes let out. The Swenson family sold the business in the late’50s to the Phillips family who in turn sold it to current owner Steve Thompson in 1974 (a former curb server himself at Swenson’s in the’60s). He was responsible for expanding the business by adding five additional locations, as well as rebuilding the original 1934 West Akron drive-in. The Phillips family probably ran the drive-ins well, but Steve had an added advantage. Friendly with Pop’s granddaughter, Steve was able to get the original Swenson recipes making the drive-in today as authentic as it could possibly be.
The menu at Swenson’s is large and offers Ohio classics like the fried bologna sandwich and the Sloppy Joe, but the burgers are the star attraction, headlining the top of the menu. The signature burger at Swenson’s is the “Galley Boy,” a double cheeseburger with two special sauces. I deduced that one sauce was mayonnaise and the other was barbecue sauce. “You are sort of right but not quite,” Patty told me. Clearly the sauces are a secret. There are many condiments available at Swenson’s, but if you ask for everything, you’ll get mustard, pickles, and raw onion. But the Galley Boy, with its two sauces, two 3-ounce patties, and cheese, is perfect.
All of the burgers are served on buns that are a special recipe and been made exclusively for Swenson’s by the local Massoli Italian Bakery. Fresh ground beef is delivered daily to each of the locations in the chain, pattied and shipped out from their central commissary location in North Akron.
Swenson’s is also known for its shakes and the incredible chocolate peanut butter is one of the most popular. There are 18 flavors to choose from with “limitless combinations,” Patty explained. Swenson’s also offers seasonal flavors, like the immensely popular pumpkin shake in the fall.
People are crazy about Swenson’s and the restaurant has a solid legion of fans. “It’s bizzaro!” Patty explained of the lengths some fanatics go to enjoy their Swenson’s burgers. “We just sent two burgers to a wedding for the bride and groom,” Patty explained. That’s right, the newlyweds ate Swenson’s burgers, and the guests ate the catered food. That is my kind of wedding.
THURMAN CAFE
183 THURMAN AVE | COLUMBUS, OH 43206
614-443-1570 | WWW.THETHURMANCAFE.COM
OPEN DAILY 11 AM–2:30 AM, SUNDAY TO 1 AM
The quaint, historic German Village in Columbus, Ohio, with its low, ancient buildings and streets paved with red brick, is the perfect setting for this broken-in, dark and cozy tavern. The menu at Thurman Cafe is loaded with great food from decades-old family recipes like the Coney sauce for the hot dogs and terrific French fries. But it’s the burger you came to eat, so settle into one of the odd-shaped booths and prepare to feast on one of the tallest burgers in the land—the “Thurman Burger.”
Thurman Cafe has all the trappings of a typical time-tested favorite local hang—walls covered with the obligatory license plates, beer ads, and old photos. But look a little closer and discover the amazing ceiling covered in vintage Budweiser wallpaper and the thousands of signed dollar bills dangling over the bar area like party decorations. Chances are, while you are waiting for your Thurman Burger to arrive, one will pass by on its way to another customer. Your first glance at the famed burger will result in an audible gulp that signals either fear or hunger. This is because the Thurman Burger is enormous.
Macedonian immigrants Nancho and Dena Suclescy opened the Thurman Cafe in 1937. Today, more than 70 years later, the café is still in the Suclescy family, run by third-generation siblings Mike, Paul, and Donna.
There are many different burgers on the menu, but it’s the Thurman Burger that outsells them all. The creation starts with a three-quarter-pound patty of griddled fresh ground beef that is topped with (follow me here) grilled onions, lettuce, tomato, sliced sautéed mushrooms, pickle, jalapeño slices, mayonnaise, and a half-pound mound of sliced ham. The pile of ingredients is then covered with both mozzarella and American cheese, capped with a toasted bun, and speared with extra-long toothpicks. When I say tall, I’m guessing this burger stands no less than seven inches high. Get your mouth ready.
“The best way to eat this thing,” local burger expert and friend Jim Ellison told me, “is to press it down and flip it over. The juices have already destroyed the bottom bun.” He was right, and flipping worked, but after the first few bites something went wrong and my burger imploded. The combination of ingredients and sheer size beg for your patience. Take your time and enjoy this pile of goodness. It’s a sloppy burger.
On a busy Saturday at Thurman, the kitchen will prepare and serve up to 500 of the famed burgers. “We go through over 1,500 pounds of beef a week,” Mike Suclescy told me. Good meat too. Mike buys only top-quality 85/15 ground chuck and told me, “We ran out once and went over to the Kroger Supermarket for ground beef. The taste just wasn’t the same.”
The “Blue Cheeseburger” (for which the Suclescys go through over eight gallons of blue cheese dressing a week) is also a big seller as is the “Macedonian,” served on Texas toast with sweet red peppers. Or try the new “Thurmanator,” a Thurman Burger on top of a cheddar cheeseburger. You heard correctly, it’s basically a double Thurman Burger. A regular cheeseburger has been banished to the bottom of the menu, clearly a lightweight choice at this tavern.
My favorite-sounding concoction was the “Johnnie Burger.” Invented by a chronic tequila-quaffing regular, the Johnnie is a three-quarter-pound burger with bacon and blue cheese that’s drizzled with a shot of top-shelf 1800 tequila. No lettuce, tomato, or mayo is offered because, as Johnnie once explained, “If I wanted a salad, I’d order one!”
WILSON’S SANDWICH SHOP
600 S. MAIN ST | FINDLAY, OH 45840
419-422-5051 | MON–THU 7AM–10PM
FRI–SAT 7AM–MIDNIGHT | SUN 2PM–10PM
It’s hard to miss Wilson’s as you roll through downtown Findlay, Ohio. The restaurant is on a busy crossroads in the center of town with the word WILSON spelled above the front door in large black letters. Across the street sits the impressive former Marathon Oil world headquarters: a beautiful glass, steel, and concrete monument to the automobile age.
Wilson’s has walls of windows on three sides. From inside, the sun-drenched space makes you feel like you’re in a huge fishbowl. Grab a stool at one of the long counters lining the windows, watch small town America unfold, and enjoy a fresh-ground hamburger and a chocolate malt.
The building is the second constructed in the restaurant’s long history. The first, built in 1936, was a stunning example of enamel steel road food culture. It was replaced with a greatly expanded Wilson’s in the mid-sixties. During construction of the new Wilson’s, the tiny yellow restaurant was pushed to the back of the parking lot and remained open. The original Wilson’s was as narrow as a subway car and held only 32 people. Today’s newer building seats over 130 hungry patrons in a wide dining room filled with a combination of booths, tables, and counters. Expect to find a line to the door at lunch and dinner.
Stub Wilson opened Wilson’s Sandwich Shop in 1936. A few years earlier, Stub had opened two Kewpee restaurants in nearby Lima, Ohio and decided to open another in Findlay. Finding another Kewpee already in Findlay (the restaurants were independently owned), he chose to name the new restaurant after himself. When Stub Wilson died, he passed all three restaurants onto his managers—the Kewpees in Lima went to Harrison Shutt and Wilson’s went to three managers, Woody Curtis, Wilber Fenbert, and Lance Baker. Today, Wilson’s is part owned and run by Lance Baker’s widow, Pat. After a few years of decline, Pat stepped in to take charge of the situation. “I got everybody back on track and back in uniforms.” She was wise not to change the menu and she told me, “The burgers are still hot, juicy, and good!”
There’s no question that the burgers at Wilson’s are fresh. Three times a week the restaurant receives a delivery of 600 pounds of beef from a slaughterhouse in Lima. Every morning the staff grinds and patties enough for the day’s burgers. A patty machine attached to the grinder forms them into square patties, a shape that Wendy’s popularized in the late 1960s but actually hails from the original Kewpee restaurants.
The basic, three-and-a-half-ounce griddled burger comes with mustard, pickle, and onion. Make it a “Special” and you’ll also get lettuce, tomato, and mayo (for only 40 cents more). Just think; it only takes 40 cents to make your burger special.
Similarities between the Kewpees of Lima and Wilson’s still exist, but the most notable is the historically significant vegetable sandwich. Listed on the menu as the “Veggie,” this meatless sandwich (a Special without the patty) is a product of the WWII years when meat rationing forced many burger stands to adapt or shut down. White Castle temporarily embraced the grilled cheese sandwich, many others went to fish sandwiches, and Wilson’s (and the Kewpees of Lima) introduced the vegetable sandwich.
Wilson’s is the type of happy place that you remember from your youth. People come from all over to eat the burgers they ate growing up in Findley. Mark Metcalf, an actor from Findley best known for his role as the R.O.T.C. commander Neidermeyer in the film Animal House, recalls Wilson’s burgers fondly. He told me by phone, “My grandfather used to go down to Wilson’s and bring back bagfuls of hamburgers.” Pat is aware of the restaurant’s popularity and its place in the memory of anyone who was raised on Wilson’s burgers. And I for one am overjoyed that she had the good sense to step in to basically rescue Wilson’s. She told me, “We want to stick around for a while. We have a seventy-fifth anniversary coming up.”
29
OKLAHOMA
CLAUD’S HAMBURGERS
3834 SOUTH PEORIA BLVD | TULSA, OK 74105
918-742-8332 | TUES, WED, & SAT 10:30 AM–4 PM
THU & FRI 10:30 AM–8 PM | CLOSED SUN & MON
The hours posted in the window at Claud’s are correct but slightly loose depending on the number of people waiting outside for the 56-year-old hamburger counter to open. “Depends on how I feel that morning,” Robert Hobson said with a smile after opening a few minutes early. “Every day is different.”
Robert and his brother, Cliff, own the tiny, bright diner in the neighborhood of Brookside, just south of downtown Tulsa. In 1985, Claud Hobson passed the business to his sons, who had already put in plenty of years behind the counter. “I was four months old when he moved to this location [in 1965],” Robert told me. “I guess you can say I’ve been here all my life.”
The interior of Claud’s is clean and utilitarian, with white walls and a long counter lined with short green and chrome swivel stools. The Hobsons have only the absolute basics behind the faux-wood Formica counter: a flattop griddle, refrigerators, and a deep fryer, everything in gleaming stainless steel. Large picture windows allow ample daylight to stream in and passing cars on South Peoria send flashes down the counter.
The burgers at Claud’s are a lesson in simplicity. When Claud was at the griddle your options were only mustard, pickle, and onion. Today, his sons have expanded options slightly to include lettuce and tomato. American cheese reigns supreme but as Robert told me with a sigh, “We also offer pepper jack cheese, but I think I made three yesterday.” Robert is a man after my own heart. “Our main focus is the meat,” He told me standing at the griddle. “When you cover it up with all that stuff you lose the taste.”
The burger to get at Claud’s is the double cheeseburger with onions. The onion is not just a slice tossed on cold or grilled to limp. When you order yours with onions watch what happens. To the right of the flattop is a small piece of white marble embedded in the countertop. Robert takes a patty, slaps it onto the marble, and works a handful of chopped raw onion into the patty with the back of a stiff spatula. He then takes the flattened patty and plops it, onion-side down, onto the hot flattop. If you require a double, Robert takes two patties and stacks them on the marble and works them together with the spatula. The result is a very flat, wide burger that hangs far outside the white squishy bun, a style that has been Claud’s for decades.
The only change Claud’s burger has seen over the years was an increase in the size of the patty from 2 to 3 ounces and a switch from balled-beef to pre-formed patties. After two decades of balling ground chuck to smash into patties, Claud finally purchased a patty machine in the early seventies. “He used to say,” Robert told me, “if someone is smart enough to make a machine to make my life easier, I’m smart enough to buy it.”
Before it was Claud’s, the burger counter was well known as Van’s Hamburgers, part of a mini-chain in Tulsa. Claud opened his original burger joint in 1954 about 2 miles west of downtown but moved to the Van’s on South Peoria in 1965. “He was actually ‘chosen’ to take over this location,” Robert told me. The busy thoroughfare has its share of burger joints with the 80-year-old Weber’s Root Beer Stand directly across the street and a Sonic Drive-In just two doors down from Claud’s. Amazingly, the Sonic has not affected their business.
Robert is 45 years young and plans to run the business for a while. “I plan on being here until our seventy-fifth anniversary!” he told me with a chuckle, which would be in 2030. “Maybe longer.”
FOLGER’S DRIVE-INN
406 EAST MAIN ST | ADA, OK 74820
580-332-9808 | MON–FRI 10:30 AM–7 PM
CLOSED SAT & SUN
If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you could drive right by Folger’s. The unassuming little ‘50s prefab on the east end of downtown Ada has only two neon signs in the window—one that reads FOLGER’S, the other OPEN. A short flight of red concrete steps leads directly into hamburger heaven. Inside you’ll find a bright, sunny, clean restaurant filled with the friendliest people. I’m not kidding. Within 15 minutes of my visit to Folger’s, I knew everyone in the place.
Folger’s is definitely a family-run business. In October 1935, G.G. and Christine Folger opened a hamburger concession in the local movie theater just up Main Street. They opened the current location in 1950 and eventually turned over operations and ownership to their two sons, Jim and Jerry Folger. Today, Jim and Jerry spend the better part of their day behind the large flattop griddle and Jerry’s wife, Wanda, works the tiny 12-stool counter. Orders to-go come in on the pay phone by the front door and Jim makes change at the register between burger flips.
“We have a few other things on the menu but hamburger baskets are 90 percent of our business,” a very busy lunchtime Jim told me. I stood and watched him methodically flip and manage 12 quarter-pound burgers on the griddle at the same time. The Folger brothers engage in a sort of silent culinary dance in their open, narrow kitchen—Jim flips burgers, Jerry dresses them, and Wanda delivers. The dance is repeated over and over again for hours at lunch until hundreds of burgers have been dispensed to happy customers.
“We’ve been open 75 years now,” Jim told me. “We have quite a bit of loyalty and now five generations of families are coming in.” A regular customer named Mike, smiling and rubbing his belly joked, “You can tell I’ve had a bunch of them.” The burger at Folger’s comes with mustard, onion, lettuce, and tomato. Ask for an “Educated Burger” (not on the menu), and you’ll get a burger that replaces the onion with mayo. Make it a “basket” and you’ll get to experience the other reason you came to Ada—for their outstanding fries. Every day, Folger’s manages to go through over 200 pounds of potatoes for their fresh-cut fries.
“The produce and meat are fresh, every day,” Jim told me as he flattened another hand-formed patty on the griddle with a long spatula. Jim uses large Wonder buns that are perfectly toasted on the griddle. The finished product is a wide, flat burger that is bursting with greasy goodness and flavor.
“The grill used to be right behind the counter, and was smaller,” Bill Peterson, the district attorney in Ada, told me. If it had not been for Bill and mutual friend Tom Palmore, I may never have found Folger’s. Both Bill and Tom grew up in Ada and were classmates of Jerry Folger’s. They agreed that Folger’s was not to be missed on the hunt for great burgers in America—they were right.
HAMBURGER KING
322 E. MAIN ST | SHAWNEE, OK 74801
405-878-0488
WWW.HAMBURGERKINGOKLAHOMA.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–8 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Legend has it that there used to be two Hamburger Kings in Oklahoma, one in Shawnee and one in Ada, and the Ada location was lost in a craps game. The owners of both were George “The Hamburger King” Macsas and his brother, Joe. The Macsas brothers emigrated from Beirut to Oklahoma and opened the successful hamburger venture in 1927. Today, more than 80 years later, the Hamburger King still stands in Shawnee and proudly remains in the Macsas family.
Dusty downtown Shawnee, Oklahoma, feels proudly American. A restaurant named Hamburger King is almost required in this setting, along with the Rexall Drug store, the furniture store (with layaway plans), and the enormous grain elevators on the edge of town. The Hamburger King exists in its third location in Shawnee; the other two were only steps away and the previous one burned down in a grease fire in 1965.
Soon after the fire, the Macsas family rebuilt a much larger version of their burger restaurant a block up Main Street. Today’s Hamburger King is a large, airy diner awash in pastels. The walls are pink-and-white striped Masonite panels. Two long rows of booths and a small counter in the rear service customers and there are the constant sounds of sizzling burgers and the whir of the milkshake machine. Since 1965, at least, nothing has changed. “We switched to Pepsi once and the people rebelled,” Colleen Macsas told me. Colleen is the restaurant’s manager and met her husband, owner Michael Macsas, at the Hamburger King in 1975.
The burgers at Hamburger King are fantastic. Fresh 80/20 patties are delivered to the restaurant daily and cooked on a large, well-seasoned flattop griddle. Quarter-pound singles and doubles are offered. Order a double and you’ll get double the cheese as well. Waitress Beverly pointed out, “Most men order the double meat burger.” I was not about to let my manhood be challenged and naturally ordered a double, a half-pound burger loaded with lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles, and mustard on a toasted, white squishy bun. This burger is not small. Order a “basket” and you’ll get deep-fried potato wedges or tater tots, not fries.
The method for ordering your burger at Hamburger King is one of the most unique in America. If you sit at the counter, expect normal interaction with a counterperson. Sit at one of the many booths and you’ll need to place your order by phone. That’s right, each table is equipped with a red phone and a single button—your lifeline to the kitchen. On the other end of the red food phone is a switchboard operator who relays your order to the grill cook. The funny thing is, the restaurant is not so large that you can’t just call out your order, but the quirkiness of the phone system can’t be beat.
Regulars in a place like Hamburger King are as expected as good burgers. “See those guys over there,” Colleen said to me, pointing to a group of older men at a booth in trucker hats, overalls, and plaid shirts, “they come in here every day and they bring in their wives on Saturday.” Naturally, I had to approach and ask them the obvious, “Do you guys phone in your order?” One guy, smiling, told me, “Naw, they know what we want.”
HARDEN’S HAMBURGERS
432 SOUTH SHERIDAN RD | TULSA, OK 74112
918-834-2558 | WWW.THEHAMBURGERSTORE.COM
TUE–SAT 11 AM–8 PM
As I savored the first bite of my “Men’s Burger” at Harden’s, owner Rick West said in his quiet Oklahoma drawl, “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” This smiling, intense burgerman with piercing blue eyes wasn’t asking about the specifics of the burger in my hand. And he wasn’t asking my opinion of this glorious pile of beef and cheese either. I could tell by the tone in his voice that his question had a larger meaning, as if to say, “Isn’t this what everyone really wants?” Oh yes, most certainly.
Rick started his career in burgers at the age of 12 working at the long-gone Tanner’s Drive-In on Admiral Place and Garnett Road. “I knew that I wanted to be in the hamburger business after working for Tanner,” Rick told me. But it wasn’t Tanner that had the largest influence on Rick. In 1987, after spending many years outside the restaurant business, Rick bought the decades-old burger joint from the hamburger icon Johney Harden. Johney taught Rick the secrets to his success.
As my friend (and local hamburger expert) Joe Price clicked off names of past and present Tulsa burger flippers, Rick said with a serious tone, “Johney trained a lot of those guys.” His influence today is far reaching and can probably be felt in every corner of Tulsa. At one point, Johney even consulted for Wendy’s founder Dave Thomas and designed his first hamburger kitchen.
A large sign hanging underneath the menu at the register says “We cook ’em with a light pink center.” The burgers come in four sizes. The Girl’s Quarter Pound, the Men’s Double, the Triple, and the 4-patty, one-pound B.O.B. which stands for “Big Old Burger.” “If you are a guy and order a Girl’s Burger, you’re gonna get flak,” Rick warned, “but I love it when a girl orders the Men’s Burger.”
The most popular burger on the menu is the Men’s Burger, two quarter-pound patties neatly stacked on a toasted, white squishy bun. The burger is cooked on a flattop and is actually cooked with a bit of pink in the middle. The large, well-seasoned burger explodes with flavor and is incredibly moist. Just after the patties of fresh beef hit the griddle, they are sprinkled with a top-secret seasoning. Rick is one of the only people who actually know what is in this seasoning and the company that blends the spices for Harden’s has strict orders to keep it to themselves. “People actually call the spice company all the time for the recipe,” Rick told me.
Rick Harden
The onion rings at Harden’s are legendary. Size alone would be a reason to order and ogle these rings. They are so large that they resemble bangle bracelets. They taste amazing. Where most battered onion rings separate on contact, these stay together. Whatever process Rick uses has the batter sticking to the onion like glue.
In 1997 Rick moved Harden’s from its second location, setting up shop in a former truck rental business that he owned. This incarnation of Harden’s is a virtual museum of mid-century Americana. Authentic enameled steel gasoline and soda signs are everywhere and display cases are full of vintage scale-model cars. Large, detailed model airplanes hang from the ceiling and Rick’s collection of restored pedal cars are spread around the dining room. You could spend hours in Harden’s and still not see everything.
When you place your order at the register, you are handed an oversized playing card as your “number.” Listen for your suit to be called out over the loudspeaker (i.e. “King of Hearts!”). There is a drive-up window on the north side of the building but Rick dissuades most people from just driving up. “We prefer that you call an order in to pick up at the window.” He explained that he can’t guarantee how the experience will go and recommends that you park and come inside to order. It’s a drive-up, not a drive-thru.
Burger making is part science and part art and Rick West is clearly at peace with both. He told me, “I watched what Johney did and do it exactly the same way.” Okay, part fear, too, I guess.
J&W GRILL
501 WEST CHOCTAW AVE | CHICKASHA, OK 73018
405-224-9912 | MON–WED 6 AM–2 PM
THU–SAT 6 AM–9 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
“Just down from the courthouse in Chickasha there’s a little place that makes a great burger,” was the advice Bill Peterson gave me. Bill is the district attorney for the area, and a man to be trusted with hamburger knowledge. It was Bill who had led me to the amazing burger at Folger’s in Ada, so hopes were high. Not only was the burger at J&W first-rate, but unbeknownst to Bill, I had stumbled upon one of the most historically important burger joints of the Oklahoma onion-fried burger phenomenon.
Onion-fried burgers are to this part of Oklahoma what cheesesteaks are to Philadelphia. The epicenter of the onion-fried burger world is 35 miles north from Chickasha in El Reno. This small town near Oklahoma City boasts three of the best burgers in America, served at counters that are only a few hundred feet from each other. The onion-fried burger craze, started in the 1920s, was created in an effort to stretch meat and feed laid-off railroad workers cheaply.
Restaurants serving the tasty local burger popped up all over town and competition was fierce. But in 1957 a man named Richard Want moved down to Chickasha to open the J&W Grill. He was not alone in his venture though. Johnnie Siler, already successful with Johnnie’s Grill in El Reno, helped to finance the new onion-burger counter.
In an effort to avoid confusion when attempting to figure out the rich histories of these Oklahoma burger joints, let’s just say that they are all connected in some way. Many owners and employees of the remaining burger stands have all worked at each other’s stands, though most worked for and learned from Johnnie Siler. Current owner Darren Cook seems to be the only burger man in this part of Oklahoma who did not work in El Reno. “I started at J&W when I was 12 years old washing dishes,” Darren told me, “I had to use a milk crate to reach the sink.” When he was 19, he purchased a share in the restaurant, and in 1981, when he was only 23, bought the restaurant outright. Understandably, J&W is his life and he has been at the burger counter for over 35 years. A restaurant in El Reno made a few offers to buy J&W from Darren, but he told me, “I’m only in my forties, what would I do?”
The J in J&W stands for Johnnie, the W for Want. “I think it was supposed to be ‘S&W’ for their last names but the sign people made a mistake,” Maryann Davis, wife of past owner Jim Davis, told me.
J&W has everything you’d want in a burger joint—meat ground fresh on premises, onions hand sliced in back, a basic menu, and fast service. The concept is simple. Order a “hamburger” and it comes with onions. A quarter-pound wad of fresh ground beef is pressed onto a hot flattop griddle and sprinkled with a large amount of sliced (not diced) onions. The stringy onions go limp, and the burger is flipped and pressed again, forcing the onions into the cooking beef. The result is a mess of beef and caramelized onions that create a moist burger with an intense onion flavor. At J&W, if you want a double, two wads of beef are pressed together and twice the amount of onion is dispensed.
The restaurant sits on the busy thoroughfare of Choctaw Avenue near downtown Chickasha. It’s a very visible red and white cinder block structure with a large American flag painted on one side. The long, low, wood-grain Formica counter has sixteen swivel stools that are never empty at lunchtime. “It gets crowded in here at lunch. The line goes out the door,” counterperson Brandi told me. The good news is that the average time at a stool is 10 minutes and, Brandi said with a smile, “We can move them in and out of here in fifteen.”
Brandi knows just about everyone who walks in the door and calls out their order to the grill cook before they even take a seat. Biscuits and gravy are a big seller in the morning, but she told me some customers order burgers first thing. “We’ll start making burgers at 6 a.m. if someone wants one.”
When I visited J&W there was no music playing, just the sounds of the exhaust fan, regulars talking about just getting off a night shift, and the sizzle of burgers on the griddle. It was refreshing to enjoy my burger without music for once, just the mesmerizing sounds of America.
JOHNNIE’S GRILL
301 SOUTH ROCK ISLAND | EL RENO, OK 73036
405-262-4721 | MON–SAT 6 AM–9 PM
SUN 11 AM–8 PM
Steve Galway is a dedicated man. The first time I visited Johnnie’s to taste an onion-fried burger, the pride of El Reno, Oklahoma, Steve was not there. “He comes in every day at two,” a counterperson told me. But it was 3 p.m. and he was nowhere to be found. That’s because Steve comes in every day at 2 a. m. to prep the restaurant for the day and is gone by 11 a.m. Now that’s dedication to burgers. When I finally caught up with him we had a long talk about what it takes to keep a restaurant successful. “Give the best you’ve got and the people will come back,” are the words he lives by. He must be doing something right because every time I’ve been there the place has been packed—the people most definitely come back.
Don’t be fooled by the fairly nondescript exterior of Johnnie’s Grill. Located on one of the main drags in downtown El Reno, the simple, brick-faced restaurant is set back from the street by a small parking lot. The only windows are the glass in the front door and a small drive-up on one side of the building. The inside is bright and clean with a sea of tables and booths, a fact you could not imagine from a parking lot assessment. There’s also a short counter with seven stools and a clear view of the large flattop griddle that’s usually loaded with onion-fried burgers.
This version of Johnnie’s is new as of 2005. Prior to that, Johnnie’s was a narrow burger joint at the same location with a counter on the left and four booths on the right. Prior to that, the original location was across the street, but, collapsed under the weight of snow in 1986. Today’s Johnnie’s could easily seat up to a hundred. There’s even a “party table” in the new Johnnie’s that seats twenty.
But for all its newness, Johnnie’s remains one of the most historically important purveyors of the El Reno onion-fried burger, important because it seems that all roads lead back there. Sid and Marty Hall from the popular Sid’s (only two blocks away) both worked at the counter and Johnnie himself brought the onion-fried burger south when he opened the J&W Grill of Chickasha in 1957.
Order a hamburger at Johnnie’s and it comes standard with onions smashed in. In the old days, onion was used in a burger to stretch the day’s meat and to add flavor, but Steve told me, “Back then it was a lot of onion and a little meat.”
The grillman takes a ball of fresh-ground chuck, slaps it on the grill, covers it with thin-sliced onions, and starts pressing the patty until the onion and red meat are one. The thin patty cooks on the hot griddle until the beef has a crunchy char and the onions are caramelized. As it nears doneness, a white squishy bun is placed on the burger, softened by onion steam. The burger is served with pickles on the side only. All other condiments are self-serve.
Steve started working at Johnnie’s for then owner Bruce Otis at age 12, over 40 years ago. He and Marty (from Sid’s Diner) worked at the grill at the same time and have remained friends. “It’s not like it used to be,” Steve said, referring to the cutthroat competition in the early days between rival burger stands in El Reno. “If I need some sacks (paper bags), I’ll call Marty. We try to help each other.”
If you really want to experience El Reno at its peak, show up in town on the first Saturday in May. That’s when this proud town just west of Oklahoma City celebrates Burger Day. Thirty-thousand people descend on El Reno for live music, a car show, and a public construction of the “World’s Largest Onion-Fried Burger.” The three main burger outposts, Sid’s, Robert’s, and Johnnie’s, all within a block of each other, operate at beyond capacity. “That day we’ll have a six-block line for burgers and forty employees,” Steve told me.
Steve has three sons and plans to bring them up in the business if they are interested, but makes a point to tell them his secret to success. “I tell them if you are going to own one of these you have to come down and talk to the people.” But he doesn’t plan on ceding control to anyone just yet. “If I’m going to do something the rest of my life, I want it to be here.” Like I said, Steve is a dedicated man.
MY FAVORITE SIDESOn my ten-year journey to the best hamburgers in the nation, I came across a few regional treats that I just could not pass up. Here’s a short list of the not-to-be-missed sides you’ll find while burgering your way through America. I didn’t include fries because most burgers come with them anyway. These are the sides, drinks, and desserts you would likely miss out on if I didn’t alert you to their greatness.
Steak Fingers—Harden’s Hamburgers, Tulsa, OKOwner Rick West made me do it. After polishing off his double cheeseburger, he presented his battered steak fingers and I somehow managed to finish them too. The best I’ve ever had.
Frickles—The Meers Store & Restaurant, Meers, OKJoe Maranto is constantly adding things to his menu and this one is a winner. I sat with him recently, a basket of his new deep-fried pickles between us and he said, “I can’t stop eating them!” Neither could I.
Banana Cream Pie—The Apple Pan, Los Angeles, CAThis is the king of all banana cream pies. Reserve your slice with one of the countermen before you bite into your burger.
Cheese Curds—Dotty Dumpling’s Dowry, Madison, WIThese are a must-have on a burger tour of Madison. Skip the fries and get some curds, a treat whose distant cousin is the over-processed mozzarella stick. You’ll never look at hot cheese the same way again.
Flan—El Mago De Las Fritas, West Miami, FLThis is, unquestionably, the BEST flan I’ve ever eaten, period.
Onion Rings—Crown Burger, Salt Lake City, UTMade by hand in a private, windowless basement room. Amazing dipped in Utah’s favorite fry sauce.
Fried Pies—Phillips Grocery, Holly Springs, MSBasically a skillet-fried, fruit-stuffed piecrust. Owner Larry Davis is tired of making these tasty Southern treats—so get them soon before he gives up.
Witch Doctor—What-A-Burger Drive-In, Mooresville, NCA sweet and savory soda drink that is topped off with sliced pickles. Sounds gross but it’s so good.
Peanut Butter Chocolate Shake—Sid’s Diner, El Reno, OKAfter inhaling two of Marty Hall’s beautiful onion-fried burgers, this was the last thing I needed. I managed to finish it though, knowing that it would be a while before I’d taste something this great again.
Cinnamon Coke—Zaharakos Ice Cream Parlor and Museum, Columbus, INMixed by a real soda jerk at this perfectly restored ice cream parlor, this drink has no equal.
Onion Rings—Bobo’s Drive-In, Topeka, KSLightly greasy oniony goodness. In a word—sublime.
Raspberry Lime Rickey—Mr. Bartley’s Burger Cottage, Cambridge, MAA mix of seltzer, sugar, raspberry, and lime syrup. Refreshing, crisp, and cool, it’s the perfect accompaniment to Bartley’s large, flavor-packed burgers.
LINDA-MAR DRIVE-IN
1614 WEST 51 ST ST | TULSA, OK 74107
918-446-6024
WWW.FACEBOOK.COM/LINDAMARDRIVEIN
MON–SAT 11 AM–8 PM
Oklahoma has no shortage of great burger joints and Tulsa is no exception. It was very difficult to choose from the bounty of burger options in Tulsa but this tiny, bright yellow and red painted cinderblock box stood out. That may be because their signature burger, “The Westside,” is a double-meat double cheeseburger served on Texas Toast and is a sight to behold.
Linda-Mar sits just outside the cloverleaf where I-44 meets Route 75. The neighborhood is called the Westside and when I asked manager Tiffany, “What is The Westside?” referring to the burger, she told me, “We’re just a close-knit group over here.”
The place is spotless and the décor is NASCAR-themed with an image of Winston Cup champion Rusty Wallace’s Blue Deuce taking up one entire wall of the dining room. There are also framed shots of dirt track racecars everywhere, some bearing the Linda-Mar logo. Owner Mike McCutchen, who at one point was an owner at Tulsa Speedway, used to sponsor a Sprint racecar team. Not coincidentally, his brother, Danny, was the driver and the entire McCutchen family worked on the team. Today, Mike owns two bars, an automotive shop, and Linda-Mar.
The restaurant opened as Warren’s in the early ’60s and around 1970 was sold to the bun supplier, Walt Cook. He named the restaurant after his two daughters, Linda and Margaret, and eventually sold it to his son-in-law, Jerry McCutchen. Various members of the McCutchen family have owned and run Linda-Mar over the past 40 years, with Danny nearly running it into the ground. In 2009, Mike stepped in to take the reins at the restaurant because, as he put it, “He was sick of it. He had let it go downhill.” Under Danny it had been open for business only 2 hours a day, 5 days a week. “Everywhere people were bitching about the hours and asking why it was not open on Saturdays,” Mike told me, “So I said, ‘To hell with that,’ and took it over from Danny. I went in, gutted it, and cleaned it up.” Mike also expanded the menu, the hours, and changed the work ethic in the kitchen. “I always tell the kids [that work at Linda-Mar], ‘Every time you cook something, make it like you would for yourself.’”
Linda-Mar uses fresh beef from Tulsa’s favorite meatpacker Tulsa Beef and they make quarter-pound patties at the restaurant every morning with their own patty machine. The machine makes the patties wide and flat so on the well-seasoned flattop they cook quickly. “The Westside” comes with tomato, shredded lettuce, pickles, mustard, and mayo by request. It also comes with diced onion that is cooked next to your patties on the flattop.
The Westside is a colossal pile of cheesy, greasy goodness. The major difference between a regular double cheeseburger and The Westside is in the Texas toast. The thick-sliced, regional favorite is brushed with butter on both sides and toasted directly on the flattop with the patties. A burger bun only gets toasted on one side whereas the Texas toast gets toasted on both sides. The Westside also comes with not two but four slices of gooey American cheese. It’s a lot to handle but not as much of a mess as you would think. If the half-pound grease and cheese intake from The Westside doesn’t frighten you, indulge in Linda-Mar’s deep-fried sides, like fries, tater tots, onion rings, cheese balls, and mushrooms. They are all great, but the real winner here is the jalepeño chicken—deep-fried bits of chicken in a buttermilk jalepeño batter. Mike told me, “We marinate the chicken in the batter overnight. Makes a huge difference.”
One curious element to the Linda-Mar experience is a small television that plays episodes of The Andy Griffith Show non-stop. “My mom loved Andy Griffith and that sumbitch would play until I whistled myself to sleep,” Mike told me. It has become an integral part of the restaurant, so much so that when an employee recently tried to put on something else (The Addams Family) the customers rebelled.
I was tipped off to Linda-Mar by friend and local burger expert Joe Price. As we were leaving we spotted an ancient milkshake mixer behind the counter and almost fell over. “Do you still use that?” I asked, not because it looked like its best days were behind it but because I was fully aware of its historical significance. “We use it every day,” Tiffany told me as she reached over to start it up. The mixer slowly came to life and I could hear the whir of the friction-driven mechanics inside. This was the same mixer, the Multimixer, that Ray Croc sold as a traveling salesman in the’40s, the same mixer that led him to McDonald’s for the first time and the rest was history.
“Have a very Linda-Mar day!” Tiffany shouted out as we left. “That’s just what we say here.” I wish I could have a Linda-Mar day more often.
THE MEERS STORE & RESTAURANT
HIGHWAY 115 | MEERS, OK 73501
580-429-8051 | WWW.MEERSSTORE.COM
MON, WED, THURS, SUN 10:30 AM–8 PM
FRI–SAT 10:30 AM–8:30 PM | CLOSED TUESDAY
The Meers Store is way out in the country. About two hours from Oklahoma City and four from Dallas, the “Meersburger” had better be good because it’s the only reason you got in the car this morning. The burgers are better than good, they are excellent, and the drive is beautiful. Joe Maranto, the latest owner of the 95-year-old burger mecca, put it best when he told me, “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, but the good thing is we’re the only thing in nowhere.” Meers is not as desolate as it sounds. The restaurant is a short drive from the entrance to the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Preserve and the next town over is Medicine Park, former hideout of Bonnie and Clyde and turn-of-the-century resort for Oklahomans.
The restaurant is made up of a bunch of cobbled-together old buildings and newer ones, the older left behind when Meers did not produce the copious amounts of gold it promised. Remnants of the tiny post office have been incorporated into the newer buildings, all of them strung together like a pile of shoeboxes. Joe is responsible for the larger additions. The expansion is a result of the popularity of his Meersburger and the need to accommodate the 500 plus daily burger seekers, bike tours, and other backcountry tourists.
It’s no secret what goes into a Meersburger. Joe proudly displays, inside and out, the key ingredient to his success—the lean Texas longhorn cattle. What’s better, Joe raises the longhorns himself (with the help of his son, Peterhood) at a ranch nearby, and they are free of antibiotics and hormones. During the summer, Peterhood and Joe send at least 2,500 pounds of longhorn to slaughter every six days. “We sell A LOT of Meersburgers. They wait in line for the burgers,” one of the grill cooks told me. On a busy day, Joe can sell over 400 burgers. That’s quite a feat, considering the burger is a half-pound of lean Texas longhorn beef served on a specially made seven-inch bun. Joe claims, and is correct, that longhorn beef is lower in cholesterol than chicken or turkey, especially since he is raising them the old-fashioned way—on grass, not grain.
Joe Maranto and Bonnie
Recently, Joe decided that the Meersburger was not large enough to feed his hungry patrons. The “Seismic Burger” was created to fill this need. The Seismic is a gut-busting one pound of ground longhorn beef on the same seven-inch bun, topped with cheese, onions, lettuce, tomato, sweet relish, pickles, jalapeño slices, and bacon. Whoa. I finished one without trouble, just some sweat and a full belly. The grease was in the bacon, not the burger.
The store’s proximity to the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Preserve, where the Texas longhorn was saved from extinction in the 1920s, is a little odd. But the cattle in the preserve and on Joe’s ranch have quite the life. Joe said it best when he told me once, “These are happy cows. Happy cows taste better.”
PAK-A-SAK
429 EAST MAINE | ENID, OK 73701
580-234-6499 | MON–FRI 10:30 AM–6:30 PM
CLOSED WEEKENDS
On a Saturday in early May, 2008, Kent Crook, the owner of the Pak-A-Sak, put a sign on the door saying that he was retiring. He then locked the door and walked away. Fortunately, an electrical engineer named Terry Washburn drove by two days later and read the sign. Terry had included his e-mail address on the sign and within a day they had struck a deal. Five weeks later, the restaurant reopened and the only thing that had changed was the ownership. “It was kind of a fluke,” Terry admitted. But this “fluke” saved a landmark hamburger joint. “Enid went into a panic when this place closed,” Terry told me. “There were people cheering when they walked in the door on opening day.”
“Enid is a hard place to start a new business,” Terry told me, “but buying this place was a nobrainer.” He should know since he grew up in this sleepy northern Oklahoma town. “It was this little bitty stand right here on the corner,” Terry explained. Crook’s grandparents had opened the burger stand in 1954 and after 2 years of success built a larger building on the same corner. When Terry bought Pak-A-Sak he was wise to have Crook stay on for a while until Terry had the business figured out. Kim, an employee and longtime friend of Terry’s, told me, “[Crook] wanted to make sure everything was cooked and prepped the exact same way. We’ve kept the burger the same. Shoot, all of us have grown up eating here!”
The burgers at Pak-A-Sak basically come in two sizes, the regular and the bigger burger. The regular starts as a 10-1-pound patty and the bigger as a 5-1-pound patty. The regular was the basis for the name of the restaurant because seven of them would “pack a sack.” Today all of the burgers still go out in white bags and are the equivalent of a “basket.” Ask for a “white bag” and you’ll get burgers, fries or tater tots, and a drink. A burger comes standard with mustard, pickle, and fried onions. “This place was founded on onions and I hate onions,” Terry admitted.
The most popular burger on the menu is an American classic—the double with cheese. The burger is perfect, cooked on a very seasoned flattop griddle and served on a toasted, white squishy bun. The patty is pressed thin, cooked fast, and develops a crunchy exterior. The simplicity of beef, bun, pickle, mustard, and onion is hard to beat. I couldn’t stop eating them. Add tater tots and you’ll be in burger heaven.
A guy walked into Pak-A-Sak once and asked for everything on his burger and Kim explained that everything meant pickle, mustard, and onion. “But he wanted everything so we gave it to him,” Kim told me. “We put bacon, lettuce, ranch dressing, honey mustard, you name it on there. We watched him, in his truck, take the first bite and he gave me thumbs up.”
Pak-A-Sak is strictly takeout so you’ll have to eat in your car or at one of the picnic tables outside. “A lot of people take them to the park,” Kim told me. I broke the rules and ate right at the order window.
Like most places of its ilk across America, Pak-A-Sak has dedicated regulars that stop in on a daily basis. “We have about eight or nine customers that come in every day,” Terry told me. Kim added, “At eleven thirty Delvert comes in, at noon, Richard, then Heather after him . . .” Kim knows what they all eat and places their order as they are stepping out of their cars. Delvert has been such a devoted regular that his absence can trigger worry. “If he doesn’t show up at eleven thirty, there’s something wrong,” Terry told me. “Once he didn’t show up so I drove by his work and, sure enough, he was in the hospital.”
The walls near the order window are covered with photocopies of Bible passages that are for sale behind the counter. My first thought was that Terry was clearly a missionary spreading the word of God to people in search of greasy nourishment, a bit of a disconnect. “Oh no, those came with the place,” Terry pointed out. He really didn’t want to change a thing about Pak-A-Sak and still sells about $4 worth of the passages a week (at 25 cents a pop). There are also romance novels for sale on a rack near the photocopies.
“People call all the time to tell me how much they love the burgers,” Terry told me. My guess is that they are actually calling to tell him how much they love Pak-A-Sak and that they are happy to see that someone saved this hamburger destination from the wrecking ball.
ROBERT’S GRILL
300 SOUTH BICKFORD | EL RENO, OK 73036
405-262-1262 | MON–SAT 6 AM–9 PM
SUN 11 AM–7 PM
Step into Robert’s and step back in time. Much like the Texas Tavern in Roanoke, Virginia, or the Cozy Inn of Salina, Kansas, very little has changed at Robert’s Grill in the last 80 years. Maybe the stools and the red Formica counter are new, or the front door was moved about a half-century ago, but Robert’s is a perfect example of what all hamburger stands looked, felt, and smelled like in the 1920s. Robert’s is, historically speaking, one of America’s most important treasures.
Don’t expect warm hellos, pictures on the walls, or a large menu. Robert’s is a tiny, clean, utilitarian place—a counter with fourteen stools facing a flattop griddle surrounded by a wall of stainless steel. It’s the kind of counter where you don’t linger long, and the burgers come fast and go down even faster. The exterior is sparse as well. The building is a bright-white box with small windows and red trim—the visual effect may be off-putting to the untrained gourmand but believe me, you have come to the right place.
Robert’s menu is limited to Coneys (chili dogs), grilled cheese, fries, tater tots, and the burger that made El Reno famous, the onion-fried burger.
Located in the burger belt of El Reno, Robert’s is only a few hundred feet from Johnnie’s and Sid’s, and across the street from the spot where the onion-fried burger was born. “The Hamburger Inn was right where that bank is now,” owner of almost two decades, Edward Graham, told me. It was at the eight-stool Hamburger Inn that a man named Ross Davis tried to stretch his burger meat by pressing in sliced onions, appealing to cash-strapped, out-of-work railroad men. The Hamburger Inn was situated on old Route 66, an outpost at the onset of the auto age, so you can imagine the brisk business. Imitators were born and a legendary burger was embraced.
The hamburger at Robert’s, as it is all over town, is an onion burger. Edward smashes a ball of fresh-ground chuck on the hot griddle with a sawed-off mason’s trowel, and a pile of shredded onions is placed on top. The onions are pressed hard into the patty. The contents fuse, creating a beautiful, caramelized, onion-beef mess. Edward places a white squishy bun on the patty as it finishes so that the bun soaks up the onion steam. The result is a flat, odd-looking burger that tastes incredible.
When Robert’s opened in 1926, it was called Bob’s White Rock. The front door was on the Route 66 side only steps from a trolley stop. Edward told me, “People could get off the trolley here, get burgers at the window, and jump back on again. The grill used to be in the front window.” Edward started working at Robert’s in 1979 and purchased the counter in 1989.
For locals, there is an abundance of great onion-fried burger options in El Reno. When I asked a regular named Troy at the counter why he chose to patronize Robert’s, he seemed to fall back on brand loyalty. “I’ve been coming here for 50 years. I remember when they were eight for a dollar.” Now that’s a good customer.
SID’S DINER
300 SOUTH CHOCTAW | EL RENO, OK 73036
405-262-7757 | MON–SAT 7 AM–8:30 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
“Do you know what the definition of a diner is?” Marty Hall, part owner of this El Reno burger destination asked me. “It’s a place where the grill is in view and I can turn around and talk to the people.” And he does, making Sid’s one of the friendliest places I have ever set foot in. But it doesn’t stop there—Sid’s also makes one of the best onion-fried burgers anywhere.
Sid’s is named after Marty’s father, who passed away just before the restaurant opened in 1989. Marty had planned to work side by side with Sid, a retired highway employee. When he died, Sid’s brother, Bob, asked if he could take his spot. This sounds like a customary role for a family member to play, except that Bob left a six-figure job at Chevron in Houston to flip burgers. El Reno, Oklahoma, is famous for one thing—onion-fried burgers. Invented just across the street from Sid’s at the long-gone Hamburger Inn.
Bob and Marty Hall—truly dedicated burgermen
Sid’s is not alone in El Reno. At one point there were over nine onion-fried-burger joints within five blocks of downtown. Today, Sid’s, Johnnie’s, and Robert’s, the three remaining diners, are just a few hundred feet from one another.
If you choose a seat at the counter, you’ll have a great view of the construction of an onion-fried burger. Sid or Bob grab a ball of fresh-ground chuck from a beautiful pyramid of beef balls at the side of the griddle. Gobs of thinly sliced onions are piled onto the ball of beef on the large flattop griddle. The ball is pressed thin and the onions are worked into the soft meat. The burger is flipped, and after a few minutes, the caramelized onions have fused to the griddle-charred beef. Prepare your mouth for a taste explosion.
The burger is served on a white squishy bun with the meat and gnarled onions hanging out of it. Nothing is served with a regular burger except pickles (on the side) but you may find condiments unnecessary. If you require lettuce and tomato, ask for a Deluxe. Make yours a King Size and the meat and onions are doubled. The King is the most popular burger and makes for a perfect meal, especially if enjoyed with Sid’s excellent hand-cut, homemade fries. “I learned how to make fries down at J&W,” Marty told me, referring to another not-to-be-missed onion-fried burger further south in Chickasha.
One of the more unique features of Sid’s is their impressive decoupage countertop, sealed in poured resin. “The history of El Reno starts on that end,” Marty told me, pointing to the far left side of the counter. The patchwork of vintage El Reno photography includes everything from early shots of downtown to color photos of local baseball teams. “I wanted people who came in who weren’t from here to know something about my town.”
Even though Sid’s is technically a newcomer to the onion-fried-burger phenomenon, Marty has been involved just about his entire life. “I used to work at Johnnie’s and my father helped out there as well.” Sid’s, he told me, was modeled after the old Johnnie’s.
Bob and Marty take turns flipping and pressing a lot of onions into their burgers. When the pyramid of beef balls next to the griddle gets low, a new, perfect pyramid miraculously appears. Every once in a while Marty will turn and dispense life lessons with a smile to anyone at the counter. “Be good to your daddy,” he says to some teenaged girls picking at their fries, “I should know. I have three daughters.”
SLICK’S
107 SOUTH LOUIS TITTLE AVE | MANGUM, OK 73554
580-782-2481 | MON–SAT 8 AM–6 PM
I receive e-mails daily telling me where to go (literally) and I love them all. Following the publication of the first edition of this book, an e-mail came in that said simply (in all caps), “LOVED YOUR BOOK. SOMEDAY I HOPE YOU CAN TRY HAMBURGER SLICKS IN MANGUM, OK. SLICKS IS THE BEST.” I think it was the all caps that got to me and I started planning a trip to western Oklahoma immediately.
Mangum, Oklahoma is not on the way to anything. It is a true destination deep in rural ranch and oil country and is a solid 35 miles south of I-40, hours from Oklahoma City. If you decide to venture off the interstate into the Oklahoma interior I guarantee that you will be rewarded with one of the greatest burgers in America.
Slick’s is located on the main artery in and out of the dusty city of Mangum. It’s hard to miss the tiny white shack with its red-and-white striped roof. There’s barely an identifying sign and no place to sit, just a little window with a sliding screen to place your order. When I arrived for the first time, grillperson Helen told me, “Come around back.” Inside I found a griddle and fry area adjacent to a small table with mismatched stools. What I assumed was a table for the kitchen staff turned out to be a table for regulars that prefer to eat in. It was equipped with a roll of paper towels and a tip jar. Imagine a chef ’s table at a hot restaurant where you can watch your favorite chef make magic. This is my kind of front-row seat, inches from a flattop griddle loaded with sizzling burgers.
The burgers at Slick’s are phenomenal and the choices somewhat confusing. You can order a regular hamburger or cheeseburger, which is around 3 ounces and comes on a toasted, white squishy bun. Or order the Giant, which adds twice as much meat and a larger bun. Anything can be doubled, and sure enough the most popular burger is the Giant Double Cheeseburger. From what I could tell, the Giant Double included 2 seven-ounce patties making this beast, after condiments, a one-pound burger.
A regular named Chris who has lunch at the kitchen table every Friday told me, “I usually get the regular double. Anything larger than that and I won’t be worth a damn back at work.” Undeterred, I polished off, with ease, the Giant Double with two slices of American, pickles, mustard, raw onion, lettuce, and tomato. How? Because it was so damned good.
The small flattop griddle is darkened with decades of seasoning. The burger at Slick’s starts with a ball of fresh ground beef, a special 73/27 chuck blend from the local supermarket down the street. Helen grabs a few balls from a nearby fridge, tosses them on the griddle, and presses them into the shape of a burger with a heavy spatula. A not-so-secret blend of salt and pepper is sprinkled on the patties and they are cooked over high heat until a decent crust forms. Large, soft buns warm on the griddle as the patties cook and they pick up some residual grease.
Like many of the places in this book the grillperson at Slick’s uses a non-traditional, custom-made spatula. In this case, a sawed-off concrete trowel with a handle re-fashioned from molded fiberglass resin is the grill tool of choice at Slick’s. Owner Mike Avery told me, “I used a toilet paper tube for the mold and just held it in place until it set.”
Mike left 10 years in the oil exploration business to take over Slick’s from his dad in 2009 and as a third-generation owner understands his duty to the regulars. “Some people are here every day,” Mike told me. As I sat at the community table in the kitchen I noticed something slightly incongruous with the setting—an 8 x 10 glossy of 2007 Miss America Lauren Nelson signed over to “The gang at Slick’s.” “Oh, that’s my cousin,” Mike shared nonchalantly.
The tiny burger shack started as a Dairy Queen back in 1959 and was built and owned by Mike’s grandfather, Audry Mills Avery, and their uncle Slick Avery. Audry was a blind carpenter and built Slick’s from the ground up. When I asked Mike how this was possible he said with a smile, “You tell me.”
About a year after running the place, the relationship with Dairy Queen soured. “They were trying to tell Slick what to cook and wanted him to use frozen beef,” Mike’s younger brother, Joe, told me. Slick only wanted to use fresh ground beef, and as Joe put it, “They told him ‘You can’t do that,’ and Slick said, ‘The hell I can’t.’” And that was the end of that. Thankfully, 50 years later Slick’s continues to avoid the temptation to use frozen beef and will only serve quality food to a faithful clientele.
30
OREGON
GIANT DRIVE-IN
15840 BOONES FERRY RD | LAKE OSWEGO, OR 97035
503-636-0255 | SUN–THU 10 AM–9 PM
FRI & SAT 10 AM–10 PM
Hooray for the mom-and-pop hamburger stand. Giant Drive-In is quite literally a mom-and-pop—owned and operated by a husband and wife team that is dedicated to bringing quality comfort food to the neighborhood and have done so for 30 years.
Bill Kreger and his wife, Gail, bought Giant in 1981 after Bill had burned out on a mechanical engineering career. “We had planned to fix it up and flip it, but here we are!” Bill told me enthusiastically. The odd looking A-frame ski chalet structure was originally part of a failed’60s chain called Mr. Swiss. In 1970 it became Giant and was open for 10 years until a Burger King opened across the street. “The previous owner just gave up, locked the doors, and walked away,” Bill told me. But today, the Burger King is gone. When I asked Bill what happened, he just smiled and shrugged. I gathered there’s only room for one burger stand in this stretch of suburban Portland.
Starting the business was not easy for the Kregers. “You have to keep your hand in it or you are not going to have it,” Bill explained. “We spent seventeen hours a day, seven days a week for the first seven years to get this place up and running.” The time invested shows—the burgers are excellent.
The list of hamburger concoctions is vast. You can order a standard quarter-pound burger or choose from an eclectic selection of burgers like the “Teriyaki,” the “Hawaiian,” or an “Avocado Burger.” But the burger that gets its own neon sign is the enormous “Filler.” The Filler is almost too big to put in your mouth, but I managed. Its contents are similar to nearby Stanich’s signature burger, but the Filler contains two quarter-pound patties instead of one. The burger also contains a slice of ham, cheese, a fried egg, bacon, lettuce, onion, pickles, tomato, and mayo. All this piled neatly on a locally baked seeded sourdough roll. I was speechless (and dazed) for hours after I consumed this thing. Amazingly, Gail told me it was her burger of choice, but said, “Believe it or not, I actually put an extra patty on it.”
The fresh hamburger patties are delivered daily and come from local grass-fed Angus sirloin. The Kregers request a 90 percent lean grind. “Any less fat and the burger breaks up on the griddle. Any more and the burger shrinks to nothing.” The cheese is also local Tillamook, purchased in 40-pound blocks and sliced on premises. Bill explained, “We try to only use local, fresh ingredients,” and added, “In the summertime Oregon tomatoes can get to be this big,” making a shape with his hands the size of an invisible grapefruit.
The interior of the Giant is a classic retro burger drive-in. Bright, clean, and inviting, the Giant has floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, booths for seating, and a yellow-and-brown checkered linoleum floor. Hanging over the cash register is a photo of a half dozen UPS trucks lined up in the Giant parking lot. “Once a week the local UPS guys converge on Giant,” Bill explained. “Sometimes there are over fifteen trucks out there.”
I watched the Kregers greet familiar faces, pleasantly take orders, and flip burgers. They make the business of selling hamburgers look easy. But as I left, Gail gave me some sage advice, “Keep your sanity and stay out of the restaurant business!”
HELVETIA TAVERN
10275 NW HELVETIA RD | HILLSBORO, OR 97124
503-647-5286 | SUN–THURS 11 AM–10 PM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–11 PM
Nestled in the rolling farm country of western Oregon, a short distance from Portland but a world away, sits a restaurant and bar that amazingly turns out over a thousand burgers on a busy Saturday. The restaurant is the comfortable Helvetia Tavern (pronounced Hel-VAY-sha) and is way out in the country. Regardless of how far it is from anything, burger lovers gladly make the trek to the Helvetia for their signature “Jumbo Burger” and great selection of microbrews on tap.
“It’s a pretty simple menu and nothing has changed since we opened,” part owner Mike Lampros told me. “We did add salads, though, two years ago.” There are a few sandwiches on the menu and a grilled cheese, but I looked around and saw mostly burgers being consumed. A lot of them too—the grill stayed full the entire time I was at Helvetia. They easily served over 200 burgers in the hour that I sat at the counter.
The Jumbo is just that—two thin quarter-pound patties of fresh ground beef are cooked on a large flattop griddle and served on a toasted six-inch bun with bacon, cheese, lettuce, onion, tomato, and the ubiquitous and tasty Pacific Northwest condiment, “Goop” (see sidebar on page 346). The bun is larger than the patties, which are arranged slightly overlapping so the burger is presented wider, not taller. “That’s the way we’ve always done it,” Mike explained. “The single patty is served on a smaller bun.” As a finishing touch, the Jumbo is stabbed in the center and delivered with a plastic knife, as Mike explained, “to keep the contents from sliding around.” The burgers are moist and exploding with flavor, thanks to the mustardy-mayo Goop holding the large burger together. Wash your burger down with the tasty and hard-to-find RC Cola, on tap at Helvetia.
The building that houses the Helvetia first opened in 1914 as a general store. In 1946 a bar was added to one side and burgers were served. Mike’s father, Nick Lampros, bought the tavern in 1978 and changed nothing until the late 1990s when he and his son turned the old general store into a dining room. “Up until then it was a twenty-one-and-over bar crowd,” Mike told me, taking a break from the grill. “The dining room allowed us to start attracting families.” And they do, and those families have the benefit of dining at Helvetia with a picture-perfect view of the sheep grazing across the street. The dining room tables are actually enormous foot-thick blocks of timber with a high-gloss finish. Mike pointed out, “They came from a tree that fell in a neighbor’s yard.”
The tavern side of Helvetia is a comfortably dark, broken-in bar with a 1950 Brunswick pool table that still costs only a quarter to play. A strange collection of baseball caps hangs from the ceiling, some signed by pro athletes. Mike explained that the thousand of caps were up there to hide the ugly ceiling. “We take them down twice a year to clean them.”
If there was any doubt as to how accommodating this place was to regulars, just take a counter seat at the last stool in the back of the restaurant. That’s Grant’s seat. Then look over the food prep area directly in front of you. Hanging on an air duct is a mirror positioned perfectly to read the TV behind you in reverse. “He comes in here at three everyday, like clockwork,” the grillman told me. Then Mike explained, “We blocked his view of the TV across the room with a new sign. This was his solution.”
STANICH’S TAVERN
4915 NE FREMONT ST | PORTLAND, OR 97213
503-281-2322 | MON–THU 11 AM–10 PM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–11 PM
Once upon a time in America, the “sports bar” was merely a neighborhood bar where you could guarantee that the game you wanted to watch would be on the TV hanging in the corner over the bottles of booze. If there were two games on at the same time, the TV at the other end of the bar would be tuned in. At some point, the sports bar concept went corporate and today it is not uncommon to find many with stadium seating and games on up to 30 screens, some of them fullsized movie screens. The sports bar became a soulless, unfamiliar place where the only reason to go was to ensure you’d see your game. Stanich’s is a real sports bar, one that is oozing soul. It’s an unquestionably comfortable, welcoming place that also happens to make one of the tastiest burgers I’ve ever eaten.
“Sometimes the wait for a burger can be an hour, but we have a great jukebox,” Debbie Stanich told me as she sang along to Sonny and Cher. Debbie manages Stanich’s and is married to Steve Stanich, the owner and son of the couple who opened the tavern in 1949. Serbian immigrants Gladys and George Stanich opened this Portland tavern and put a burger on the menu. “Gladys cooked and George was out back playing pinochle,” Debbie says. It was Gladys who invented what the menu still today bills as the “World’s Greatest Hamburger,” the sloppy two-fister “Special.”
The Special is large. Gladys must have had the very hungry in mind when she dreamed up this burger. The grillperson swiftly assembles the impressively diverse ingredients that go onto the Special, which include a quarter-pound patty of fresh chuck, an egg, bacon, ham, cheese, lettuce, red onion, and tomato. All of this is piled high on a large five-inch toasted bun with the obligatory mustard, mayo, and “burger relish” that seems to adorn all burgers in the Northwest. “There’s no ‘special sauce’ here at Stanich’s, just mayo, mustard, and relish,” Debbie explained.
There’s a two-napkin limit per burger, so use them wisely. The moment the juices, hot cheese, and mayo start running down your arms (and they will) resist the urge to reach for a napkin. “We don’t like to hand out napkins,” Debbie told me, “but if you really need one, okay.”
When you first walk into Stanich’s, you’ll be shocked by the décor. Every inch of the walls at this decades-old tavern is covered in those felt triangular pennants and pretty much nothing else. There could be a thousand, and all were donated by regulars. The bar is one of the deepest I’ve ever seen, lined with cozy leather swivel stools that take practice getting into. There is no way to look cool getting into one of these seats, Debbie pointed out laughing, “It’s kind of a ‘slide ’n twirl’ move,” and as she demonstrated, she looked like she was dancing with an invisible partner.
Steve Stanich, an ex-pro football player for the 49ers, believes in giving back. Among the sea of pennants that lines the walls of his tavern are more than a few accolades of his philanthropic efforts. On the fiftieth anniversary of Stanich’s, Steve brought the price of his family’s signature burger back to its original 25 cents. The proceeds built a gymnasium for a local school. He also sponsors numerous local teams and every year gives out scholarships to college-bound kids. Steve told me, “It comes back to you tenfold.”
“It’s a bar, but people don’t come in here to drink. They come in here to eat,” Debbie pointed out. Or maybe for a burger and a scholarship ? It all sounds good to me.
31
PENNSYLVANIA
CHARLIE’S HAMBURGERS
ACADEMY AVE AT KEDRON (ROUTE 420)
FOLSOM, PA 19033
610-461-4228 | MON, WED, THU 11 AM–9 PM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–10 PM | SUN 1–8 PM
CLOSED TUESDAY
If you prefer your burgers with ketchup, Charlie’s is the place to go. A “loaded” burger at this decades-old hamburger spot comes with onions, ketchup, pickles, relish, and cheese, creating a sweet burger experience that is hard to find among the more staid and traditional burger stands of America. “Pretty much everyone orders them that way,” a teenaged prep girl told me. She wasn’t kidding—just about every person who walked in during the hour I spent at Charlie’s ordered burgers with ketchup. Of course the burgers can also be ordered with mustard and tomato, but not lettuce.
Charlie’s is a real place with real food. A menu of hamburgers, hot dogs, and milkshakes keeps things simple. Some may see a greasy spoon. Others see a haven for grease lovers. You get the point—this is not health food. Fortunately, the burgers are made from fresh-ground chuck (pattied in the kitchen with a small patty former) and the shakes are made with great ice cream and real milk. In fact, people frequent Charlie’s more for its shakes then for its burgers. The milk for the shakes still comes out of a large vintage aluminum milk dispenser.
The crowd is a mix of airport employees from nearby Philadelphia International, kids from the local schools, and a blend of salty regulars. When I visited, the better part of a girls volleyball team had landed in search of nourishment.
Charlie’s location is relatively new, though the business dates back to 1935. Charlie Convery operated the restaurant nearby at an intersection of the Baltimore Pike until 1984, when an expansion of the road spelled the end of Charlie’s. Through a confusing set of purchases and sales, the restaurant relocated a mile away to a former fruit stand next to a defunct miniature golf course (the concrete skeleton of the weeded-over course is still visible behind the restaurant).
Colorful character and part-time manger of 11 years Mike Goodwin once explained to me, “After they moved, changed owners, and reopened, they still went back to Charlie’s original butcher.” The small burgers are cooked on a very seasoned flattop griddle, smashed thin, and cooked in the bubbling grease of previous burgers. They are served on a toasted, white squishy bun. “No lettuce, no bacon, no tofu, no pineapple,” Mike joked, emphasizing the simplicity of the burgers at Charlie’s.
One important note: Charlie’s is closed on Tuesdays. In a vestige of wartime America, the restaurant still observes “meatless Tuesdays,” a day that most burger joints closed during World War II for meat rationing. “Are you familiar with Wimpy?” Mike asked me. “I’ll pay you TUESDAY for a hamburger today?” A lightbulb went off in my head—Wimpy was a lot smarter than I thought.
TESSARO’S
4601 LIBERTY AVE | PITTSBURGH, PA 15224
412-682-6809 | MON–SAT 11 AM–MIDNIGHT
CLOSED SUNDAY
For years, the incredible ground beef that Tessaro’s used for its burgers came from a butcher shop directly across the street called House of Meats. When the shop closed one day, Kelly Harrington, former part owner of this Pittsburgh burger destination, did what seemed the most sensible—he hired the butcher.
Dominic Piccola, a retired Pittsburgh fireman, is now employed by Tessaro’s as their in-house butcher. He has become their link to hamburger perfection. Six days a week, at 7 a.m., Dominic grinds hundreds of pounds of chuck shoulder for the day’s burgers. “Since I’m the only one grinding, the consistency is always the same,” Dominic told me through his classic fireman’s bushy handlebar moustache.
I was interested in Tessaro’s because of its stellar reputation among hamburger cognoscenti, but it was the method of cooking the burgers that put me on an airplane to Pittsburgh. I had to see for myself the fabled hardwood grill that many had talked about. Unique to the burger world, the hamburgers at Tessaro’s are grilled over a fire made from west Pennsylvania hardwoods, not the charcoal or the blue propane flames that seem standard for indoor flame grilling. Tessaro’s uses a mixture of yellow maple, red oak, and walnut, all indigenous to the area. “We stay away from hickory because it’s too strong,” Kelly pointed out, “and no fruit trees because they are loaded with pesticides.” Hardwoods produce a flame that is far hotter than gas or charcoal. Grillman of 23 years Courtney McFarlane told me, “The fire can get up to 600 degrees in there.”
Courtney invited me into the grill area, a section of the restaurant adjacent to the bar that was once the dance floor and is now a small room with a big picture window. I stood about three feet from the grill and the heat was so intense it felt like my eyebrows were burning right off my face. Every few minutes, Courtney tossed a small cup of water onto the flames and told me, “That’s just to slow the heat down a bit.”
The burgers at Tessaro’s are unmeasured but somewhere near a half pound. Courtney grabs a wad of Dominic’s fresh ground beef and tells me, “After a while it’s easy to guess the size.” He then swiftly forms the ball into a patty, slaps the beef onto a stainless steel surface next to the grill, and does this move where he spins the patty to form an edge. The entire process takes seconds. He is a master burger maker and the finished product strangely resembles a large, machined-pressed patty.
The burgers are served with many cheese options and just about any condiment you can think of from barbecue sauce to three types of mustard. To be honest, this burger is so amazing it’d be foolish to cover it with anything. Served on a soft, Portuguese-type roll from a bakery down the street, the hefty burger is a sight to behold. It’s perfectly charred on the outside and juicy and moist on the inside. And thanks to the hardwood, the burger has a taste like no other—a woodsy, barbeque essence that manages not to overpower the flavor of the high-quality beef.
In 1984, Kelly, his sister, Ena, and their mother, Tee, bought the bar and restaurant from Richard Tessaro. It was Richard who began the tradition of flame grilling burgers that the Harringtons perfected. He started by grilling on the street in front of the bar on a makeshift barbeque made from halved 55-gallon drums. He eventually moved the operation to the backyard, once starting a fire that burned part of the building and finally moved the grill indoors.
The restaurant is dark and cozy with a long vintage bar running along one side. The walls are wood paneled and the aroma of the burning hardwoods is arresting. The building has been a bar for 75 years, but previously housed a dry goods store and a nickelodeon as far back as the turn of the century.
In 2009, Kelly passed away due to complications from cancer and a stroke. His imprint on the burger business was enormous and he will surely be missed.
Ena once told me that if they run out of ground beef on a busy night, they’ll call Dominic the butcher back in to grind some more. I asked her why the burgers were so good and she told me bluntly, “Not everybody can afford a butcher.”
32
RHODE ISLAND
STANLEY’S HAMBURGERS
535 DEXTER ST | CENTRAL FALLS, RI 02863
401-726-9689 | WWW.STANLEYSHAMBURGERS.COM
MON–THU 11 AM–8 PM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–9 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
Stanley’s is an absolute gem of a burger destination in a neighborhood about 10 minutes north of downtown Providence. The tiny restaurant is so picture perfect that it looks completely out of place in an area that has clearly seen better days. From my experience there’s usually only one reason burger joints like Stanley’s survive—someone came along and saved the place. That’s exactly what happened and we should all be thankful.
Meet Gregory Raheb, a man who bought a fading diner and didn’t simply grab the keys and continue making burgers. He actually gutted the entire place at one point and rebuilt to exact specifications and amazing detail, sending the décor back to opening day in 1932. “When I took over it was rundown,” Greg remembered. “It had dark wood paneling and old vinyl floor tiles. But the food was great so I knew it had potential.” The centerpiece of the menu then as it is now is the Depression-era American standard in hamburgers—one that is loaded with onions.
The “Stanleyburger” is a classic. Not in the bloated half-pound-lettuce-tomato sense but something closer to the birth of the hamburger in America. In the beginning, burgers were small. The patties were anywhere from 1 to 2 ounces and almost always loaded with steam grilled onions. The Stanleyburger is a perfect nod to the past and a primary example of burgers from the first half of the twentieth century. As you step out of your car in the lot next door you are immediately enveloped in the intoxicating essence of grilled onions pouring from the restaurant’s exhaust. It is a sign of good things to come.
The burger to get is the double Stanleyburger, or two of them. The burgers start as fresh-ground beef that is machine-formed at the restaurant into “plugs,” or tiny two-ounce tall patties. The wad of beef is tossed on the flattop and a pile of paper-thin Spanish onion is thrown on top. With great force the onions are smashed into the burger and the whole comingled mess cooks to perfection. When the patty is flipped, the bun is placed on top to steam. The same practice of smashing onions can be found at primary source burger joints across America, and personally it is my favorite way to enjoy a hamburger. Places like the White Manna, Cozy Inn, and Town Topic, as well as all of the burger joints in El Reno, Oklahoma are still making burgers this way.
If you ask for a double, watch what happens. The grillperson takes two wads of beef and presses them together on the griddle. Cheese is available and it seems that ketchup rules the counter at Stanley’s, but neither is necessary. This little burger, thanks to equal amounts of beef and onion, absolutely explodes with flavor. “Some people ask for extra onions,” longtime manager and counter person Nancy told me.
The menu is not limited to burgers and offers a vast selection of diner favorites, all of it homemade from the freshest ingredients. In 2008 Greg opened a second Stanley’s in downtown Providence, a larger version of the original. Not surprisingly, the new location is also an amazing example of ’30s/’40s retro design and he obviously spared no expense.
I was stunned at how spotless Stanley’s was. “We keep it clean!” Nancy told me. Greg bought the restaurant in 1987 from the Kryla family, renovated, and renovated again in 2002. Polish immigrant Stanley Kryla opened the burger counter back in 1932 in the early days of the Depression. Most burger joints failed during this time in American history and if they didn’t, they were wiped out by meat rationing during World War II. It’s a miracle that Stanley’s survived. “In 1932 the burger at Stanley’s was 5 cents, can you imagine?” Greg told me. “And they made money!”
33
SOUTH CAROLINA
NORTHGATE SODA SHOP
918 NORTH MAIN ST | GREENVILLE, SC 29609
864-235-6770 | WWW.NORTHGATESODASHOP.COM
MON–FRI 9 AM–8 PM I SAT 9 AM–3 PM
CLOSED SUNDAYS
Just up the hill on Main Street in Greenville, South Carolina where the high-rises give way to trees and homes, I discovered an excellent spot to enjoy a Southern favorite—the “Pimento Cheeseburger.”
Longtime owner of 41 years Jim DeYoung was looking to retire, and sold the shop to a lawyer with an office just 20 feet away named Catherine Christophillis. A few years later, she sold it to one of Jim’s friends, Iris Hood-Bell, in 2009. I was sitting at Jim’s round table once (that the former owner installed for daily visits with his friends) when Jim told me, “I wanted to sell the shop to someone who would keep everything almost the same.” That sounds like a simple request, except that just about every square inch of the Northgate is covered in four decades of collectibles. It resembles an antique shop that happens to have a soda fountain, with signed 8 x 10s, extensive bottle, can, and cigar box collections, beer and soda neon, a vintage Ex-Lax sign, and an impressive church fan collection. This is the real deal—no fake made-in-China reproduction crap here. When Catherine bought the shop, she bought the stuff too. “Where was I going to put it?” Jim said of his antiques. “It belongs here anyway.” And when Iris bought Northgate, the stuff was again part of the deal.
The menu at the Northgate is classic soda shop diner fare—tuna, peanut butter and jelly, hot dogs, grilled cheese, and egg sandwiches, but the big seller is their fantastic Pimento Cheeseburger.
“You’ll either love it or hate it,” longtime waitress Brenda warned me before I bit into my burger. I have to admit I had never had one, even though my mother is from South Carolina. Fortunately, I fall into the “love it” category.
The pimento cheese for the Northgate’s sandwiches and burgers is a tangy mix of mayo, cheddar, and diced pimentos. “We make it right here, fresh every day,” former waitress Maudie told me once of the over 40-year-old recipe. The beef is also fresh, picked up daily from a butcher just up Main Street (this fact is also proudly announced on the menu, complete with the butcher’s name and address).
The burger starts as fresh ground beef that is pressed in a vintage burger press. The press produces a three-and-a-half ounce patty that is cooked on a flattop griddle. The burger comes to you on a toasted bun with tomato, lettuce, and a large dollop of pimento cheese. I also had a cherry smash, a drink made from cherry syrup and soda water, dispensed from the Northgate’s venerable soda fountain. A few years ago, Jim’s cherry syrup supplier stopped making the syrup, so he started making it himself. “I found some extract so we started making it in-house.”
Today, Iris’s husband, Ren, works at Northgate and nothing has changed much since the days when Jim owned the soda fountain. “Same burgers, same sodas, same butcher.” And Jim still comes in to hang out at his round table. Ren told me, “He’s here every day!”
ROCKAWAY ATHLETIC CLUB
2719 ROSEWOOD DR | COLUMBIA, SC 29205
803-256-1075 | OPEN DAILY 11 AM–11 PM
I swear I drove by the place five times before accidentally turning into the parking lot. There are no signs of life from the street side of the Rockaway Athletic Club, an imposing brick structure with armored windows. As I was pulling out of the lot after checking the map, I noticed a small piece of cardboard by a back door with the words BOILED PEANUTS TONIGHT scrawled in black Sharpie. I figured this must be the place.
“We’ve always been sort of low key,” part owner Forest Whitlark said, describing the 29-year-old hang out in this quiet neighborhood in Columbia. The fortress-like building is a somewhat recent addition in the history of The Rockaway. “The original burned to the ground,” Forest told me. In 2002, it was the victim of a faulty air conditioner. The Rockaway opened in 1982 by brothers Paul and Forest Whitlark and friend David Melson. The original bar occupied three storefronts of a 1940s strip mall at the same location. My guess is that when they rebuilt they wanted to make sure that the Rockaway could withstand anything.
I was there to sample their often talked about “Pimento Cheeseburger” (pronounced “pimena” in these parts). The Rockaway Pimento Cheeseburger has so much gooey cheese on it that it’s almost impossible to pick up. Fortunately the burger comes cut in half, and each half has a large toothpick to keep the contents together. The second you pull the toothpick, hold on as the contents have a tendency to slip and slide.
Pimento cheese is a Southern staple and is traditionally made with only three ingredients—cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, and diced pimentos. In his book Hamburgers & Fries, burger scholar John T. Edge points out that the marriage of pimento cheese to the burger may have actually happened in Columbia by J.C. Reynolds at the now-defunct Dairy Bar. I believe the claim. There are more pimento cheeseburgers available in this town than anywhere else on the planet.
The burgers at Rockaway start as eight-ounce handformed patties of fresh ground chuck. They are cooked on a flattop and the large seeded buns are warmed nearby on the griddle until they are soft as a pillow. In keeping with tradition, Rockaway only uses the three basic ingredients to make their pimento cheese and it’s amazing. If you’re not too pimentoed out, the Rockaway also offers a plate of fries with a copious amount of hot pimento cheese dumped on top.
In 2005, George W. Bush visited Rockaway on a swing through South Carolina. He ordered two burgers and two pimento cheese fries to go, then made a point to shake a few hands. Forest remembered, “I think he spoke to everyone in here.” A comfortable bar will do that to you.
Rockaway is huge. With the University of South Carolina only 5 minutes away with its 30,000 students, it’s a good thing they have a capacity of almost 300. There are booths and tables everywhere, an air hockey table, a pool table, and a very long bar.
So if you can actually find the Rockaway and make it through the throngs of students, you will be rewarded with a great pimento cheeseburger. The Rockaway Athletic Club did not invent the pimento cheeseburger but they are doing something just as important: perpetuating a great Southern food tradition.
34
SOUTH DAKOTA
HAMBURGER INN
111½ EAST 10TH ST | SIOUX FALLS, SD 57104
605-332-5412 | MON–SAT 10 AM–2 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
On a corner in the heart of downtown Sioux Falls (which is in the midst of a revitalization) sits the tiny Hamburger Inn. It is a classic ’30s burger joint specimen—eleven stools, a single counter, minimal menu, and a griddle in the front window. When I visited, the small TV on the wall was tuned to The Price Is Right and the first customer of the day was a blind regular who found his stool without help. This is my kind of place.
The Sioux Falls favorite “Eggburger” is served here—a fried egg is placed on top of a finished burger, the yoke popped and cooked through thanks to health department rules. “Can’t decide on breakfast or lunch? Have an Eggburger!” Maria Poulsen, the current owner, exclaimed when I asked about the origins of the strange pairing of chicken and cow. If you’ve never had one, fear not—the combination works well. It’s basically steak and eggs on a bun.
Many past patrons have fond memories of Mel Nelson, the longtime proprietor of the Hamburger Inn. Sadly, Mel is no longer pressing balls of ground beef into a puddle of grease, cooking burgers the “old-fashioned way.” But the good news is that three months before he died, local chef Maria offered to buy the place. This is always great for the burger world, especially when the plan is to keep a similar menu and scrape up some of the caked-on grease. Maria said, “It was a mess when I took over. Grease up to here!” and she made a gesture about two feet from the floor.
The burgers are no longer cooked in a tray of grease like Mel did for 32 years and previous owners did for close to 75 years. Now, one-third-pound balls of fresh ground beef hit the hot griddle, are flattened with a spatula, and cooked until the fresh meat has an exterior crunch.
The menu at Hamburger Inn is sparse but focused. Burgers are the star attraction here and can be ordered with cheese, bacon, or the aforementioned fried egg. Standards such as onion rings and fries are also on the menu, as is a curiosity called “cheeseballs.” This Midwestern treat is also known as the deep-fried cheese curd, one of my all-time favorite side dishes.
For those old-timers who may miss Mel’s tasty sliders, there is no need to fret about the state of burgers here. The Hamburger Inn is still turning out great burgers and your clothes will still smell of grease all day. Maria also refurbished the decades-old neon-and-glass sign that hangs over the front door, using all of the original lettering. “It was falling apart but I didn’t want to change much,” she told me. In keeping with the integrity of the old place, the Hamburger Inn still looks like a shoebox with a door, a burger bunker whose only window faces 10th Street.
Maria understands good food, service, and simplicity. She runs a catering business in the Sioux Falls area and this is the second restaurant she currently owns. “I’m looking for an old stainless steel diner to buy and fix up,” she said as I was leaving. “Got any ideas?”
NICK’S HAMBURGER SHOP
427 MAIN AVE | BROOKINGS, SD 57006
605-692-4324 | WWW.NICKSHAMBURGERS.COM
MON–FRI 11 AM–7 PM | SAT 11 AM–4 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
Dick Fergen is my kind of guy. He left a job in farm management in Texas to return to his hometown of Brookings, South Dakota. Upon his arrival, he inquired about the landmark burger joint, Nick’s, and soon after purchased it from the notorious and sometimes volatile third owner, Duane Larson. In his nearly three decades at the grill, Duane was known to close early because he ran out of buns, and refused to sell the business to just anyone, saying that he’d burn the place down before he sold it to the wrong person. Duane was also involved in a spat between the Coca-Cola Company and Nick’s that led to a dramatic photo in Time magazine of Duane pouring Coke into the street.
The good news is that, Dick Fergen is now in charge and he will never run out of buns or Coke. I watched Dick at the grill for one-and-a-half hours, waiting patiently to speak to him. He was in a zone, pressing small balls of ground round into a puddle of bubbling grease, transferring them to buns, and serving them at a rate of about 700 per hour. When I finally got his attention, he was taking a break and eating, not surprisingly, a burger. “I eat mine dry,” he said. This meant he had squeezed some of the grease out, “Makes it a little bit healthier.” Amazingly, Dick creates his own “solution” for the deep-frying of his burgers. This is not just any old grease. He starts with solids and adds seasoning according to a recipe that has been handed down for decades.
Dick doesn’t really look like your typical hamburger stand owner. He is a sixtysomething, impossibly fit, tanned, and a self-described Harley nut. What brought him to and keeps him at Nick’s is pure nostalgia. Nick’s was started by Harold and Gladys Nickalson in 1929 and was later passed on to their son, Harold Jr., in 1947. When Duane Larson bought Nick’s in 1972, much to the dismay of the old-timers, he added the cheeseburger to the menu. The small burgers come with a secret relish whose recipe goes back to the beginning. It’s a mustard based pickle-and-onion relish that has “other seasonings,” waitress Laurie told me.
Orders are not taken, they are yelled. “We just holler at Dick what we need,” Laurie said. First, you tell the counter person what you want. When your burgers are ready, you tell them what you want on them. They arrive at your counter spot on a square of waxed paper and can be consumed at a rate of roughly one every 20 seconds, which is good, because you will need to make room for the 30 people waiting for your stool.
In 2008 Dick bought the barbershop next door and doubled the size of Nick’s. The new counter wraps around the griddle, which is in the center of the restaurant, and the burger joint can now seat many more hungry burger lovers.
A man named Stewart sitting to my left told me that he had been coming back to Nick’s every time he visited his alma mater, South Dakota State University. “I’ve been coming ever since I graduated in ’52.” Old-timers refer to their visits as getting their “Nick’s fix.”
“If you are not from South Dakota, then you wouldn’t understand.” Dick pondered seriously while gazing at the ceiling. “There’s something about these people. I wouldn’t trade them for anyone in the world.”
35
TENNESSEE
BROWN’S DINER
2102 BLAIR BLVD | NASHVILLE, TN 37212
615-269-5509 | MON–SAT 10:45 AM–11 PM
SUN 11 AM–10 PM
It may not look like much, but Brown’s may be one of the most historically significant burger joints in this book. The fact that it survives is a miracle, and a testament to the power of hamburger culture in this country. It has lived through more than one fire and withstood many facelifts.
To the untrained eye, Brown’s appears to be a dump—an unimpressive double-wide with a drab grey/beige exterior. But to American cultural historians it is a treasure. There was a time in this country when hamburgers were not king. They were considered dirty food for wage earners, and were served in establishments much like Brown’s. The only difference is that places like this, which once dotted the Americna landscape in the thousands, and were mostly found in close proximity to factories and urban areas, are just about gone.
What makes Brown’s Diner special is that its core is made up of two retired trolley cars, muledrawn cars that were left at the end of the line in the early 1920s as the automobile became ubiquitous in city life. The trolleys are arranged in a T shape, one making up the bar, the other serving as the kitchen. Terry Young, the bartender and manager, told me, “The wooden wheels are still on it, though I wouldn’t suggest going down there.” The practice of converting trolleys and diner cars into eating establishments was so popular in the early part of the twentieth century that companies emerged to fabricate the restaurants without the wheels—and the modern diner was born.
Today, Brown’s is a beloved spot in Nashville and has numerous regulars, famous and not. Vince Gill loves the burgers, as do Marty Stuart and Faith Hill, among other members of Nashville’s country elite. Johnny Cash dedicated an album to the place and John Prine was as comfortable there as you will be. According to a regular, Prine was at the bar one night when someone recognized him and put one of his songs on the jukebox. Apparently, Prine stood up and mimicked himself continuing to sing along to his own music and giving the bar patrons a twisted, impromptu karaoke performance.
Randy, a 25-year veteran of Brown’s, told me, “This is a good anti-anorexia place.” I’m assuming he was referring to the gloriously unhealthy menu that includes, beyond burgers, grilled cheese, Frito pie, hush puppies, and a catfish dinner. The only salad on the menu is coleslaw. The burger at Brown’s has been on the menu since it opened in 1927. It’s made from a daily delivery of fresh chuck, hand-pattied to around five ounces. A cheeseburger comes with mayo, tomato, lettuce, and onion on a white squishy bun with pickles speared to the top. If you ask for a cheeseburger, you don’t get mustard. If you ask for a hamburger, you do. I’m confused too—just read the menu and have another Budweiser.
Charlie Brown demonstrates the new “electric” coffeemaker, mid-1930’s.
DYER’S BURGERS
205 BEALE ST | MEMPHIS, TN 38103
901-527-3937 | WWW.DYERSONBEALE.COM
SUN–THURS 11 AM–1 AM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–5 AM
No hamburger restaurant in America flaunts the method of deep-frying a burger like Dyer’s in Memphis, Tennessee. There are other burgers out there that are cooked in skillets of bubbling proprietary, blended grease, but Dyer’s goes to the extreme and employs a two-foot-wide skillet that I’m guessing holds more than three gallons of grease. But that’s not all. Dyer’s claims the grease has never been changed since the restaurant opened almost a hundred years ago.
I know this sounds nuts, but according to previous owner Tom Robertson, the grease has never been changed, just added to. “We’ll top off the grease but never throw it out and start over,” he told me as I interviewed him for my film, Hamburger America. As I sat there in disbelief, he produced one photograph after another documenting the police-escorted moving of the grease from the old location to the new. On some news footage I obtained for the film, you can hear someone say, “As soon as the mayor gets here we’ll go inside and make some lunch!” Now I’ve really seen it all.
The burgers are not deep-fried in just any old grease. Dyer’s uses beef tallow, or rendered beef fat to add to the decades-old skillet. You’d think your burger would emerge from the grease a sludgy disaster, but quite the opposite occurs. The grease of course adds flavor, but the burger turns out being no greasier than a regular, griddled burger. It’s probably because of this that some regulars ask to have their bun dipped, which is where the top half of the bun is returned to the skillet for a dip in the grease.
The method for cooking a burger at Dyer’s is the most peculiar of any burger counter in America. A quarter-pound wad of fresh ground beef is placed on a marble surface. A large spatula rests atop the meat as the cook pounds the beef into a paper-thin patty nearly eight inches wide. The flat beef is then scraped off the surface and slid into the nearby skillet of bubbling, brown grease. Within a minute, the patty floats to the top and it’s done. Ask for cheese and watch what happens. The cook lifts the patty out of the grease with the spatula, places an orange square of American cheese on it, and the patty is quickly dipped back into the grease to melt the cheese.
Mississippi native Elmer Dyer opened Dyer’s Restaurant in 1912 in the midtown section of Memphis. The burger shack proudly served both blacks and whites, though in the Southern tradition before the civil rights movement, they had to enter though separate doors. At some point, Dyer’s moved around the corner to Poplar and North Cleveland, and from there made its historic move to Beale Street. The North Cleveland location became a Vietnamese restaurant that curiously continued to sell deep-fried burgers among a selection of traditional Vietnamese dishes.
The Dyer’s of Beale Street comes off as a tourist trap, but maintains the fabled grease and uses only fresh ground beef for the burgers. If you want to broaden your horizons, order the second most popular sandwich at Dyer’s—the deep-fried bologna sandwich. Previous owner Tom once told me bluntly, “If you are watching your health, I recommend going next door.”
FAT MO’S
2620 FRANKLIN PK | NASHVILLE, TN 37204
615-298-1111 | (17 OTHER NASHVILLE METRO LOCATIONS)
WWW.FATMOS.COM | TUE–SUN 10 AM–11 PM
MON 10 AM–10 PM
Ask any current or former Nashville area college student about Fat Mo’s and most likely they’ll tell you they’ve been there. That may be because in the Nashville metro area there are eighteen Fat Mo’s locations. It also may be because people in Nashville love burgers and Fat Mo’s makes one helluva burger.
At first glance, anyone of the Fat Mo’s outposts look like a standard roadside burger joint, some of them nondescript, brightly painted cinderblock boxes near highway interchanges. But to those who know Fat Mo’s, there is something entirely unique at play here. Opened in 1991 by Iranian husband and wife Mohammad Ali and Shiva Karimy, the burgers at Fat Mo’s have a very distinct flavor that is unmistakably Middle Eastern.
The story of how Mo and Shiva came to found a burger empire in Nashville is right out of a storybook. After the Shah of Iran was deposed in 1979 the lives of any remaining supporters of his regime were in danger under the new ruler Ayatollah Khomeini. “After the revolution I escaped,” Mo told me, “I was for the Shah and if I had stayed I’d be killed. They had no mercy.” Mo was a prominent businessman in Iran prior to the revolution and owned a number of restaurants, four of them burger joints. Inspired by the success of McDonald’s in his country Mo saw potential in the burger business. He opened his own burger joint and called it “Mamad Topol,” which translated from Farsi means “Fat Mo’s.” “The Iranians loved American culture,” Mo explained, “and they still do! Don’t believe what you see on the news.”
Mo and Shiva have made their name with a unique twist to the all-American hamburger. The basic construction of the burger is the same but a very important step in the cooking process sets these burgers apart from the rest. When you bite into the half-pound Fat Mo you’ll be struck by the subtle spices at work. Black pepper, salt, and garlic are all present, as well as other spices, but none of this overwhelms the beef-and-cheese profile of the burger. The secret is in the marinade, an old family recipe.
All of the burgers at Fat Mo’s come from bulk fresh ground beef that is hand-pattied daily. “We weigh it on a scale then flatten into patties on a hard surface,” Mo explained. The burgers are cooked on a flattop griddle, and just before they are finished, the patties are dipped into the marinade then returned to the griddle. “That’s how we do it,” Mo explained proudly. “But the marinade is a secret. I cannot tell you what is in that.” Whatever it is, it makes the Fat Mo one unique, tasty burger.
The menu is vast but the burger options are pretty basic at Fat Mo’s. The biggest seller is the “Fat Mo,” which is a half-pound patty on a toasted sesame seed bun. Unless you specify what you want on your burger the Fat Mo comes with everything, which is shredded lettuce, tomato, raw onion, pickles, mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, and American cheese. Mo’s personal favorite burger on the menu (and coincidentally mine as well) is the half-pound Double Mo. Instead of one large half-pound patty the Double Mo comes with two quarter-pound patties, more griddle char, and an extra slice of cheese. There’s also the Little Mo, a quarter-pound burger that Mo says, “Most of the ladies get that one.” If you are feeling adventurous (or really hungry) go for the Super Deluxe Fat Mo, a twenty-seven-ounce patty that comes with everything plus grilled onions, barbeque sauce, bacon, and jalapeños. It may be your only meal of the day.
Fat Mo’s Locations are a mixed bag of restaurant types because each location is an independently owned franchise. A handful of them are sit-down restaurants with drive-thrus, a few are sit-down with no drive-thru, and some are tiny roadside drive-up windows. Five of these have a curious double drive-up system with two lanes, one on either side of the building. When you pull up to the large menu in the parking lot there is no speaker asking you for your order. You make a selection and drive up to a window to order, or an employee will emerge from the rear of the restaurant to take your order to bring to the kitchen. It’s all very low-tech but everything is made to order and very fresh.
Although most of the locations have been franchised, Mo and Shiva have retained the Smyrna location for themselves. They spend much of their time in the restaurant because as Mo put it, “People in Nashville want to see me, see that I’m alive, that I exist.” Mr. Mo, as he is affectionately known, most definitely exists and so do his amazing burgers.
ROTIER’S RESTAURANT
2412 ELLISTON PLACE | NASHVILLE, TN 37203
615-327-9892 | MON–FRI 10 AM–10:30 PM
SAT 9 AM–10 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Nashvillians are proud of Rotier’s and the burger that is served there on French bread. At first glance, the burger looks impossible to eat, a tower of edible elements that defy gravity, thanks, only to those, feathery sandwich toothpicks. And that bread—why the big loaf of French bread? “My father ordered some loaves of French bread from Sunbeam one day in the ’40s to serve with our spaghetti,” owner Margaret Crouse told me. One thing led to another and the famous Rotier’s cheeseburger on French bread was born. Despite how tall the burger looks, it’s a breeze to eat and the supersoft bread cradles the burger patty and condiments perfectly.
It should be a good burger. It has been on the top of every best burger list in Nashville for decades. Loretta Lynn, Tim McGraw, and Faith Hill are all fans of the cozy dive. Jimmy Buffett used to sit at the bar and write songs and eat burgers regularly back in the late ’60s when he lived in Nashville, prompting many to assume that he penned the famous “Cheeseburger in Paradise” at Rotier’s. Alas, he did not.
Evelyn and John Rotier opened their tavern and restaurant in 1945 just steps from the esteemed Vanderbilt University. Today, the giggly, effervescent Margaret Crouse, daughter of the Rotiers, owns the dark, comfortably broken-in tavern with her brother, Charlie Rotier. “I’ve worked here for 38 years,” she told me, but many of her employees can boast similar claims. Pamela has been in the kitchen for over two decades. Her mother gave her the job after she had flipped burgers there for over 30 years, starting in 1951.
There are three burgers on the menu at Rotier’s and the descriptions can be somewhat confusing. The well-known “cheeseburger on French bread” is self-explanatory, but order a grilled cheeseburger and it comes on white or wheat toast. Order just a cheeseburger and you’ll get the same patty on a white squishy bun. The six-ounce burgers are hand-pattied every morning from over 200 pounds of fresh-ground chuck. A burger with everything comes with lettuce, onion, and tomato. Order a “half & half ” and you’ll get a plate with both fries and onion rings.
Other than hamburgers and the surprisingly good spicy fried pickles, Rotier’s is also known for its plate dinners that come with Southern sides, like lima beans, broccoli casserole, and fried okra. And don’t miss Eddie Cartwright’s Lemon Ice Box Pie, a tangy, creamy dessert similar to key lime pie with a buttery graham cracker crust. Jack-of-all-trades Eddie and his pie recipe have been at Rotier’s for over twenty years.
My good friend from Nashville, Vadis Turner, told me once, “My dad took me here for my first burger. It is the kind of place where you bring your kid to get them their first real hamburger.”
Pamela, taking a break near the bar, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for the next rush told me, “This place is a home away from home for a lot of people. Once you sit down, you don’t want to get up.”
ZARZOUR’S CAFE
1627 ROSSVILLE AVE | CHATTANOOGA, TN 37408
423-266-0424 | MON–FRI 11 AM–2 PM
CLOSED SAT & SUN
Zarzour’s is one of the places I visited where I had wished this book wasn’t just about hamburgers. In addition to serving up one of the best burgers I’ve ever had, Zarzour’s also provides a meat-and-threes menu that the locals love. But even if burgers were the only draw, it’s worth a trip to this South Chattanooga food gem.
Until recently, Zarzour’s burgers were not even listed on the menu. Local lunch patron Blythe Bailey told me, “I came here a few times before I realized they even made burgers.” I asked Shannon Fuller, a Zarzours family member, grill chef, and master of ceremonies, why the burgers were not advertised. “Because I hate making them!” she said laughing hard, “Just kidding! But in the summertime it gets real hot in here because of the burgers.”
It couldn’t be a friendlier place. Everyone knows one another and some descendant of Zarzour is always in the restaurant either eating or working. “They come here to eat and I put every damn one of them to work—go clear that table,” Shirley Fuller told me.
Shirley is the matriarch of the family, owner, and third-generation Zarzour. Her grandfather, Charles Zarzour, a Lebanese immigrant, opened the café in 1918. Shirley is in charge of the desserts for the three hours a day the restaurant is open. If a pie is running low, she’ll spot a regular with a favorite and tell them so.
The burgers are large. How large? Shannon made an air patty with her hands “about this big” and burst out laughing. “And the large burger is this big!”and she made a bigger air patty. Each burger is pattied to order. Shannon scoops ground chuck out of a Tupperware dish next to the grill, hand-forms a patty and places it on the small, flattop griddle in the front part of the restaurant, surrounded by customers. No burger is the same, though she gets pretty close. If you ask for grilled onion, a thick slice is cooked like a burger patty on the griddle. A cheeseburger with everything comes with pickles, lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, and mustard on a bun that comes from a bakery across the street.
From the outside, Zarzour’s doesn’t look like much. Look for the small painted-brick structure with heavily fortified windows. The only warmth on the exterior is the red-checked curtain hanging in the window of the front door. Inside you’ll find just the opposite—a warm country café with tables of all sizes covered with the same red-checked fabric and a capacity crowd happy to be there.
Besides burgers, I watched plates of great Southern food be dispatched to tables. Butter beans, collard greens, and skillet corn bread are on the menu, as is the local favorite, lemon ice box pie.
The tables all have clear bottles filled with odd science experiments: things like homemade chow chow relish and pickled okra. One bottle’s contents even the waitress could not identify, but I’m sure it was tasty.
It would be easy to miss out on a lunch at Zarzour’s if you showed up, for example, after 2 p.m., or on a weekend. I asked Shirley why they are only opened for fifteen hours a week and she explained succinctly with a smile, “That’s all I want.”
36
TEXAS
105 GROCERY
17255 TEXAS 105 | WASHINGTON, TX 77880
936-878-2273 | MON–THU 11 AM–7:30 PM
FRI & SAT 11 AM–8 PM
This is not a burger joint. It’s not really even a well-stocked grocery store. 105 Grocery is a tiny country store, a place to meet and buy beer, lotto tickets, and a bag of chips. They also happen to serve one of the best burgers I’ve ever had in Texas.
105 Grocery is way out there. Far beyond the sprawl of Houston and a healthy 80-mile drive northwest is a burger spot that is barely on the map. Inside and out, the 105 is a friendly, classic, functioning rural country store. Mismatched chairs and tables fill the area by the register and people come and go, paying for gas and hauling away beer by the 12-pack. At the 105 Grocery, the beer in the coolers far exceeds the space allotted for soda.
The best-looking seat in the house is a community table in the rear of the store near the beer coolers. The table is surrounded by a bunch of random chairs and one comfortable, high-backed leather office chair on wheels. As I eyed the chair at the empty table I heard a voice say, “Nobody better sit in that chair.” One of the grill cooks, Sherrie, explained to me that, like clockwork, the owner’s brother, Sam, shows up every day at 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. to sit in that chair. Sure enough, at exactly 4:01 a guy in a dusty John Deere hat walked in, helped himself to a can of Miller Lite and slipped into the chair. A friend in suspenders, jeans, and cowboy hat joined him with a Bud in hand and all I could think of was how fortunate I was to be in this authentic joint. Most people never get to see this side of the country.
Your choices for burgers are with or without cheese and single or double patty. As tempting as a double sounds deep in the heart of Texas, beware. The fresh, hand-pattied burgers seem to be close to half a pound, making a double-meat burger one full pound of beef. I opted for the half-pound single patty and that was sufficient. The girl on the grill, Beaujolais, told me, “Some folks come in and order double meat with bacon . . . that’s big.” A burger with everything comes with mayo, pickles, mustard, iceberg lettuce, a slice of tomato, and raw onion. The whole package is delivered on a toasted, buttered, soft white bun in a plastic basket and is an absolutely tasty belly bomb.
The flavor was peppery and I’m assuming that Beaujolais (named by her mother, who worked in a wine store) sprinkled a liberal amount of seasoning on the patties. Customers and employees pointed out that Beaujolais was the one who makes the best burger at the 105. Everyone who works here does it all, and Sherrie said it best: “Cook, cashier . . . whatever.” The tiny flattop griddle can be seen though a small pass-thru behind the register and on busy days there’s a wait due to the limited capacity of the griddle.
An older, outgoing regular named Donald, sitting at a table sipping a beer, told me that the 105 has been around forever and remembers the place from his youth, when it was called Jensen’s Store. “I damn near own the place,” he declared. “I’m here every day!”
The actual owners are Betty and John Eichelberger, who own a ranch nearby. Betty’s aunt and uncle Minnie and Melvin Jensen opened the grocery many decades ago. The progression of ownership still exists in the signage outside, making the 105 look like it has an identity problem. One sign reads B&J’S GAS and another across the parking lot calls the place D&K GENERAL STORE. When you call, they answer the phone, “105.” My favorite sign, though, is on the front door and lists tworules—NO SMOKING CIGARS—NO SAGGING PANTS. I wonder if they are enforced.
As Sam sat in his leather office chair and watched the activity at the register, he told anyone who would listen, “Can’t get a bad burger here.” He then turned to me. “I eat burgers here every day,” he said, then added with a chuckle, “I eat all my meals here.”
ADAIR’S SALOON
2624 COMMERCE ST | DALLAS, TX 75226
214-939-9900 | WWW.ADAIRSSALOON.COM
OPEN DAILY , 11 AM TO CLOSING
Down in Deep Ellum, a section of Dallas just north of downtown known for its honky-tonk nightlife, is a comfortably broken-in bar called Adair’s Saloon. If you walk in off the street out of the blazing Texas sun, it’ll take a while for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. But when they do, you’ll find a place that is hard to leave. There are happy hour specials all day, old-timey country tunes on the jukebox, instant friends lining the bar, and they just happen to serve one of the best burgers in Texas.
Adair’s is full of beer neon and other signage but most noticeable is the graffiti, which is everywhere. It’s on the floor, walls, and tables and there’s a lot of it. Cute bartender Tarah, who has a tattoo that spirals up her leg, told me, “We encourage it,” and handed me a few black Sharpies. Adair’s is the perfect spot if you need to let loose with a pen after a few beers. Just ask the bartender for a marker.
Settle into a booth or belly-up to the bar and order a burger and a local favorite beer (one of my favorites), Shiner Bock. If you need a menu there’s one posted behind the bar but the choices are limited. You can order a cheeseburger or hamburger, and at Adair’s they only come in one size—huge.
This classic Texas burger is a thing of beauty. It comes in a plastic basket, wrapped in checked wax paper and speared with a fat, whole jalapeño pepper. The contents are bursting from its wrapping, begging you to grab hold and take a bite. A burger with everything comes with a thick slice of tomato, shredded lettuce, a slice of raw onion, pickles, and mustard. They also offer grilled onion, available upon request. The whole thing is sandwiched between two halves of a soft, white squishy bun that has been warmed in a steaming tray. A bite that includes all of these elements is blissful.
Like all classic Texas hamburgers the burger at Adair’s weighs in at a half pound. The way the grill cook arrives at this measurement is one of the more unique methods I have ever seen. Fresh ground beef arrives at Adair’s in long tubes that just happen to share the same circumference as Mrs. Baird’s enriched buns. Sergio Perez, who has manned the griddle at Adair’s for a decade, lays out the beef tube and slices, with the plastic still on, half-pound patties. Each slice is identical (thanks to years of practice) and when the plastic is peeled off—voilà!—perfect patties! There’s an art to slicing the patties and as bartender Tarah put it, “If I had to do it, it’d be a mess.”
The burgers are cooked on a flattop in a spotless kitchen that in no way resembles the rest of the grungy bar. “I keep it very clean in here,” Sergio told me with a smile. The only piece of graffiti in the spartan kitchen is over the door and reads, “Sergio’s burgers are the best!” When he showed me the bun steamer, I remembered that the bun on my burger had been toasted. “Only for special people,” Sergio pointed out. Everyone else gets a steamed bun. The fries are peculiar, long potato wedges that resemble truck stop jo-jos. Even though they are frozen and come out of a bag they are not bad. There is no deep fryer in Sergio’s kitchen so the jo-jos get tossed onto the flattop to cook, making the exterior very crunchy.
Seven nights a week patrons enjoy live music at Adair’s with no cover charge. There is a full-sized tabletop shuffleboard that is addictive and will allow you to channel your inner-Olympic curler. The walls are covered with framed photos and one very large one stands out. Look for the enlarged snapshot of Elvis Presley in a deep embrace with former owner Lois Adair. Apparently, during a live show in the ’50s Lois broke through security to lay a big hug on the King. Thankfully, someone had a camera.
Friend and local burger expert Wayne Geyer led me to Adair’s when I told him I was looking for a quintessential Texas burger in Dallas. I caught him mumbling to himself as we enjoyed our burgers, “There’s something about a Texas burger. . . .” And he’s right. There is something special about burgers in Texas, and it’s not just because Texas is the land of beef. I think it’s because a true Texas burger is a simple thing, but it’s large. Simplicity and size are what make a burger a Texas burger, and Adair’s has it right.
ARNOLD BURGER
1611 SOUTH WASHINGTON ST | AMARILLO, TX 79102
806-372-1741 | WWW.ARNOLDBURGERS.COM
MON–FRI 9 AM–5:45 PM | CLOSED WEEKENDS
Arnold Burger’s reputation far exceeds its physical size. The tiny, beat up burger joint may look worn out, but this burger destination has cranked out very large, tasty burgers to happy customers for decades.
Owner Gayla Arnold is a hoot. Loaded with energy, this transplanted Hoosier took over when her parents had finally had enough 10 years ago. Ann and Dinzel Arnold opened the restaurant in 1985, moving into an old barbeque joint in the center of Amarillo. The Arnold family today is huge and it’s not uncommon to find a few family members helping out around the restaurant. Gayle’s nephew Perry, who worked at Arnold’s as a teenager and is now a chef at a nearby Olive Garden told me, “Everything I know about the kitchen I learned here.”
The menu boasts a dizzying selection of patty-and-cheese combinations, over 30, and the choices are based on patty size and quantity. The standard-sized patty at Arnold is three-fourths of a pound but to add to the confusion you can also order a Junior, a Baby, or a Small burger. Naturally, I had to ask how much each patty weighed and Gayla explained with a straight face, “The Baby is smaller than the Junior, the Small is smaller than the Baby . . . ,” and so on. Each size can come in up to four patties, with or without cheese. “It looks like a lot of burgers but it’s really not,” Gayla assured me. When I asked why the menu was like this, Gayla said in her defense, “Our customers have dictated our menu. It’s their fault!” My advice would be to stick to the basics, avoid the confusion, and get the most popular burger on the menu—the “Arnold Burger.”
The restaurant’s namesake burger is not to be taken lightly. This burger is a monster. Assuming you were hungry when you walked in, you most certainly will not be when you leave. The Arnold starts with two, three-fourths-pound patties that are stacked with four slices of American cheese on a toasted, wide, white squishy bun slathered with mayo and mustard. Lettuce, tomato, raw onion, and pickles are standard but come on the side.
The Arnold floored me. Most of the time when someone leads me to a burger almost too big to consume, the finished product turns out to be flavorless, poorly cooked, and too much to handle. I was amazed because the Arnold was as flavorful and juicy as any of my favorite “slimmer” burgers and surprisingly easy to handle. The Arnold is really just a cartoonishly large all-American burger. The secret, I believe, may be in the griddle. In plain view directly behind the register is a beautifully seasoned freestanding flattop griddle. The jet-black surface reminded me that this is where some of the best burgers get their flavor.
If that wasn’t enough, you can actually get a burger in the shape of Texas in four different sizes. A local bakery supplies Gayla with specially made buns that are also in the shape of Texas. Other shapes are available including a guitar, a boot, and the popular heart-shaped burger for two. Choose a shape from the outlines drawn on the wall in actual size. Some of the shapes I could not identify. “That’s a snowman,” Gayla told me pointing to a bulbous outline. I had to believe her.
Arnold is also the home of the “Family Burger,” an ingenious invention dreamed up by Gayla’s parents. “My mother was trying to figure out a way to feed a family, like a pizza.” It sounds crazy, but they have sent Family Burgers to bachelor parties and weddings. Gayla added, “We’ve even sent them to funerals.” The largest Family Burger is 24 inches in diameter, feeds a family of 10, and takes up most of the space on the flattop to cook. The grillperson uses a pizza peel to flip the Family Burger, and it’s served on a huge, custom-made bun. If you want one of these, you’ll need to order it a day in advance.
Arnold Burger gets a delivery of fresh beef daily and whatever family is around in the morning helps hand-patty the wide array of patty sizes. Nothing is actually measured and as Gayla put it, “We just grab the meat and start pattying.” She added, “My dad had the perfect hand size for making the patties.” The tiny restaurant has been known to move through hundreds of pounds of beef a day and once set a one-day record of 500 pounds following a TV appearance.
I asked Gayla about the limited hours at Arnold Burger, which is not open on weekends. The restaurant closes at the peculiar time of 5:45 p.m. and as Gayla explained, “It’s a great time to go home!”
BLAKE’S BBQ AND BURGERS
2916 JEANETTA ST | HOUSTON, TX 77063
713-266-6860 | WWW.BLAKESBARBQ.BIZ
MON–SAT 10:30 AM–8 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
I can always count on my good friend and Houston food critic Robb Walsh to dig up the obscure. Robb thankfully put this burger joint on my radar and I am forever grateful. Robb also introduced me to Don Blake, the man behind the burger. Don’t call him Don, though. I tried a few times and he didn’t respond. Finally he told me quietly, “My mom called me Don. Everybody else calls me Blake.”
Blake didn’t always serve the best, freshest burgers in town from his dream-come-true barbeque joint on the west side of Houston. “When we first started we were serving frozen,” Blake admitted, but he knew the burger could be better. As fate would have it, when a truck didn’t show with frozen patties one day, Blake ran to a local grocery store to buy fresh ground 80/20 chuck and the rest was history. “It was like a phenomenon,” Blake told me. “Word got out and people were asking ‘What are you putting in there?’”
There was no turning back, and after 28 years Blake is still using the same 80/20 chuck for his burgers that he picks up from a local butcher.
I had my first burger at Blake’s with Robb Walsh and noticed right away that it seemed loaded with butter. “You have a problem with that?” Robb shot back. No, I most certainly did not. The burger to get at Blake’s is the cheeseburger with everything. The griddleperson takes a measured eight-ounce ball of ground chuck, presses it between two sheets of wax paper, then plops it onto the well-seasoned flattop. A liberal amount of “secret” seasoning (that looked like salt and pepper) is sprinkled on top and the burger is pressed again. A very complicated buntoasting procedure ensues where a five-inch white squishy is sent through a buttering toaster press and then transferred to the griddle to finish. “The key is the bun cooking on that griddle,” Blake pointed out. The bun is prepped with pickles, mayo, mustard, shredded lettuce, and tomato. It ain’t a picture-perfect burger, with its squashed bun and erupting contents, but don’t let that fool you. The butter, beef, mustard, pickles, and soft bun make for an enormously satisfying burger experience (I added bacon and grilled onions, too). Add some jalapeños to remind yourself that you’re in Texas.
There’s a curious burger on the menu called the “Kick-Burger,” designed by one of Blake’s biggest fans, Houston mega-developer Vincent Kickerillo. The Kick comes with pepper jack cheese, jalapeños, and a splash of barbeque sauce. Even Frank Sinatra became a fan (thanks to his good friend Kickerillo) and had Blake frequently ship raw patties to his home in Malibu. “He and Kick loved the seasoning so I’d overnight 15 to 20 pounds to them.”
There are many other things on the menu like sandwiches, baked potatoes, and burritos, but I’ve never tried them. I have not even tasted the world-class barbeque that Blake is known for. I’ve only indulged in his amazing burgers.
Don Blake
There is no signage indicating a drive-up window but at Blake’s you can order from your car. Look for the tiny window on the right side of the building and place your order. “twenty-five percent of our business is by drive-up,” Blake told me.
The idea for a barbeque and burger restaurant was born of necessity. As a young salesman for an office supply business, Blake was constantly on the search for decent, affordable barbeque and decided to open his own place. Blake’s sales beat had him in on the west side of Houston daily and he discovered his current location by accident while taking a shortcut. “This street was a two-lane dirt road back then,” he told me, which is hard to imagine given the unstoppable urban sprawl of Houston. It turned out to be the perfect location.
Blake’s stands out on Jeanetta Street thanks to its design. “I wanted it to look ‘cowboy,’” Blake told me, and pointed out the horse hitch that completes the Alamoesqe façade. The dining room has a floor-to-ceiling painted mural depicting a dusty Old West version of his hometown of Brownwood, Texas. “That’s not really what it looks like,” Blake confessed. He grew up in a town where being black was an anomaly. He showed me his high school reunion picture and said with a chuckle, “See if you can find me!” As I scanned the sea of white faces it was not hard to spot Blake.
Every year, just before Thanksgiving, Blake smokes 100 turkeys and donates them to under-privileged families and a shelter for homeless vets in the neighborhood. Blake explained, “I grew up poor and know how it feels to get food during the holidays.”
BURGER HOUSE
6913 HILLCREST AVE | DALLAS, TX 75205
214-361-0370 | WWW.BURGERHOUSE.COM
(OTHER LOCATIONS AROUND DALLAS AND ONE IN AUSTIN, TX)
OPEN DAILY 11 AM–9 PM
Any visit to Dallas, Texas, warrants a stop at this tiny, beloved burger stand. Impossibly small and showing its age, Burger House (aka Jack’s from a previous owner) serves excellent, fresh-meat burgers to hungry college students and locals in this wealthy Dallas suburb. Constantly topping best-of lists, Burger House, opened in 1951, has been a favorite of Dallas natives for generations.
Jack Koustoubardis built Burger House and worked at the Hillcrest location flipping burgers for over 30 years. Even though there is no mention of his name anywhere in the restaurant’s signage, dedicated regulars still refer to the restaurant as Jack’s Burger House. In 1982, friends of Jack’s, Angelo Chantilis and Steve Canellos, bought the burger stand and the recipe for its now famous “seasoned salt.” The salt goes onto all of the burgers and fries and creates the taste that regulars crave.
The restaurant is split in two—one part a tiny, fluorescent-lit diner (no more than two hundred square feet) with a few stools and a narrow counter, the other an alleyway dining room with a sloped concrete floor and carved-up picnic tables. Of curious note, the stand closes every night at 9 p.m., but the dining room side stays open all night. Manager Nicholas told me, “That’s just the way it was. Jack kept it open all night.” Angelo, aware of the extremely low crime rate in this suburb, confirmed the policy, but said of would-be thieves, with a chuckle “Let’em walk in instead of breaking the damn glass.”
The most popular burger at Burger House is the double cheeseburger. Every morning Burger House gets a delivery of large, flat quarter-pound patties of 80/20 chuck. Angelo told me, “We buy from a local purveyor of meat and they only give us the best.” The burgers have been cooked on the well-seasoned, original griddle from opening day at Burger House, a griddle that’s over 50 years old. A wide, toasted sesame-seed bun is standard, as are shredded lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, and mustard. The double with cheese is a large, two-fisted wad of greasy goodness that will fill you up and have you dreaming about your next visit even before you take your last bite.
The seasoned salt, a garlicky secret recipe invented by Jack’s brother, Jerry, is so popular that in the 1990s Angelo and Steve decided to bottle and sell the stuff. “People would walk off with the shakers of the salt that we put out,” Angelo told me, “so we figured we should just start selling it.” Now you can attempt to re-create Jack’s burger at home.
Today, Burger House is a mini-chain with seven locations around Dallas and more to come. The enormous Mockingbird location (with its large dining room and drive-thru) does the most business, but it’s the original Hillcrest location with its red, white, and blue neon sign that burger lovers visit to get their dose of Americana. I asked Angelo if there were plans to keep expanding, and he responded with an emphatic. “Hell yeah.” Angelo’s confidence in the franchise led me to believe that there might just be one near you in the future.
CASINO EL CAMINO
517 EAST 6TH ST | AUSTIN, TX 78701
512-469-9330 | WWW.CASINOELCAMINO.NET
OPEN DAILY 4 PM–2 AM
Casino El Camino is not a burger joint. It’s a dark punkabilly rock bar with tattooed and pierced patrons that maintains one of the best jukeboxes just about anywhere. People go to Casino to drink and listen to great tunes at this bar on the Sixth Street party strip in downtown Austin, Texas. I was in a rock band for 10 years so I feel at home in a place like Casino. But it wasn’t until my third visit that I realized they offered amazing burgers to the buzzed clientele.
I was informed of Casino’s burger prowess by a film crew member of mine in Austin, John Spath, who begged me to give it a shot. In a town whose burger culture is dominated by Hut’s and Dirty Martin’s, and in a state enormously burger-proud, I was skeptical. Even John commented, “It’s not the kind of place you’d expect to find good food.”
I approached the tiny opening in a dark back corner of the bar to place my order. The small kitchen is manned by a staff of one. A solitary chef takes orders, preps buns, and grills the burgers. When the chef on duty that night, Orestes, was through tending to burgers on the grill, he reluctantly sauntered over to take my order. I waited over half an hour, but for my patience I was rewarded with a heavenly burger.
The burgers at Casino el Camino start as fresh-ground 90 percent lean chuck that’s hand formed into 3 quarter-pound patties. They are cooked on an open-flame grill, placed on a bun, halved, then the two halves are placed back on the grill again, cut side down, to achieve a decorative grill brand on the cross section of your burger. It should be noted that cooking over a flame and achieving decent results don’t often go together. Most grill cooks, especially those working from a Weber in their backyards, manage to overcook and ruin burgers. Every time I’ve been to Casino, the burger has been cooked perfectly. Casino el Camino cooks their burgers to temperature. If you ask for rare, get out the napkins and listen for that mooing sound. The cooks know what they are doing. Even a medium-well comes out juicy.
The menu lists burger concoctions that use the three-quarter-pound burger model and add condiments. There’s the “Buffalo Burger,” which is not actually buffalo beef, but a regular burger topped with hot wing sauce and blue cheese. Or try the “Amarillo Burger” with roasted serrano chiles, jalapeño cheese, and cilantro mayo. My favorite is the standard bacon cheeseburger with cheddar, listed as the “Chicago Burger.”
Casino el Camino is both a bar and a person. Casino el Camino, the stage name for this rocker and bar owner, came to Austin for the famed South by Southwest Music Festival in 1990. He was impressed with the forward-thinking Texas town and told a friend back in Buffalo, New York, that it would make a great spot for a bar. “Before I went I thought Texas was all tumbleweeds and fucking cowboys,” the Long Island, New York, native admitted. Casino el Camino, the bar, became a joint venture between Casino and the Buffalo restaurateur, Mark Supples.
Expect to wait for your burger, sometimes forever. Casino told me, “The grill only holds fifteen burgers at a time so we are limited in what can come out of that small kitchen.” On busy nights the wait can be over an hour. But so what? Enjoy the music, gawk at the crazy piercings, and get a drink. If you complain, you may make it worse. Just remember, this is not fast food. It’s slow food at its best.
CHRIS MADRID’S
1900 BLANCO RD | SAN ANTONIO, TX 78212
210-735-3552 | WWW.CHRISMADRIDS.COM
MON–SAT 11 AM–10 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Chris Madrid is like no other hamburger icon that I’ve met. If you are searching for him in the vast, sprawling 34-year-old burger joint, just look for the guy with jet black hair who is smiling and hugging customers. Chris has been hands-on since opening day in 1977 and can still be found moving briskly from kitchen to dining room to bar checking constantly on every moving part of the restaurant. And it seems that every customer in the place knows Chris. “That just means I’m getting old,” Chris told me with a chuckle.
In the late ’70s Chris bought a tiny burger stand in San Antonio on the corner of Blanco Road and Hollywood called Larry’s Place. Fresh out of college, he saw potential in running a taco and burger stand. He renamed the place Chris Madrid’s Tacos & Burgers but dropped “tacos” from the name (and menu) in 1980. “The burgers were selling so well and we had so many things on the menu,” Chris told me. “We needed to simplify.”
Originally, there were three burger sizes to choose from—the Baby, the Mama, and the Papa, but Chris streamlined that as well. In 1980, inspired by the Village People’s hit song “Macho Man,” Chris decided to call his larger eight-ounce burger “macho” sized. The smaller four-ounce “regular” sells well, but the macho is hard to resist. You can keep it simple and order the Old-Fashion Hamburger, a Texas classic with mustard, pickle, lettuce, onion, and tomato, but there’s a better reason to eat at Chris Madrid’s—the “Tostada Burger.”
The Tostada Burger at Chris Madrid’s is legendary. Chris did not invent this staple of San Antonio burger culture but he most definitely made improvements on the classic. The original version, called the “Beanburger,” was supposedly invented at the now-defunct Sill’s Snack Shack in San Antonio in the ’50s and was soon copied by many other burger joints. A traditional Beanburger consists of only four basic elements—a hamburger, refried beans, Fritos, and Cheese Whiz. That’s it, with no lettuce, pickle, or anything else to get in the way. Chris changed the name and altered the ingredients slightly for his version but has kept the basic integrity of the original intact. The Tostada Burger uses refried beans, but replaces the Cheese Whiz with cheddar and uses house-made corn chips instead of Fritos.
The macho Tostada Burger is a sight to behold. As you contemplate how to eat this enormous pile of heavenly goo, take a moment to appreciate what is in front of you. The bun, toasted on the grill, can barely contain the brown-and-yellow hues of its contents. The burger patty itself, a thin-pressed wonder made from fresh 75/25 beef, is hidden beneath a layer of refried beans and cascading cheddar.
The burger is impossible to pick up. I found that cutting it in half made things slightly easier. My first bite of this legend sent me soaring. As I easily made my way through the macho I wondered why this burger was not replicated in every corner of America. The beans and chips worked so well with the beef, and the cheddar tied it all together. Chris said it best when he told me, “It’s like a hamburger and an enchilada plate in one.” What an amazing invention.
Chris Madrid’s is enormous and has grown slowly over the years. Chris bought the icehouse (the Texas version of a deli/package store) next door and eventually put an awning over the large gravel parking lot between the two buildings and added more tables. The awning was replaced by a glassed-in structure and seating capacity increased to over 300. “We had to. It was too hot under there,” Chris explained of the connecting addition. Today, the core of the restaurant is the connecting structure, a high-ceilinged dining room filled with mismatched tables and chairs. The icehouse side of the restaurant contains a beautiful recycled bar that Chris bought from a closed convent in the ’80s and the original thick refrigerator doors from the icehouse are still functioning.
Every once in a while a mariachi group will wander through the restaurant entertaining customers downing their Tostada Burgers. Chris doesn’t hire the musicians. “They just come in,” he told me. Grab a local Texas favorite beer, Shiner Bock, while you wait for your burger. It’ll come wrapped in “pickle paper,” or waxed paper, to keep your hands dry from the bottle sweat. “That’s the way they used to do it back in the icehouse days,” bartender of 24 years Jimmy told me. Jimmy is not the longest-running employee at Chris Madrid’s. That honor goes to Chris’s sister, Diana. “She’s seen it all,” Chris told me. “She was here on day one.”
I heard a woman say in a singsong voice to Chris as she left with her family, “I just had another wonderful hamburger!” You’ll be singing too.
CHRISTIAN’S TAILGATE BAR & GRILL
7340 WASHINGTON AVE | HOUSTON, TX 77007
713-864-9744 | WWW.CHRISTIANSTAILGATE.COM
(2 OTHER LOCATIONS IN HOUSTON)
MON–FRI 10 AM–9 PM | SAT 11 AM–9 PM
BAR OPEN TO MIDNIGHT
Imagine walking into an open mike night at a Texas roadhouse and finding Billy Gibbons, front man of ZZ Top, on stage. At Christian’s this once was entirely possible because Billy’s good friend Steve Christian owns the place. “He used to come in, put his name on the board,” Steve told me. Christian’s no longer hosts an open mike night but when the Texas rocker comes to town, Christian’s is still his first stop for drinks and one of the best burgers in Houston.
Steve Christian is the third-generation owner of this roadhouse burger joint just off I-10 west of downtown Houston. Steve’s grandfather opened Christian’s Totem in the early ’40s as a convenience store and icehouse. Before refrigeration and air conditioning, icehouses were integral to daily life in warm climes. Steve told me, “Guys would come down here to get ice for their wives and end up staying and drinking beer for a while.” The beer fridge used to sit in the parking lot with a padlock on it. “My grandfather would leave for the night and toss the guys the key. Eventually, Christian’s became a bar.”
Steve’s grandfather and father ran Christian’s as a convenience store and a roadside bar for over 50 years. Steve told me, “In the ’40s this was a dirt road out here,” pointing to the impossibly busy Washington Avenue, large trucks rumbling in every direction. After a stint as a DJ in a topless club and a job as a crane operator, Steve told his dad he wanted to be the third-generation owner of Christian’s. When he took over the business he had plans for expansion. Part of his plan was to put a great burger on the menu, and that burger wins “Best of Houston” awards annually.
The burger to get is the jalapeño cheeseburger—a fresh-ground, half-pound, griddled two-fister that comes in a plastic basket on a toasted white bun with lettuce, onion, tomato, pickle, mustard, and mayo. The jalapeños are snappy and hot and complement the large portion of meat well. “I only buy cold-packed jalapeños from Cajun Chef. They are the only ones that have a crunch,” Steve explained. “I’ve spent years getting the ingredients just right.” Recently, Steve has been experimenting with the deep frying of bacon. “It’s awesome!” he said as he dragged me into the kitchen the last time I was there. He takes a strip of bacon, dips it into a batter, and tosses it into the fryer. “We’ve been putting them on the burgers now, on a burger we call the Fried Bacon Burger.”
The crowd at Christian’s is mixed. It’s common to see construction workers, businessmen in suits, and tourists all enjoying their burgers. Former employee Kim, once told me, “There’s such a variety you’d be amazed. See those guys over there? Undercover cops.”
In 2004, Steve changed the longtime name of the bar from Christian’s Totem to Tailgate Bar & Grill for purely logistical reasons. “We were not really a ‘totem’ any longer (Texas vernacular for the convenience store) and we were getting too many calls from people thinking we sold religious books.” The Tailgate in the new name conjures up images of face-painted football fans in parking lots eating buffalo wings. Not so here. Steve has modified and welded actual pickup truck tailgates that serve as wall sculpture, and one supports a large plasma TV next to the bar. Guy Art to the extreme.
This burger joint will be around for a while. Steve plans to turn the business over to his son eventually. “We’ll see. He’s only nine years old now!”
DIRTY MARTIN’S KUM-BAK PLACE
2808 GUADALUPE ST | AUSTIN, TX 78705
512-477-3173 | WWW.DIRTYMARTINS.COM
OPEN DAILY 11 AM–11 PM
Dirty Martin’s does not serve thick, gourmet burgers. Dirty Martin’s serves excellent, greasy, thin-patty burgers to Austin locals and students from the nearby University of Texas. Alongside these famed grease bombs, Dirty’s also serves a guilty pleasure of yours and mine—the deep-fried tater tot.
Opened in 1926 as Martin’s Kum-Bak Place by John Martin, the burger counter earned the nickname “Dirty’s” for the dirt floor that remained until 1951. The original counter had just eight stools inside and most of the business was conducted in the parking lot with carhops. Today, the carhops are gone and the dirt floor has been covered for half a century, but Dirty’s is still cranking out great burgers over 80 years from opening day.
The menu at Dirty Martin’s is loaded with great bar food geared to pre- and post-party revelers in search of nourishment. The lunch crowd looks to be on the other end of the spectrum, nursing hangovers. There are many choices on the menu, but the burgers are king at Dirty’s.
The burgers start as fresh ground, thin patties. They are cooked on a flattop griddle and slid onto waiting, toasted sesame seed buns. It seems that the thinness of the patty allows the grillman to cook burgers faster.
Have fun trying to interpret the somewhat cryptic burger options on the menu. Ask for a hamburger and you’ll get a single patty with mustard, onion, pickle, and tomato. Ask for a large hamburger and get the same but twice the meat (two patties). Then there’s the infamous “Sissy Burger,” which replaces the mustard and onion with mayonnaise. I asked the grill team about the definition of a Sissy Burger and was directed to a man named Wesley sitting at the end of the counter. Wesley Hughes, retired from the grill, flipped burgers at Dirty’s for 45 years. He bluntly explained to me, “Mustard is strong and not for sissies.” I deduced that mayo is for sissies and left it at that. If you need a double-patty burger with mayo, be prepared to tell your waiter you need a “Big Sissy.”
Few restaurants in America have the guts to put tater tots on their menus. This trashy little potato treat somehow has the ability to get crispier than fries and retains more grease (or flavor). You can go to the freezer aisle of your supermarket, buy a bag of tots, and cook them in your oven, but we all know how that tastes. Tater tots are best enjoyed deep-fried at places like Dirty Martin’s. And what could be better than tater tots? How about the ultimate guilty pleasure—cheese tots.
If you find yourself hungry and near the University of Texas, don’t hesitate to stop at the oldest burger stand in Austin. Order some cheese tots and a double burger and look for Wesley at the end of the counter during lunch. He’s Dirty Martin’s unofficial Head of Public Relations and knows how to spot a sissy, so order yours with mustard.
GUY’S MEAT MARKET
3106 OLD SPANISH TRAIL | HOUSTON, TX 77054
713-747-6800
WWW.DIRECTORYOFHOUSTON.COM/GUYS
TUE–FRI 9 AM–5:30 PM | SAT 9 AM–4 PM
CLOSED SUN & MON
Every once in a while I come across a place where the beef used for burgers is ridiculously fresh. Case in point, Guy’s Meat Market in Houston where a full-service butcher shop doubles as one of America’s best places to find a hamburger. Second-generation owner Brad Dickens put it in the simplest terms: “Everybody else buys their ground beef from somewhere. We are butchers. We do all of our own trimming and grinding right here.”
But this is not your ordinary thick, juicy patty or even a classic griddle-smashed burger. Nope, this is the only place I’ve discovered in America where you can sink your teeth into a smoked hamburger. You read that correctly, at Guy’s the burgers are cooked in a barbeque smoker.
“This must be what heaven is like!” a woman exclaimed as the screen door closed behind her. I could have blurted out the same and clearly understood her joy. The hickory smoke that envelops the place is intoxicating. Cashier Dee told me, “A woman was in here yesterday who said, ‘I wasn’t even hungry when I walked in here.’” Guy’s will do that to you.
Guy’s is a classic Texas butcher shop. Three journeymen butchers and ten other employees create a flurry of activity behind the counter. The sound of the butcher’s band saw is ever present, the long glass cases are filled with fresh cuts of beef and sausage, and the thick essence of smoke completes the scene.
Not all burgers are created equal and a burger at Guy’s is the perfect example. I know you are thinking, how can burger meat be cooked for more than 4 minutes without drying out? I was skeptical to say the least. The machine-pattied eight-ounce burgers are made from fresh ground chuck and cooked in a rotating barbeque smoker for just over an hour. The duration the patties spend in the smoker allows them to still be fairly juicy and gain the coveted “smoke ring” that barbeque aficionados seek, the red ring on the exterior of the beef that can only be produced by smoking meat.
A visit to Houston would not be complete without grabbing a meal with my good friend and food writer Robb Walsh. He had not been to Guy’s in awhile and I was glad he agreed to meet me there. He taught me a secret to the smoked burger that I am forever grateful for. If you ask for your burger with everything you’ll get pickles, lettuce, tomato, and a cold piece of American cheese. This is not the way Robb orders his burger. “This is a smoked burger,” he reminded me. “You need barbeque sauce.” He was absolutely right. Robb ordered his with raw onion, pickles, and Brad’s house-made tangy barbeque sauce. There was no comparison between the two burgers. The burger with everything was pretty good but the burger with barbecue sauce was explosive. “See, I told you,” Robb gloated. The flavor profile of the beef, sauce, and smoke cradled in a soft white bun was phenomenal.
Brad Dickens
Guy’s has been open since 1939 but the smoked burger only made its first appearance in the mid-eighties. “I tried it and it went crazy,” Brad explained of the burger’s swift popularity with his regulars. There are no tables at Guy’s and most burger consumption is done in the parking lot. Dee explained, “Everybody tailgates.” There are a few spots inside where you can stand and eat. Brad motioned for Robb and I to shove a few packages of buns out of the way and plop down on a counter in the grocery section of the market. “Just shove that bread outta the way—I don’t care.”
Today, expect a line of customers that starts at 11 a.m. on the nose and does not abate until the last burger has been wrapped. And there’s always a shortage because Brad only makes 200 burgers a day. He almost always sells out. Why only 200? “That’s all we have time for.” I think I like this logic.
HERD’S HAMBURGERS
400 NORTH MAIN ST | JACKSBORO, TX 76458
NO PHONE | TUE–SAT 10:30 AM–4 PM
CLOSED SUN & MON
About an hour and a half northwest of Fort Worth, deep in rolling Texas ranchland dotted with oil rigs and cows, is a family-run burger joint in the tiny town of Jacksboro. They have no phone and the place is only open five-and-a-half hours a day, five days a week. But if you hit it just right (for lunch only) you’ll get to experience one of the more unique burgers in Texas, the amazing “Herdburger.”
What you won’t get at Herd’s is a big, juicy, classic Texas-sized burger, one that you can barely lift to your face and, like so many other Texas burger joints serve up, a thick patty weighing in at over a half pound. Instead what you’ll find at Herd’s Hamburgers is definitively the flattest burger in America, cooked to perfection by the third-generation owner, Danny Herd.
When I say flat I mean flat. The method for cooking burgers at Herd’s is one that I’ve never witnessed anywhere else in America. When I told the forty-something, moustached Danny this he replied, “Others don’t do this?”
Erase any notion that a burger should start as a patty. Picture a beautifully seasoned flattop griddle from the ’40s that has a 3-pound pile of ground chuck sitting on the upper left corner. To make a burger, Danny slices an appropriately sized wad of beef from the pile with a concrete trowel, and then with a lightning-fast move, under the weight of the trowel, turns that wad into a flat patty 6 inches wide that is so paper-thin you could see through it. Danny works fast to fill, empty, and refill the griddle every few minutes, warming the buns on the flipped patties. The finished product is transferred to a station where most burgers are dressed “all the way,” which is mustard, pickle, chopped onion, tomato, and lettuce. If you ask for a “double meat, double cheese,” expect a glorious burger that weighs in at just under a half pound and whose loose, crumbly meat is falling out of the waxed paper bursting with a jumble of ingredients.
There are no plates at Herd’s. There are also not many seats (except for a few upside-down soda crates and a strange, long row of old school desk chairs). And thankfully there not many other food options, either. Burgers are the focus at Herd’s so don’t come here looking for things like fries or malts. Danny’s father, Claude, who owned and ran the place with his wife, Orlene, from 1971 to 2008, told me, “This was the way it was back in 1916 when my aunt started. I thought about [adding fries] but it’s easier to pull a bag of chips off the rack.” I asked Danny why there was no phone and his answer was perfect. “We really don’t need it. That way we don’t have to take phone orders.” He’s absolutely right—why take phone orders when the line is out the door most days by noon? And why close by 4 p.m.? It was Claude who started that practice. He explained flatly with a smile, “I wore out my patience, my back, and my knees at about the same time.”
Claude and Orlene moved Herd’s to its current location just north of downtown Jacksboro. They bought a small two-story apartment house and turned the garage downstairs into the restaurant. But this was not the only move in Herd’s nearly 100-year history. From what I could glean from conversations with Claude and from inspecting photos on the walls Herd’s may have actually moved over seven times. Claude’s first response when I asked about the moves was, “Gosh. I don’t know.” What we do know was that Herd’s started as a tiny canvas shack downtown by Claude’s aunt Ella Gafford. Apparently, in almost 100 years the method for making burgers at Herd’s has never changed.
When Danny got word that his dad was planning to retire he knew he was the only one who could continue the tradition. “I worked here as a kid,” Danny explained, and after 21 years in Denton, Texas as an employee at UPS he moved home to run the business. Danny likens the twenty-seven-and-a-half-hour workweek at Herd’s to a vacation compared to his life with the delivery giant. “I think I’ll get more mileage out of my body here than I would at UPS.”
HUT’S HAMBURGERS
807 WEST 6TH ST | AUSTIN, TX 78703
512-472-0693 | WWW.HUTSFRANKANDANGIES.COM
OPEN DAILY 11 AM–10 PM
Hut’s Hamburgers is not on the party drag in downtown Austin, Texas, where the crowds migrate to East 6th Street. This out-of-the-way burger restaurant is on the quiet west end of 6th Street, identifiable from blocks away by its vintage green and red neon sign. Follow the arrow on the sign to the odd-shaped 1930s red, white, and blue building.
The history of Hut’s is so convoluted that I’ll spare you the details and give you the skinny version. Basically, Homer “Hut” Hutson opened Hut’s Hamburgers on South Congress in 1939. Across town the same year, Sammie Joseph opened Sammie’s Drive-In on West 6th Street. In 1969, after numerous owners, Sammie’s became Hut’s.
The Memorial Day Flood of 1981 devastated downtown Austin. A witness to the aftermath described it as looking like a week of hurricanes had rambled through town. The west side of town, particularly where Hut’s is situated, was destroyed. A local newspaper noted that through all the death and destruction, Hut’s remained standing, prompting the phrase “God Bless Hut’s.”
Since 1981 Hut’s has been owned and run by Kim and Hutch Hutchinson. Kim told me, “Since we bought Hut’s very little has changed. We make everything from scratch.” The Hut’s they purchased was still selling burgers and chicken-fried steak, but the Hutchinsons updated the menu. The restaurant now offers salads and daily blue-plate specials like fried catfish on Fridays, but every time I’ve been to Hut’s, I’m there to consume one of their award-winning burgers.
If you are looking for variety, you have come to the right place. Hut’s serves high-quality, fresh-meat burgers with just about any topping you can think of. The menu is loaded with cute names for the burgers like the “Alan Freed” (with hickory sauce) and the “Beachboy” (with pineapple). Stick to the basics like the “Hut’s Favorite,” a bacon cheeseburger, and be rewarded with an unforgettable burger experience.
A rarity in the burger world, Hut’s gives you the option to choose the type of meat for your burger. Hut’s offers traditional fresh ground beef, buffalo, or Texas Longhorn. “We added buffalo and Longhorn to the menu for health reasons,” Kim told me. Both Texas Longhorn beef and buffalo meat are superlean, and in the case of Longhorn beef, low in the type of fat that causes bad cholesterol. The one-third-pound patties are cooked on a well-seasoned flattop griddle. The Longhorn beef and buffalo meat come from a nearby ranch, and the traditional cow beef comes to Hut’s as 90 percent lean ground chuck.
By noon most days, the restaurant is packed. On game days (the University of Texas is nearby) expect to be waiting on line or at the bar surrounded by fans decked out in UT orange. Use the time you’ll spend waiting for a table to browse the flood photos on the wall. By the time you bite into your burger, you’ll be glad Hut’s was saved too.
KELLER’S DRIVE-IN
6537 E. NORTHWEST HWY | DALLAS, TX 75231
214-368-1209 | OPEN DAILY 10 AM–MIDNIGHT
The sign in front of this aging relic of Dallas hamburger culture says it all—“Keller’s Hamburgers Beer.” That’s what you’ll find here and not much more. Personally, I don’t require much else and at Keller’s I was in heaven.
During the day Keller’s doesn’t look like much. The low, faded green, beige, and brick central structure that houses the kitchen sits in the middle of a huge parking lot surrounded by long parking shelters that can accommodate up to 100 cars. Lunch seems to be moderately busy but at night, Keller’s comes alive. The parking shelters light up with flashing neon and pickup trucks line the drive-in with tailgating Texans. On most Saturday nights, owners of classic cars still cruise into the drive-in to stage impromptu shows and beer flows more than soda. At Keller’s, they’ll not only bring your burger to your car seat, they’ll bring you a beer too.
But Keller’s is not just another roadside hamburger joint. Jack Keller opened his first drive-in in 1950 after working for the Big Sam Company. Big Sam developed drive-in restaurants and is credited with opening the first in America, the Pig Stand in Dallas in 1921. Jack wanted to open his own drive-in and saw that there was a need to serve beer with the burgers. As Jack explained in his gentle Texas drawl, “Beer, hamburgers . . . that’s all you need really.” Cheers to that.
My first visit to Keller’s was around 4 p.m. on a Tuesday and I was a little shocked to find people pulling up in pickups and motorcycles ordering beer and skipping the burger. Most seemed to just have one and move on, a postwork cold one before the ride home that made perfect sense to me. “Some come for the beers because they are only $1.75 here!” carhop Rachel told me. Rachel, a sweet, salt-of-the-earth, sun-baked Texan wearing an oversized T-shirt, told me she has been at Keller’s for over 21 years and loves her job. “The tips are excellent. That’s why I started here.”
The burger selection is totally confusing with random, specially numbered burger combinations that are strangely out of sync. The #9 is a double meat with chili and the regular cheeseburger gets no number. I asked Jack about the reasoning behind the numbered burgers and he replied, “Lack of a good sign painter, I guess.” Avoid confusion and order the #5, a double meat and cheese with tomato, shredded lettuce, and “special sauce,” which my taste buds identified as Thousand Island dressing. Tater tots are on the menu at Keller’s and when tots are on the menu I always skip the fries.
The thin-patty burgers at Keller’s are cooked on a large flattop griddle and served on toasted, soft, white poppy seed buns. The drive-in gets a shipment of fresh beef daily and they come in as patties just over 3 ounces each. The burgers are delivered to your car wrapped in waxed paper, creating a perfect package of cheesy, beefy, greasy deliciousness. I can eat one of their doubles in three bites and go back for more.
The carhops are all female and range in age. There doesn’t seem to be an enforced dress code for the carhops at Keller’s and the outfits go from baggy tees to tight tank tops. One flirty carhop sported a straw cowboy hat and only worked the side of the drive-in that was frequented by the bikers, affectionately known as the Zoo Side. This section of the parking lot, to the left of the main structure, also has a few mismatched benches that look like church pews. Here, the bikers can rest, have a burger, and sip a beer. “These guys are mostly weekend bikers, you know, doctors, lawyers,” Rachel pointed out. She didn’t want me to get the impression that the Zoo Side was a hangout for some dangerous biker gang. From what I’ve seen there day and night, Keller’s attracts a pretty docile biker crowd.
To order at Keller’s, find a spot, check the menu posted on the main structure, and put on your hazard lights (or as the window says, “turn on your blinkers for service.”) Soon after, a carhop will approach to take your order. Your meal will arrive on the classic drive-in tray that hooks on your window and your beer will be wrapped with a napkin to prevent beer sweat—a nice touch.
If it were not enough that you can get an amazing burger, tots, and a beer brought to your car, you can also buy cases of beer to go. Keller’s doubles as a package store, which means you can go on a beer run and reward yourself with a burger at the same time.
In a follow-up phone call, Jack told me, “Next time you are through Dallas come on by and I’ll fix you an ‘original.’”
“An original?”
“Yeah, that’s me fixin’ your burger.”
So if you find yourself around Dallas in need of a beer break head over to Keller’s. You’ll be able to chase that beer with one of the tastiest burgers in America. And if Jack’s on the griddle, you may be able to score an original.
KINCAID’S HAMBURGERS
4901 CAMP BOWIE BLVD | FORT WORTH, TX 76107
(VARIOUS OTHER LOCATIONS AROUND FORT WORTH)
817-732-2881 | MON–SAT 11 AM–8 PM
SUN 11 AM–3 PM
A visit to Kincaid’s is a must on the burger trail in America. The restaurant is a revamped corner grocery that today is profoundly dedicated to the American hamburger. Most burgers found in Texas fall into the half-pound category and a hamburger at Kincaid’s is no exception. The good word spread in the early 1970s that Kincaid’s was serving up a stellar burger in the rear of the store. It was only a matter of time before burger sales eclipsed grocery sales and the rest is history. Today, Kincaid’s grinds and patties up to 800 pounds of fresh beef daily (you read that correctly). For groceries, you’ll have to go elsewhere.
Kincaid’s is located on a corner on the edge of a quiet residential neighborhood in Fort Worth, and the atmosphere inside and out is laid-back and comfortable. Inside, the long, original stock shelves remain in place, their tops sawed off to act as surfaces to stand at, unwrap your burger, and dig in. It was O.R. Gentry, a meat cutter and manager at the grocery store, who bought the business from the ailing Charles Kincaid in 1967. It was O.R. who cut down those shelves and created countertops out of old doors he found for $1. And it was O.R. who created one the greatest burgers in America, a burger whose fame is so widespread that it can claim fans from every corner of the globe.
“He started with a $25 grill,” Lynn Gentry said of her father-in-law. “O.R. would take the prime meats that didn’t sell and grind them to make hamburgers the next day,” Lynn explained. As the need for the corner grocery faded in America in the 1970s (spurred by the proliferation of the supermarket), O.R. began to focus more on burgers and less on groceries. When his son, Ronald, took over the business in 1991, he and wife, Lynn, did away with the remaining groceries for good. “We pulled out all of the produce bins and refrigeration in the front and replaced them with picnic tables,” Lynn told me. “We needed the space.”
Kincaid’s is a gigantic place. Today it’s a clean, functional, bright restaurant where the integrity of the old grocery has been preserved. The concrete floors are polished to a high shine, and the original neon grocer’s sign continues to glow red over the front door. The interior walls are still painted sea-foam green and Lynn told me, “The local hardware store calls this color Kincaid’s Green.” The restaurant can accommodate up to 280 burger enthusiasts, either standing or sitting, in over 3,500 square feet of space.
Every day Kincaid’s grinds on premises the meat for their half-pound burgers. They use only chuck steaks from organic Texas beef that is free from hormones and steroids. The burgers are cooked on two six-foot flattop griddles. You can cook a lot of burgers with 12 linear feet of griddle space.
The burger is served on a white, seeded, toasted bun with tomato, shredded lettuce, pickles, yellow mustard, and thinly sliced onions. The elements of this burger are so well balanced that, taken as a whole, they create a nearly perfect burger experience and in turn a euphoric first bite. Curiously, the burger’s condiments are placed underneath the burger instead of the standard above-the-patty placement. “We do that for speed,” Lynn explained, pointing out that the buns are prepped before the burgers come off the grill. The inverted burger actually allows the juices from the meat to drip into the condiments and Lynn told me, “We think it makes the burger taste better.”
Kincaid’s is a family business. The Gentrys two sons work at the restaurant and Lynn’s father retired from American Airlines and has been the manager of Kincaid’s for over a decade. In the last few years, the Gentrys have opened a few new locations around Fort Worth including a 5,000-square-foot replica of the original complete with sawed-off grocery shelves and “Kincaid’s green” painted walls.
Many refer to the burger at Kincaid’s as the best in Texas. That’s a mighty claim in this burger-proud state. It is a claim that the Kincaid’s burger lives up to and a challenge the Gentry family takes in stride.
LANKFORD GROCERY
88 DENNIS ST | HOUSTON, TX 77006
713-522-9555 | MON–SAT 7 AM–3 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
“There’s nothing better than a good burger,” was the first thing out of Edie Prior’s mouth when I told her about the book I was working on. Edie is the owner of Lankford Grocery, a breakfast-and-burger destination opened by her parents, Nona and Aubrey Lankford, in 1939. From 1939 to 1977 the Lankfords operated the business as a grocery store before turning it into the café it is today. The only visible evidence of the store’s past are the original Coca-Cola grocer’s sign out front and the large enameled steel meat case separating the kitchen from the dining area. “I don’t have the heart to pull it out,” Edie said of the case. “We use it for storage now.”
Lankford’s is a funky place with a lot of heart and soul. There’s a wall with pegs where locals hang their personal coffee mugs, the floor is impossibly slanted and creaky, the ceiling is low, and each table has a roll of paper towels in lieu of napkins. Edie heavily decorates the restaurant depending on the season. My first visit was just before Halloween so you can imagine the décor. “We just took down our summer theme,” Edie’s brother Jimmy told me, “We had beach balls and stuff hanging from the ceiling.”
Jimmy, who has since passed away, used to work at Lankford making change and small talk at the end of the counter. He said to me once, referring to the much-debated GQ magazine hamburger list, “What do these swanky men know about good hamburgers anyway?” True. A real man would do well to put one of these burgers down—a Texas-sized, fresh meat, two-fister.
Burgers at Lankford’s are cooked to perfection on a flattop griddle, juicy on the inside and crisp on the outside. They start as hand-pattied fresh ground meat and are roughly eight ounces. Order a double and you are getting a pound of meat. The burger to order is the Bacon Double Cheeseburger (the bacon single works just fine, especially if you plan on eating again that day). The burgers come with shredded lettuce, red onion, pickles, tomato, cheese, mayo, mustard, and copious amounts of crisp bacon. All of this is served on a large toasted bun with a single toothpick straining to keep the contents vertical. I’m a hamburger professional and can deftly maneuver the sloppiest of burgers with ease, but this one got the better of me. “Uh, would you like a fork?” Jimmy said, sensing my struggle with the unruly pile of ingredients.
There are other burgers on the menu that sound excellent, like the “Soldier Burger,” explained best by waitress Robin. “A man walked in one day and asked for a burger with an egg on it, so I did it!” Or try the “Fire House Burger” that contains a homemade habanero paste. “It is REALLY hot!” Edie warned me as she approached with a mason jar containing an orange paste. “Just try a little . . . do you have water?” The paste contained radishes, onion, mustard, and habanero peppers and was hot as hell. It was a deep-down hurt though, not a sharp pain, with lasting heat. Would I spread this on a burger? Absolutely. And recently a new burger creation has become a big seller, the “Grim Burger,” which is topped with mac and cheese, bacon, an egg, and jalapeños. “One of our customers dreamed that one up,” Edie told me.
Lankford’s is only open for breakfast and lunch, so don’t plan on having dinner there. Burgers are served all day though, starting when they open at 7 a.m. “People order burgers for breakfast, right when we open,” Edie told me.
The small, sleepy café looks slightly out of place in this neighborhood very close to downtown Houston. “We used to be able to see the buildings downtown. These were all vacant lots,” Edie pointed out. Those lots are being quickly transformed into condos and other large construction projects. Edie plans to be around for a while though. She wants to leave the business to family one day but told me, “I plan on being here as long as I can flip that burger.”
LONGHORN CAFE
17625 BLANCO RD | SAN ANTONIO, TX 78232
210-492-0301
(5 OTHER LOCATIONS IN THE SAN ANTONIO METRO AREA)
WWW.THELONGHORNCAFE.COM
SUN–THU 11 AM–9 PM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–10 PM
CLOSED MONDAY
Don’t look for this burger destination near the famous Alamo in downtown San Antonio. There are now six Longhorn Cafe locations and they all cater mostly to locals and any visitor willing to venture to the outskirts of the city. The 25-year-old burger chain is a beloved Texas roadhouse serving burgers, beer, and many other favorites and is totally worth the drive.
One of the keys to the success of the Longhorn Cafe is the amazing attention to the quality of the ingredients. Everything that goes into the burgers at the Longhorn is visible in a bank of glass-front coolers behind the counter. The burgers are cooked on a flattop griddle in a big, open kitchen and prepped at a station adjacent to the griddle. It is all out in the open and as employee José Penado told me with a wave of his arm, “Everything we do is right here.”
What they do is burgers and they do them expertly. The original griddle from opening day in 1984 is still in place and sees thousands of burgers a week. Longtime manager Uko Equere told me that the beef is always fresh, never frozen. “If someone brings in frozen I’ll have to slap them!” he proclaimed. Uko is on your side.
The sign outside of the restaurant exclaims that the Longhorn Cafe is the “Home of the Big Juicy.” I asked José what was on the “Big Juicy” and he explained, “All the burgers are Big Juicys,” which is basically a one-third-pound, wide, flat patty on a large, toasted, white squishy bun. There are many burger options at Longhorn Cafe but the most popular, Uko explained, “is the double meat, double cheese.” Ask for everything, and you’ll get a burger piled high with shredded lettuce, raw onion, mayo, mustard, and pickles—a true Texas classic.
The kitchen area is an incredible study in efficiency. Everyone has a task to complete and during peak times the kitchen works like a well-oiled assembly line. A griddleperson slaps patties on the flattop and toasts buns alongside the burgers while another employee preps buns with condiments. Completed burgers are delivered to the counter in plastic baskets lined with waxed paper.
One employee spends his time only at the deep fryer. Get the “Half & Half” with your order and choose 2 of the 3 deep-fried sides: onion rings, fries, or tater tots. The onion rings are not to be missed (they are cut and battered in-house) but it’s also hard to pass up on tater tots.
At Longhorn Cafe, you place an order at the counter, then find a seat and wait for your name to be called. Grab a pickled jalapeño at the counter to munch on while you are waiting. At the Blanco Road location you can sit in either the large dining room filled with booths and picnic tables, or check out the equally large outdoor patio with its big homemade slide for kids to play on. When things get crazy Uko opens up the private party room to handle overflow.
It’s a big, clean, easygoing place that caters to all types. The first time I was there it was lunchtime and the place was mostly filled with dudes in auto mechanic uniforms and families, a mixed clientele that changes as the day progresses. Nighttime brings local high school and college students (and sometimes players from the San Antonio Spurs). “There is usually a line out the door,” Uko explained. The place is packed on game day weekends.
The restaurant apparently opened in the ’50s as a taco stand at what is now the Blanco Road location. In 1984 a Sooner (a graduate of the University of Oklahoma) and an Aggie (a graduate of Texas A&M) bought the stand, started selling hamburgers, and changed the name to the Longhorn Cafe. Two high school buddies, David Wynn and Paul Weir, came along and purchased the business in 1995. The duo is responsible for the Longhorn’s expansion into a six-store chain.
What I also love about the Longhorn Cafe is that my favorite Texas beer, Shiner Bock, is available by the pitcher. I couldn’t think of anything better to do in Texas than eat a roadhouse burger while drinking one of the best beers in Texas at a picnic table. What more do you need?
Directly across the street from the Blanco Road location (the original) is a Sonic Drive-In that is obviously not affecting business in the slightest. “We’ve been here so long that our customers are pretty loyal,” Director of Operations Karen Turner told me. Be smart and go where the locals go.
37
UTAH
CROWN BURGER
118 NORTH 300 WEST | SALT LAKE CITY, UT 84103
801-532-5300 | WWW.CROWN-BURGERS.COM
(MULTIPLE LOCATIONS)
MON–SAT 10 AM–10:30 PM | CLOSED SUNDAY
Behold the “Crown Burger.” At first you see what appears to be a pastrami sandwich, then, upon closer inspection, realize that your wildest fantasies have just come true—you are gazing at a cheeseburger stuffed to bursting with warm, thinly sliced pastrami.
Unique to Salt Lake City and its neighbors, the pastrami cheeseburger is a beloved Utah burger that, according to some locals, is best represented at the Greek-owned Crown Burger chain.
The Crown I visited was the second built (in 1979) in Salt Lake City. I was assured that the other six Crowns were similar, which is hard to believe given the almost indescribable décor of the interior of this restaurant. “Back in the ’70s my family was in the Greek nightclub business,” Mike, son of owner Manuel Katsanevas, tried to explain. Gargoyles, stuffed quail in flight, large chandeliers, Greek statuary, lush wallpaper, and a huge working fireplace round out the phantasmagorical setting. “We know we are fast food but we wanted to create an upscale dining experience,” Mike told me.
It’s true—don’t be put off by the large staff in uniform behind the counter working at warp speed, multiple registers, numbers being called over a loudspeaker, and a general feeling of ordering food at one of the superchains. As you wait for your number to be called you stand between an ancient nine-foot-tall ornately carved wooden hutch and a grandfather clock, both salvaged from a hotel in France. “People ask all the time if this stuff is for sale,” Mike said, pointing to the clock. “No, it is not.”
The genius behind Crown is their business plan, which could only be pulled off by an intensely proud Greek family (they are actually from Crete). Each restaurant in the chain is independently owned by a family member. They share recipes and suppliers to maintain sameness and quality.
The burgers come in fresh as quarter-pound patties “every morning,” Manuel explained. The menu is large and eclectic and includes hot dogs, tuna sandwiches, a fish burger, and, you guessed it, some of the best souvlaki and gyros in town.
The Crown Burger, char-broiled over an open flame, comes wrapped tightly in waxed paper and includes lettuce, tomato, chopped onion, American cheese, and of course, gobs of pastrami. My warning to you—do not remove the waxed paper prior to hoisting this beast to your lips. It will explode and the pastrami will end up in your lap.
The idea for pastrami on a cheeseburger was imported from Anaheim, California, by a relative of the Katsanevas family. “Uncle James had a restaurant called Minos Burgers and served a pastrami burger,” Mike explained. When he moved to Salt Lake, he brought the idea to his family.
The burger also includes a Utah curiosity called fry sauce. For those unfamiliar with the fast-food habits of Utahans, fry sauce is basically ketchup and mayo mixed together. Mike told me, “We make our own fry sauce in house, made of seven ingredients, most of them secret.” The sauce is mainly used as a dip for fries.
The Katsanevases have been approached more than once with offers to franchise but have resisted. Fear that the quality of their product would decline was not their only reason. “We make a comfortable living and we’re happy with the way things are,” Mike told me. “We have worked very hard for everything we have. Besides, this couldn’t be a franchise; everything is made to order!”
38
VERMONT
DOT’S RESTAURANT
3 EAST MAIN ST | WILMINGTON, VT 05363
802-464-7284 | WWW.DOTSOFVERMONT.COM
SUN–THU 5:30 AM–8 PM | FRI–SAT 5:30 AM–9 PM
CLOSED MONDAY
Dot’s is hard to miss as you roll into the picturesque downstate Vermont town of Wilmington. Just look for the only neon sign in town, thanks to a local ordinance that has banned neon signage on businesses. Fortunately, the neon sign over the door at Dot’s has been grandfathered in.
Dot’s is not a burger joint. It’s a classic New England diner that serves comfort food favorites like pancakes, chili, and sandwiches but also happens to serve one of the best burgers in Vermont. Locals and tourists alike frequent Dot’s, which sees healthy crowds year round. Nearby Mt. Snow attracts thousands of skiers and snowboarders on winter weekends, many of them looking for burgers.
The name of the restaurant goes back half a century but the actual building dates to 1832, making it the oldest structure in town. For its first 70 years, the building was a post office and in 1900, became a general store. In 1930, the store became a restaurant and had many names over the next few decades. In 1952, a man named Dude Sparrow bought the restaurant for his wife, Dot. When the Sparrows sold the diner to John Reagan in 1980 the name stayed.
The burger at Dot’s starts as a hand-formed patty of fresh ground 80/20 Angus chuck. A mayo lid is used for portioning and the 5-ounce patty is cooked to temperature over a flame grill with lava rocks. It’s served on a toasted, seeded white bun and nothing else but potato chips and a dill pickle spear. “They come plain,” Mitch explained, “but we do not shy away from special requests.” Cheese selection is American, Swiss, pepper jack, and Vermont cheddar and the usual condiments are available, including lettuce, tomato, and sliced red onion.
The burger at Dot’s is best chased by a chocolate malt. Make sure to try the tasty fries, hand-cut daily. I asked waitress of 30 years Shirlee what drink would go best with this juicy burger. She responded with a straight face, “A beer.” She’s right, and Dot’s does have a selection of beer and wine, but I was there at 10:30am and had just finished my coffee.
The restaurant has been updated recently and the clean décor has a sort of cozy country feel with wood tables and chairs, pale blue floor tiles, and fireplace that no longer functions. Dot’s is not large and the counter can only seat nine at swivel stools. There are tables with room for about forty people but try to snag the single booth at the front, in a nook out of the way.
Even though John and Patty Reagan have owned and run Dot’s for over 30 years people still walk in and ask, “Where is Dot?” The friendly staff gets a kick out of the question and reply by jokingly pointing to longtime manager Mitch Soskin saying, “There’s Dot!” “We get asked that at least three times a day,” counterperson Cindy told me. Cindy is one of the most upbeat waitresses I’ve ever met and for good reason. Years ago she escaped corporate America and an executive job in Hartford, Connecticut to serve coffee to regulars at Dot’s. “And I’m happier than ever! This is it!” she shouted down the counter.
WHITE COTTAGE
462 WOODSTOCK RD | WOODSTOCK, VT 05091
802-457-3455 | SEASONAL (MAY TO OCTOBER)
SUN–THU 11 AM–9 PM | FRI & SAT 11 AM–10 PM
CLOSED MONDAYS
“A lot of people come here thinking it’s that great rock-and-roll town in New York,” manager Norm Corbin told me, and added with his New England accent and a smile, “Well, it’s nawt.” This Woodstock is deep in the mountains of Vermont complete with covered bridges and gentle streams. Downtown is a destination with tour buses dumping happy shoppers onto the quaint main drag all summer long and well into foliage season. White Cottage is not here, though. Head a mile west out of town and you’ll find a 54-year-old snack bar that has not changed much since its opening day in 1957. “Look at this picture, that says it all,” Norm pointed out. Sure enough, a large, faded black-and-white photo taken in the early 1960s hangs in the counter window. With the exception of the period cars in the photo the White Cottage looks virtually unchanged a half century later. “We’ve put up a few layers of paint, that’s it,” Norm says.
“Everything is made in house, the sauces, the coleslaw, everything,” the second half of the managerial team, Scott Noble, told me. All of the dairy used at White Cottage is from local farms and the beef for the burgers comes from Vermont cows. A local meatpacker in Burlington supplies the snack bar with fresh 6-ounce Angus chuck patties. The burgers are cooked on a flame grill and served on toasted, classic, white squishy buns. The bacon cheeseburger is the favorite at White Cottage and the standard call is to order one with “the works”: lettuce, tomato, diced onion, pickle, mayo, mustard, and ketchup. This is an amazingly juicy burger so don’t let it sit around. Within minutes the juices will disintegrate the bun. I asked for one medium and it was cooked to temperature perfectly.
To order at White Cottage, step up to one of the windows. Pick up your burgers when your name is called over the loudspeaker. There’s a tendency to go back to the window where you paid, but the pickup window is actually around the corner to the right. There’s plenty of seating on the porch and out by the river that runs behind White Cottage.
Burgers aren’t the only thing on the menu and you’d be a fool to walk away from White Cottage without a side of deep-fried clam bellies. In fact, even though the onion rings are amazing, order a side of these clams with your burger. Norm and Scott get the clams from Ipswich, Massachusetts and have a legion of fans. “Some people come from Ipswich to have the Ipswich clams here,” Norm told me. Ipswich is two-and-a-half hours away. They’re that good.
White Cottage is a seasonal snack bar and locals look forward to the opening every year. “Come spring, they are so excited to see us open,” Norm told me and says that he’s constantly harangued about opening day, which is usually the Friday before Memorial Day. “People are jonesing for clams and burgers.” The busiest time of the year, though, is around Fourth of July when the tourists show up in force. The locals know better and avoid the snack bar when it gets crazy. “They stay away on weekends. They’re smart,” Norm explained.
Ice cream is king at White Cottage and in the peak of the summer the place is overrun by families looking for one of the snack bar’s thirty-three flavors and soft serve. Ice cream is scooped behind a large picture window and kids can watch the action by climbing a two-step platform. Scott explained, “Parents were always lifting the kids up to watch us scoop so I made the steps from some scrap wood.” How thoughtful is that?
White Cottage closes for the season the Monday of Columbus Day during the first week of October. Peak foliage has happened at that point and I imagine it starts to get pretty quiet in that part of Vermont. “It’s also not winterized—there’s no heat here,” Scott explained. But the nice thing about a seasonal place like White Cottage is that you can’t always have it. You’ll have to wait, and what could be better than the expectation of good things to come?
39
VIRGINIA
TEXAS TAVERN
114 W. CHURCH AVE| ROANOKE, VA 24011
540-342-4825 | WWW.TEXASTAVERN-INC.COM
OPEN 24 HOURS A DAY,
7 DAYS A WEEK (EXCEPT CHRISTMAS)
“I hope you plan on having a Cheesy Western” were the first words out of Matt Bullington’s mouth after I had introduced myself. I was thrown, because I thought I had come to the Texas Tavern for a straightforward hamburger, possibly a thin patty on a white bun. What Matt was selling me was actually the most popular burger at his over-75-year-old hamburger stand.
The “Cheesy Western” is a glorious combination of fried egg, thin hamburger patty, cheese, pickle, onion, and relish on a soft white bun. “We sell hundreds of Cheesys a day, especially to the late-night crowd,” Matt told me. How late? “We’re open all night.” In fact, the only time the Texas Tavern closes is for part of Christmas Eve and day.
Matt is the great-grandson of Nick Bullington, the man who opened the tiny hamburger stand in 1930. “My great-grandfather saw Roanoke as a boomtown and decided to build his restaurant here.” In the 1920s Roanoke had a vibrant locomotive construction industry. Nick, an advance man for the Ringling Brothers Circus, had collected recipes from his extensive travels around the United States. He had observed the best ways to make hamburgers (no doubt gleaning what he could from the success of White Castle at the time), had adopted a mustard-based relish from a circus recipe, and most importantly had borrowed a chili recipe from a hotel in Texas.
Curiously, the chili and burgers are sold separately as they have been for over seven decades. A chili burger is absent from the menu, though Matt said “A few people order them, but not many.” The chili is so popular at the restaurant that it can be taken away by the gallon if necessary. That may be because the chili is more soup than condiment.
The grill area is just inside the front window, which was typical of burger joints of the era. The cook’s station is a testament to efficient food prep. A hot dog steam box sits in front of a deep canister of chili. Next to that is the impossibly small 12-by-18-inch griddle. To the right of the griddle are two small burners for frying eggs and a box containing burger buns, relish, pickles, and onions. The entire complement of ingredients and cooking apparatus to prepare everything on the menu occupies a mere six square feet—absolutely amazing.
The Texas Tavern is a rare specimen of a bygone era because nothing has changed since it opened. “Everything is original,” Matt told me. The dented countertop, worn footrest, and ten lumpy red leather stools all feel so real. Some repairs to the griddle in 1975 are the extent of any “renovations,” outside of the frequent paint jobs that keep the place looking as fresh and inviting as it may have in 1930.
A quote posted in the restaurant calls the tiny burger counter “Roanoke’s Millionaire’s Club.” Matt explained, “We get all types in here. Whether you are the governor or a hobo, you’ll be treated like a millionaire at the Texas Tavern.”
40
WASHINGTON
DICK’S DRIVE-IN
111 N.E. 45TH ST | SEATTLE, WA 98105
206-632-5125 | (MULTIPLE LOCATIONS AROUND SEATTLE)
WWW.DDIR.COM | OPEN DAILY 10:30 AM–2 AM
At first glance Dick’s looks like it might be a tired old drive-in serving frozen hockey pucks for burgers. But Dick’s is anything but tired, and as the locals know, it’s as vibrant as ever, serving excellent fresh-beef burgers, addictive fries, and hand-dipped milkshakes. The ’50s have come and gone, but Dick’s remains over five decades later, proving that simplicity and good food are the keys to longevity.
Dick’s is a drive-in. There are five locations around town and only one has indoor seating. It’s the sort of drive-in where you park your car and walk up to the window to order and pay. General manager Ken Frazier told me, “Dick’s has always been a walk-up. Originally there were three separate lines, one for shakes and ice cream, one for burgers and soft drinks, and one for fries.” In the’60s Dick’s streamlined the system selling, all products at all windows. At the 45th Street location there’s no seating anywhere and Maria, the longtime manager, told me, “In the summertime people bring picnic tables and chairs and set up in the parking lot. It’s really cute.”
The first Dick’s was built in 1954 in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle just west of the University of Washington. On my first visit to the popular burger stand I arrived 15 minutes before opening to find workers inside scurrying to ready the griddle and cook the fries. There was no one in the parking lot. But within five minutes a hungry mob had gathered. When the first window called, “May I take your order?” I counted 45 people waiting to get their “Dick’s Fix,” a phrase a regular left me with.
The efficiency of Dick’s is mind-boggling. Twenty-four employees, all wearing crisp paper caps and clean aprons, are set to repetitive tasks, such as weighing the fresh ice cream that goes into the shakes or prepping the buns with their secret sauce.
The menu is simple—hamburgers, cheeseburgers, fries, shakes, and soda. The thin patties of fresh beef are delivered to all locations in the chain every morning. The burgers, cooked on a flattop griddle, can be ordered plain or as the preferred Dick’s Deluxe. The Deluxe comes with two quarter-pound patties, cheese, lettuce, mayo, and their special chopped pickle and mustard sauce. The sauce, a tangy, sweet, and creamy proprietary blend, should not be missed. All burgers are served on the perfect, white squishy bun wrapped in waxed paper.
If you love fries, you’ll be in French fry heaven at Dick’s. The fries are lightly greasy, thin, and fresh, not frozen. The shakes, also incredible, only come in the three classic flavors of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry.
If you ask for extra sauce for your burger or ketchup for the fries you’ll get a little serving in a small condiment cup, but expect to pay. Ketchup and other condiments are five cents extra and the reason is mostly environmental, not financial. “We feel that the cup is much nicer to use for dipping than some foil pouch,” Ken explained, “and by charging a nominal amount we feel we are minimizing waste.” Gotta love a burger joint with a conscience.
The people of Seattle love Dick’s. I was hard-pressed to find a carnivore that didn’t frequent the place. Bill Gates visits frequently. “Last week he had a Deluxe, fries, and a shake,” Maria told me. Even Sir Mix-A-Lot, Grammy Award winner and Seattle native, immortalized the Broadway location in his first hit song. In the lyrics, his posse skips Taco Bell for Dick’s. The truth is, if there were more places like Dick’s, serving wholesome, fast food, we’d all be skipping Taco Bell.
EASTSIDE BIG TOM
2023 EAST 4TH AVE | OLYMPIA, WA 98506
360-357-4852 | WWW.EASTSIDEBIGTOM.COM
MON–SAT 10:30 AM–8 PM | SUN 11 AM–6:30 PM
Big Tom could easily be the most nondescript burger stand in America. If it were not for the large menu on the street side of the building, you’d think you had arrived at a construction trailer that had been haphazardly dumped in a parking lot. But the long lines of cars on each side of the structure are a hint that something good is happening inside. Indeed there is. Big Tom daily sells over 500 fresh thin-patty wonders to loyal drive-up customers. But that’s not all. Big Tom’s trademarked “Goop” is dispensed here, a salad-type dressing that, in varying forms, is a Pacific Northwest mainstay for burgers.
“Goop is essentially mayo, mustard, and pickle relish with a secret salad dressing mixed in,” longtime owner Chuck Fritsch told me. “What’s the saying? ‘If I told you I’d have to kill you’?” he said with a laugh. “It’s really not a big secret,” he admitted, “But if you are not making it in huge batches it doesn’t taste the same.” I can see why someone might want to copy the recipe—the taste is addictive. Besides adorning the Big Tom special double-double, Goop is also offered as a dip for the tater tots and fries. What could be more appealing or more American than “Tots ’n Goop”?
In 1948 Millie and Russ Eagan opened a burger stand east of downtown Olympia and called it (coincidentally) In and Out. Millie took her inspiration for a drive-thru from a popular motor court across the street. For the original stand the Egans relocated a minuscule barbershop from another part of town. Since then, the stand has been rebuilt and changed names more than once, but has always been on the same spot. Through the decades the Egans expanded to nine stands in and around Olympia, but today only one remains.
Big Tom was the son of Millie and Russ Eagan. Overweight and inventive, he was known to help himself at the griddle and created a large burger that was not on the menu. Today it’s a best seller at the burger stand that bears his name, a double meat, double cheese-burger with lettuce, tomato, chopped onion, and the famous Goop. Be prepared for the inevitable dripping Goop as you take your first bite. Chuck told me, “We are known for making a sloppy burger.” Chuck buys fresh ground 18 percent fat thin patties for the burgers at Big Tom. They are cooked on a flattop griddle that is usually filled to capacity with the sputtering patties.
The interior of Big Tom, which is all kitchen, is a lesson in functionality. An astounding amount of prep and cooking is done in the 288 square feet that is populated by up to seven employees at peak times. Every square inch is utilized—think submarine galley.
Chuck started working at the tiny burger stand in the ’50s when he was 15 years old peeling potatoes. “It was warm and dry and sitting in a cubicle did not appeal to me,” Chuck said about his longevity in the business. He is a true entrepreneur. The diesel pickup truck that makes the 90-mile round-trip to and from work each day is fueled by fry oil from Big Tom. “I used to have to pay to dispose of it.” Now he drives down the road smelling like burning French fries.
Chuck, closing in on 53 years at Big Tom, is slowly turning the business over to his son, Michael, who literally grew up in the stand. Chuck pointed to a small space between the employee bathroom and slop sink. “We had the crib right there.” Michael jokingly describes the transition as “indentured servitude.” He told me, “I never thought I’d wrap myself around a hamburger joint,” but he seems to enjoy the life. Michael plans to run the burger stand for a long time, or as he put it, “At least until I reach dad’s age.”
WISCONSINRECIPE FROM THE HAMBURGER AMERICA TEST KITCHENGOOP SAUCE, MY WAYGoop is the sauce that adorns just about every burger in the Pacific Northwest. All of the goop sauces I’ve had taste pretty much the same, yet all contain highly secret ingredients. I’ve attempted to re-create goop sauce here, but remain fully aware that the best place to try this heavenly condiment is at places like the Eastside Big Tom in Olympia, Washington, and Dick’s Drive-In in Seattle.MAKES ENOUGH FOR 12 BURGERS½ cup mayonnaise
¼ cup sour cream
4 teaspoons sweet relish
4 teaspoons yellow mustardMix contents. Spread on your favorite burger. The color should resemble a stock canary yellow Plymouth Barracuda. Tell your friends it’s not the real thing, but pretty damn close. I can hear Chuck from Big Tom laughing as he reads this recipe. 41
WISCONSIN
AMERICAN LEGION POST #67
133 NORTH MAIN ST | LAKE MILLS, WI 53551
920-731-1265
OPEN FRIDAYS ONLY, MAY–OCT, 10 AM–8 PM
I had to make a special trip to Lake Mills, Wisconsin for a hamburger and timing was everything. When I discovered that this 85-year-old burger stand is only open on Fridays in the summer the planning began. I had only 23 Fridays to choose from.
The American Legion Post #67 Hamburger Stand is a gem. It’s wedged between two larger buildings in the heart of downtown Lake Mills and has been there since 1950. For 24 years before that, the American Legion had a portable stand set up across the street. The stand today is walk-up service only with a severely limited menu, my kinda place. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and sodas are all you can spend your money on (with the exception of a must-have t-shirt that depicts a burger, or “slider,” midway down a playground slide). Your only option for condiments is with or without onions. Ketchup and mustard are available on an old typewriter table on the sidewalk. “The most popular burger is one ‘with,’” stand operator Randy told me, which is a burger with stewed onions. Typical for an old-time stand, cheese takes a backseat and makes up only a third of all burgers ordered.
I squeezed into the tiny stand while my burger was being made and immediately recognized a cooking method that is rapidly disappearing throughout the Midwest—the deep-fried burger. That’s right, the one-fifth-pound burgers at Post #67 are deep fried in a huge, shallow tank filled with canola oil. The fresh pattied meat comes in every Friday from Glenn’s Market in nearby Watertown and over 2,500 burgers are plopped in the hot oil on a busy day. Not too long ago the tank was filled with rendered lard and for health reasons they have switched to canola. These burgers are great but I can only imagine how sublime a lardburger must have been.
The first went down fast so I ordered another. The hot oil soaks the soft, white-squishy bun and becomes a condiment to the peppery burger. If you ask for cheese, a slice is placed on the bottom half of the bun so the hot oil from the burger melts it on contact.
The stand is run by a rotating crew of five, members of the American Legion Post #67 just down the street. Most of the crew members are in their seventies and eighties; each is a veteran who served in Korea or Vietnam. They have a great system worked out for delivering hot and tasty burgers to waiting customers. Someone takes your order at the tiny window and writes a code on a paper bag. The bag is passed back to another who shouts out the order. The cook pulls a burger out of the oil and hands it to another vet, who puts it onto a bun and wraps it up. The wrapped burger is then slid to the bag man who matches the wrapped burger to the code on the bag. When things heat up and the orders start pouring in, this system hums like a well-oiled machine.
There was an awesome note near the tank of oil and onions that read, “On the first, third, and fifth Fridays take a minimum of 50 burgers to Post 67 for bingo at 7:30 p.m.” What a perk for those bingo players!
Everyone seems to have a great time on their shift and no one minds that they are not getting paid. Most of the volunteers are retired military and are compensated in burgers and beer. Not the kind of beer you take home, the kind you enjoy on the job. Intrigued, I asked past Commander Don Hein, “When does the drinking start?” He told me bluntly, “Whenever we start working.” I gathered from the other vets hard at work that in most cases they are way too busy bagging burgers to drink themselves into oblivion. And as Don pointed out, “You really can’t come down here and get hammered.”
ANCHOR BAR
413 TOWER AVE | SUPERIOR, WI 54880
715-394-9747
WWW.ANCHORBAR/FREESERVERS.COM
MON–THU 10 AM–2 AM
FRI & SAT 10 AM–2:30 AM | SUN 10 AM–2 AM
Turn off your cell phone, grab a pitcher of beer, and disappear into the Anchor Bar for a few hours. You’ll thank me later. That’s the type of place the Anchor is—a very comfortable, dark bar that is blanketed in the most amazing collection of nautical ephemera that you will find anywhere. The stuff is everywhere. Floor, walls, ceiling. “We have more stuff in the basement but there’s no room to put it up,” Adam Anderson, part owner and the son of the man that opened the place, told me. “It’s like a museum in here.” Superior, Wisconsin is a shipping town and a bar like the Anchor fits right in.
Grab the table just inside the door on the right if you can. “We call that the library,” Adam said of the table, which is actually a tiny, semiprivate nook lined with books, board games, and more than one globe. Sitting here, separate from the rest of the bar, you actually feel as though you are enjoying the captain’s quarters on a tall ship.
The centerpiece of the bar is a lifebuoy from the famous SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a Great Lakes freighter that met its demise one cold winter night in 1975. The tragic event was popularized in a song by Gordon Lightfoot, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” A violent storm and a failed radar caused the ship to sink taking with it twenty-nine crewmembers who were never found. “There’s a group that comes in every year on the anniversary to toast the dead,” Adam told me.
Adam’s dad, Tom, worked at the Elk’s Club in town and bought the bar when he heard it was for sale. His first move was to add food to the menu and started serving burgers. He and his manager of over 30 years collected from garage sales over the years the many rope nets, ships gauges, running lights, portholes, and shipping photos that make up the décor. That manager, Bean Pritty, continues to run the Anchor with Tom’s sons, Adam and Aaron. Tom passed away in 2008 and Adam decided to move back home and leave his job as a successful sous-chef near Minneapolis to run the Anchor. Thanks to the dedication of Bean Pritty, in Adam’s words, “The place kinda runs itself. If I’m here I’m just in the way.”
There are more than a few burger options at the Anchor, seventeen to be exact. All start with a griddled, hand-formed, one-third-pound patty made from fresh ground 83/17 chuck. The beef comes to the bar from a local butcher and Adam told me, “If I run low during the day, they’ll bring us more.” Most of the burgers sound pretty wacky but good (like the “Sour Cream and Mushroom” or the “Oliveburger,” the most popular). I opted for another favorite, the “Cashewburger,” topped with Swiss cheese and a copious amount of whole, roasted, salted cashews that have been warmed on the griddle. A young grill person named Tom (who incidentally is named after the former owner and is the son of Tom’s best friend) explained, “They get a little softer when you put them on the grill.” Naturally, the idea for the Cashewburger was born over beers. According to Adam, “My dad liked cashews so he put them on a burger one day.” When a friend asked why, Tom responded, “Don’t you like cashews?” The texture of the Cashewburger is unusual but amazing. No other condiments are necessary. The grease from the burger mixes with the chunky nuts and the Swiss cheese creating a salty, cheesy, beefy flavor profile. And hey, cashews are good for you! The fries are also really good. There’s a French fry press next to the deep fryer and when an order comes in the grillperson grabs a potato, slams it through the press and tosses the fries in the hot oil. The fries are that fresh.
The Library
There are a few easy-drinking beers on tap (like Keystone Light and the local beer, Grain Belt) that can be purchased by the pitcher ($2.50 pitchers all day Monday) but don’t miss the Anchor Bar’s amazing selection of microbrews. There are over 90 flavors to choose from. “That’s our dessert menu,” Adam joked, pointing to a box of candy bars behind the bar.
“It’s a likable dive,” a longtime regular named John told me sitting at the bar. “It doesn’t pretend to be anything that it isn’t.”
DOTTY DUMPLING’S DOWRY
317 NORTH FRANCES ST | MADISON, WI 53703
608-259-0000
WWW.DOTTYDUMPLINGSDOWRY.COM
MON–WED 11 AM–11 PM
THU–SAT 11 AM–MIDNIGHT | SUN NOON–10 PM
Dotty’s is in its fifth location in over 35 years. “Goddamn eminent domain was the reason for the last move,” Jeff Stanley mumbled when I asked him about the moves. It seems the latest incarnation of Dotty’s is working for him though. The exterior resembles a working-class Irish pub complete with black paint, small-paned windows, and the bar’s name in gold. The interior is impressive—quality-crafted dark wood, large inviting bar, and an astounding collection of model aircraft dangling from the ceiling. There is even an eight-foot scale model of the Hindenburg positioned over the grill area.
Friend and columnist Doug Moe, who referred to Jeff as “The Hamburger King of Madison” directed me to Dotty’s. Jeff’s bigger-than-life persona is infectious, and he is a well-liked underdog around town. He is damn proud to hold the title of king and knows his burgers. The first time I walked into Dotty’s, Jeff announced without warning, “Hey everybody! This is the guy who made that hamburger film!”
“We only use the highest-quality ingredients,” Jeff said as I took a big swig from my beer. His burgers are made from six ounces of fresh-ground chuck, pattied in-house. They are grilled on an open flame in plain sight of all customers and placed on specially made local buns that have been warmed and buttered. Grill master David explained, “Jeff requests that the buns are not cooked fully so they remain soft.” David is a bit of an anomaly in the burger world. Not that other burger chefs don’t have his love of the craft, but none to date have been comfortable quoting celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain. “Have you read his stuff on kitchen cleanliness?”
This attention to detail and Jeff’s public persona have put Dotty’s on the top of local hamburger polls for decades. Being a stone’s throw from the University of Wisconsin’s Kohl Center and Camp Randall Stadium doesn’t hurt either.
The name Dotty Dumpling’s Dowry comes from an Arthur Conan Doyle short story, the same writer who brought us Sherlock Holmes. Dotty’s menu is extensive, including an ostrich dish and the bar has an impressive twenty-four beers on tap. But please don’t leave Dotty’s without trying their excellent deep-fried cheese curds—they are indeed a necessary evil.
KEWPEE HAMBURGERS
520 WISCONSIN AVE | RACINE, WI 53403
262-634-9601 | WWW.KEWPEE.COM
MON–FRI 7 AM–6 PM | SAT 7 AM–5 PM
CLOSED SUNDAY
When the first version of this book came out, I went on a book tour and did lots of promotion. On a talk show in Wisconsin, a deejay surprised me and announced live on the air, “Go ahead, give us a call and tell George what he left out of the book!” One of the overwhelming responses was that I had omitted a Racine, Wisconsin favorite, Kewpee Hamburgers. Needless to say, I was on my way to Racine almost immediately.
At one time Kewpee Hotel Hamburgs were all over the Upper Midwest. The first Kewpee opened in Flint, Michigan and was one of the first hamburger chains in America. Like many of the great burger chains of the ’30s and ’40s, Kewpee downsized during the Great Depression and saw further decline as the owners experimented with franchising. Today, only five Kewpees in three states remain and are all privately owned. The Racine location is the sole surviving Kewpee in the Dairy State.
On my first visit to Kewpee I sat at one of the low horseshoe counters and was happy to see that at 10 a.m. the griddle was already filled with burgers. The place is huge and could easily seat fifty people. This version of the restaurant is relatively new, but over the last nine decades the building has been replaced three times.
Kewpee does not use a patty machine like its sister restaurant in Lima, Ohio. In fact, there are very few similarities between the two Kewpees. Owner and lead grillperson Rick Buehrens told me, “Here, you’ll get a totally different burger than at the Ohio Kewpees.” For starters, Rick has eschewed the original Kewpee method of forming square patties in favor of the even more traditional method of smashing balls of beef. He uses an ice cream scoop to form loose balls of fresh-ground beef and can produce six balls to the pound. In the morning, trays are filled with the balls and kept cold in the back. During a busy rush, Rick will take an entire tray, dump it onto the large flattop griddle, then sort and smash the mess into perfect patties.
An entirely separate flattop nearby is used to toast the buns. Ask for a cheeseburger and watch what happens. Rick does not sully the burger side of the griddle with cheese. Instead he’ll toss a cold slice on the left side of the flattop for a few seconds to melt. Like magic, the cheese doesn’t stick to the surface (or the spatula) and is transferred smoothly to your cheeseburger.
The burger options at Kewpee are basic—a single or double, with or without cheese, served on locally made, soft white buns. A burger with everything has pickle, chopped onion, mustard, and ketchup. I couldn’t help but notice that the ketchup was clearly more prominent than the mustard. “That’s based on what customers were telling me,” Rick explained. “It seems like I put less mustard on these days.”
Rick should know about changing tastes over time. He started working at Kewpee in 1976 as a dishwasher and became the owner after 27 years of sweat equity.
While waiting for your burgers, make sure to check out the enormous display case that contains hundreds of vintage Kewpie dolls of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The inspiration for the restaurant’s name came from the popular turn-of-the-century doll. The display lends a touch of history to an otherwise modern diner. Though the space has been updated, the burger has remained faithful to its roots and is made with the freshest ingredients. Sink your teeth into a classic and slip back in time with a Kewpee burger.
PETE’S HAMBURGERS
118 BLACKHAWK AVE | PRAIRIE DU CHIEN, WI 53821
NO PHONE | WWW.PETESHAMBURGERS.COM
OPEN MID-APRIL THROUGH MID-OCTOBER
FRI–SUN 11 AM–8 PM
CLOSED MONDAY THROUGH THURSDAY
“Don’t tell mom we stopped here,” I overheard a woman say to her brother. When I asked why, she told me, “We are heading to our family reunion.” That’s the kind of place Pete’s is—a 101-year-old institution that makes you want to stop even though you shouldn’t. The draw is too great, the burgers amazing.
Pete’s is a tiny, neat burger stand right in the center of the quaint southwestern Wisconsin town of Prairie du Chien. Little has changed at Pete’s in the last century, except for the size of the place, which has gone from very small to small. “In 1909, Pete Gokey started selling burgers from a cart at fairs and circuses,” his granddaughter Colleen explained. He then set up a table to sell burgers on a corner only a few feet from where the stand now sits. Colleen is one of many Gokeys that work at Pete’s, which is still owned and operated by the Gokey family. The tiny stand is filled with Gokeys. When I was there great-grandson Patrick Gokey was working the griddle.
The burgers at Pete’s are not your standard American hamburger. A visit to Pete’s is a must because the burgers at Pete’s are cooked in a way that I’ve never seen anywhere else. They are boiled. I know that sounds strange, but local hamburger expert and friend Todd McElwee told me once, “I like to think of them as ‘poached.’” And poached they are. Most have never had a burger quite like this.
A large, flat, high-lipped griddle or “tank” is filled with about an inch of water and a pile of quarter-pound balls of beef are dumped into the tank. In the center sits a mountain of thinly sliced onion, stewing in the hot water. The beef balls are pressed into patties that bob in the water like little boats and are flipped and ready in 15 minutes. The griddle can hold up to 70 patties and remains completely silent as the patties boil, bubble, and bob. I can only imagine that if this had been a standard griddle with that many burgers on it and no water, it would be a loud, sizzling mess.
The buns, soft white squishies from a local bakery, are not toasted. If you want onions, the grillperson scoops a bunch from the pile and transfers to a bun taking a moment to drain any remaining water. Cheese? Not at Pete’s. In 101 years a burger has never seen a slice of cheese at Pete’s. In fact, a burger with or without onions is your only option.
As you’ve probably surmised, this burger is not a big, charred, grease bomb. Quite the opposite, the burger at Pete’s is moist, ridiculously hot, and not greasy. The limp onion, soft bun, and steamy hot beef package is surprisingly tasty. Your options for toppings are ketchup, mustard, and horseradish mustard.
Although Pete’s is small, the stand employs a dual window system to service customers. One Gokey makes burger magic at the griddle while two others work the windows, wrap burgers, and make change. The dual window setup makes for an excellent study in line dynamics. Most of the time both lines have an equal number of patient customers. But every once in a while a line grows with over 25 tourists and newbies that don’t realize there’s a second window. Without fail, a regular spots the imbalance and goes for the empty window. When I saw a regular named Ernie Moon briskly approach the empty window I asked why. “If they want to stand in line,” gesturing to the opposite window, “that’s fine with me!” He then explained, “I guess that’s what you’d call having ‘experience.’ I’ve been coming here for 60 years.” The reality is that the lines move very quickly. Assuming the griddle is full of burgers ready to go, you can step up to place your order and be walking away in 30 seconds with a steaming bag full of hamburger history.
One curious item I spotted for sale at the stand was “Pete’s Secret Ingredient,” a clear liquid in a bottle bearing the image of Pete himself. Rumor has it that years ago a Chicagoan passing through town asked Pete what he was cooking his amazing tasting burgers in and Pete told him, “Hamburger oil.” He then proceeded to sell him a gallon of water. The bottled water for sale at the stand today is a prank that still gets chuckles today but the tiny bottles of water sell for $2 with all proceeds going to a Gokey family charity that supports cancer and mental health research.
Don’t make the mistake of showing up in Prairie du Chien in the cold months looking for a burger at Pete’s. The tiny stand is seasonal and only open for six months of the year. And even during that time they are only open three days a week, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
“This stand put all the grandkids through college,” Mary told me, which numbered fifteen. “I think my grandfather would be amazed that it’s still here.” And how fortunate we are that Pete’s thrives.
THE PLAZA TAVERN
319 N. HENRY ST | MADISON, WI 97213
608-255-6592 | WWW.THEPLAZATAVERN.COM
OPEN DAILY 11 AM–10:45 PM
The sauce is the draw and its ingredients are most definitely kept secret. Only a handful of insiders know the 40-plus-year-old recipe. “A bunch of restaurants claim they serve a Plaza Burger but they don’t,” grillman Mick told me with assurance. “Hey, I don’t even know the recipe!” Which is a little strange for a guy who probably made over a thousand of the thin patty wonders that week alone. Owner Dean Hetue sequesters himself in a locked room in the kitchen to concoct the creamy white, tangy sauce the Plaza has been putting on their burgers since the mid-1960s. “All I can tell you,” Mick went on, “is that it’s a sour cream and mayo-based sauce, and the rest is a secret.” Whatever it is, this unique topping is good. Very, very good.
The Plaza is a tavern first, so the burgers at this popular watering hole seem like an afterthought. Cooked on a tiny griddle next to the long rows of hard booze, their unique arrangement of elements suggests that this is more than just another bar burger (fresh beef, wheat bun, and salad dressing). And regardless of the Plaza’s standard collegiate look and feel, the burger is anything but standard. Fresh, thin quarter-pound patties are grilled in plain sight of bar patrons, placed on incredibly soft wheat buns, and served with a dollop of the secret dressing/sauce. The presence of a wheat bun actually makes it feel like you could have one or two more, guilt-free.
The bar feels like an enormous romper room for adults, complete with endless diversions for the buzz-addled, ranging from darts to pool and with pinball and video games for the solo drinkers. There are TVs everywhere and The Plaza’s sheer size suggests that large, boisterous crowds can fill the place (with the University of Wisconsin around the corner that’s not difficult to imagine, and it’s been rumored that Joan Cusack was once tossed from the bar). But the few times I’ve been there (during lunch), I pretty much had the place to myself.
The Plaza has been a bar for over a century, with a stint as a speakeasy during Prohibition. In 1963 Mary and Harold Huss bought the bar and introduced their burger. Mary concocted the now-famous sauce and placed her burger on a half-wheat bun that is still used today.
Dean started working at the Plaza in 1980 in hopes that one day he might own the place. “I figured that if I stuck around long enough . . .” His patience paid off, and in 2003 the second generation of the Huss family sold Dean the tavern—and the recipe for the secret sauce. “I have a great photo of me handing Tom Huss the check and he’s handing me the recipe,” Dean told me laughing. “It almost looks like we are in a tug-of-war.” That recipe now rests in a safe deposit box, and in Dean’s head. “My wife knew the recipe, but it’s been five years since she’s made the sauce. I’ll bet she forgot.”
The menu at the Plaza is limited to things you might eat while drinking, i.e. “bar food.” Hot dogs and a fishwich are available, but you’d be wise to indulge in a few Plaza Burgers. They also serve one of my favorite sides, a not-to-be-missed treat of the upper Midwest, the fried cheese curd. Imagine a rustic, homespun version of the processed mozzarella stick and you’ll get the picture. Impossibly good, these deep-fried, random-sized wads of breaded fresh cheese are worth every calorie.
The Plaza sits on a bizarre little street near the state’s capitol building and among the bustling stores catering to Madison’s large student population. “There’s so little parking out front,” Dean mused, “so it’s amazing that so many people find their way here.” Dean has noticed, in his nearly three decades at the tavern, students turn into alumni and continue to patronize the Plaza. “It’s the sauce that brings them back.”
SOLLY’S GRILLE
4629 NORTH PORT WASHINGTON ROAD
MILWAUKEE, WI 53212
414-332-8808 | MON 10 AM–8 PM
TUE–SAT 6:30 AM–8 PM | SUN 8 AM–4 PM
For the burger purist and lover of the things that make America unique, a visit to Solly’s is imperative. Pure and simple, Solly’s serves one of the last real butter burgers in the nation. When I say “real” I’m referring to the copious amounts of creamy Wisconsin butter that is used on their burgers, as opposed to what their surrounding competition calls a butter burger. To everyone else who peddles this great Wisconsin treat, the burger bun is coated with a thin swipe of butter, much in the way you might butter your toast if you were on a diet. Solly’s dramatically bends the rules and treats the butter as a condiment. In other words you actually won’t believe how much butter goes on the burger. The first time I visited Solly’s, I stood and watched that which I had only heard about from disbelieving past patrons. Could they really use upwards of two to three tablespoons of butter on one smallish cheeseburger? Oh yes, they do, and have been for over 70 years.
I kid you not when I say that a butter burger at Solly’s, as gross as it may sound, is an absolutely sublime experience in the gastronomic fabric of America and should be experienced by all. You may also catch yourself doing what I did subconsciously on my first visit—dipping the last bite of your burger back into the pool of butter on your plate. You quickly discover that whatever guilt you harbored while taking your first bite has dissolved by your last.
In 1936 Kenneth Solomon bought Bay Lunch in Milwaukee a clean sixteen-stool diner that served coffee, hamburgers, and bratwurst, and changed the name to his own. In 1971, he relocated Solly’s Coffee Shop a few miles north to the Milwaukee suburb of Glendale. He left the restaurant to his second wife, Sylvia, and she in turn sold the business to her son and current owner Glenn Fieber.
The cheery and cherubic Glenn, fresh from a successful construction business, was faced with an unusual dilemma early in his ownership—move or perish. In 2000, the city government actually assisted Glenn in moving the entire restaurant a few hundred yards south to make way for, of all things, an outpatient heart clinic.
The interior of Solly’s is a comfortable blend of yellow Formica horseshoe counters, swivel stools, and wood paneling. As they have been for decades, the burgers, fries, and shakes are all prepared in view of the counter patrons.
The fresh-ground 3-ounce thin patties show up at Solly’s daily and are cooked on a large flattop griddle. The toasted buns are standard white squishy, but a soft “pillow” bun is also offered. There are many burger combinations and sizes (like the impressive two-patty “Cheese Head” that an ex-Navy Seal friend of mine devours with ease), but I suggest doing what my good friend and butter burger devotee Rick Cohler has been doing for over 50 years at Solly’s—just order a butter burger.
Rick introduced me to Solly’s. On our first visit together he begged me to try a burger “without” which is a burger on a bun with butter only, no onions. I obliged and immediately understood what all the fuss was about. As you bite into a freshly built butter-burger you actually have the opportunity to experience the texture of soft butter before it melts into a pool on your plate. Unlike Rick, my “usual” at Solly’s is a burger with onions. The stewed onions at Solly’s are like none other I have experienced. They are both sweet and salty, and full of flavor. I could eat a bowl of them with a spoon.
Glenn is one of my truest allies in the burger world. He understands his place in American history and his duty to supply hungry burger lovers with a treat as unique as the butter burger.
WEDL’S HAMBURGER STAND AND ICE CREAM PARLOR
200 EAST RACINE ST | JEFFERSON, WI 53549
920-674-3637 | MON–SUN 10:30 AM–9:30 PM
FRI & SAT 10:30 AM–10:30 PM
Somewhere south of Route 94 on a lonely stretch of highway between Madison and Milwaukee sits a gem of a burger stand. I was tipped off to Wedl’s by good friend and burger icon himself, Glenn Fieber of Solly’s Grille in Glendale, Wisconsin. He told me, “Ya gotta go out there, they are making a great little burger.”
The stand at Wedl’s is actually 8 × 8 feet, which is 65 square feet—small for a place that can move up to 600 burgers on a busy day. When I asked former owner Bill Peterson the size of the minuscule, nearly century-old stand, he went inside the larger adjacent ice cream parlor and produced a tape measure. The parlor, formerly a grocery store and at one time a hat shop, is over 800 square feet larger than the separate stand that sits proudly on the corner. In 1999 the stand was leveled by a reckless drunk driver while two kids were inside flipping patties. Miraculously, the employees survived with only grease burns but parts of the stand were scattered for blocks. The original griddle, a perfectly seasoned, low-sided, cast-iron skillet was recovered from the debris two blocks away. A small hole was patched and it was put back into service. After much cajoling the stand was rebuilt on the same spot. I asked former owner Bill Peterson why he wouldn’t just move the burger operation into the larger ice cream parlor but I knew the answer. “The people of Jefferson won’t allow me to change anything. I can’t break tradition.”
In 2007, Eric and Rosie Wedl became the eighth owners of the burger stand and ice cream parlor after buying the business from the Petersons. As Bill was looking to sell, he asked his faithful 20-year-old burger flipper Bert Wedl if he was interested in buying the place. Bert in turn talked his parents into it, and in doing so he secured his own job and possibly the future of the historic burger stand. And he told me recently, “I hope to take over one day.”
The burger at Wedl’s is a classic one-sixth-pound patty griddled and served on a white squishy bun. Bert grinds chuck steaks in the basement of the parlor, throws in some “secret seasonings” (tastes peppery) and rolls the grind into small golf ball–size balls. The balls are smashed thin on the 90-year-old griddle and cooked until the edges are crispy.
Bert is barely 25 now and has flipped burgers at the tiny stand since he was 15. I couldn’t help but notice that when things got slow behind the grill Bert would step out of the stand and sit on the steps of the ice cream parlor. Do you think he was subconsciously trying to avoid being the next victim of a hit and run? I do.
ZWIEG’S
904 EAST MAIN ST | WATERTOWN, WI 53094
920-261-1922 | MON–THU 5:30 AM–8 PM
FRI 5:30 AM–9 PM | SAT 5:30 AM–7 PM
SUN 7 AM–2 PM
The first time I visited Zwieg’s, the McDonald’s down the street had just suffered a bad fire. “I swear I didn’t do it!” Mary Zwieg joked. Mary is married to Glenn Zwieg and Glenn’s parents opened this local favorite burger counter in a defunct Bartles-Maguire filling station. It is positioned perfectly at the east end of town and still looks a lot like a vintage gas station, minus the pumps.
Grover and Helen Zwieg (pronounced like “twig”) saw opportunity in converting the station into a hamburger joint to feed the late-night revelers when the bars let out at 1 a.m. “We used to be open until two thirty in the morning, though I don’t know if they remember eating here.” Glenn told me. “Every Sunday night there was a Polka fest in town and they’d all end up here afterwards, still Polka-ing!” In the 1950s, Glenn’s parents added a dining room to the twelve-stool counter and pretty much nothing has changed since. “We did replace the griddle in 1998,” Mary pointed out, but it had been in use for 50 years, since the beginning. It was such a big deal that the replacing of the griddle made the local newspaper.
The Zwiegs are not big on change and their customers are happy about that. They’ve been using the same butcher for their patties forever and Mary told me, “If they go out of business I don’t know what we’ll do.” The burger starts as a thin one-sixth-pound patty that is cooked on the flattop in full view of the counter patrons. Sliced onion is placed on the patty. When the burger is flipped, the onion is grilled between the griddle and the patty. The patty, with its onion, is transferred to a soft white bun that has been toasted with butter on the griddle. The most popular burger (and the best beef-to-bun ratio) is the double with cheese. Many are ordered with pickles and ketchup, but everyone gets theirs with onions.
The burger has been on the menu since the beginning. “That’s ALL that was on the menu!” Glenn joked. Today, Zwieg’s actually has an extensive menu with soups, sandwiches, and fish-fry Fridays. “I have forty-five sandwiches on the menu but most people order the burgers,” Mary told me. One tasty curiosity is the hamburger soup, which is basically a chicken soup with browned hamburger meat in it. When I asked what was in the soup Mary told me with a laugh, “I can tell you, but I’d have to kill you! It’s a secret.”
Glenn, now 67, started working at his parent’s restaurant when he was in seventh grade. “I used to run down, empty the dishwasher, and eat,” he told me. From that point on he has always worked at Zwieg’s. He bought it in 1976, and has dedicated his entire life to the restaurant. He told me, “This is what I know.”
Thank God there are still places like Zwieg’s around. It’s a comfortable, happy place where a counter full of regulars are really just friends waiting to be met. I’ll never forget walking into Zwieg’s the first time. By the time I left I knew everyone. That kind of hospitality is what makes great burgers taste even better.
Todd KrisEXPERT BURGER TASTERSIn the past few years, a small group of dedicated fans of Hamburger America has emerged hailing from every corner of the country. Some wrote e-mails to me saying they would do anything to have my job and, not surprisingly, they all wanted to help me with future research. Most were already established food bloggers in their respective cities and dedicated local hamburger addicts. I found this new network of burger experts to be unquestionably indispensible and saw them as first responders to new discoveries. It may sound silly, but they became my EBTs, or Expert Burger Tasters, a job they all took very seriously.My EBTs thanklessly entered questionable dumps, long forgotten drive-ins, and sometimes drove for hours to sample burgers and gather information. Their advance work made my research easier and more focused. I no longer blundered into a town eating burgers I thought would be worthy of the book only to find frozen patties and questionable practices. With the help of these EBTs my goal was clear. In the process I also made great new friends and burger allies, most of whom joined me on the road when I showed up at their favorite burger joints.If it were not for Sef Gonzalez (aka. Burger Beast) in Miami I never would have been able to translate what El Mago in Little Havana was saying, not a chance. EBT Wayne Geyer led me to burger greatness in Dallas and Indianapolis, and the wanderer Jeff Moore set me straight in Tennessee. EBT Jim Ellison in Ohio not only knew where to get great burgers but also the rich histories behind them (he also sent me on my way once with excellent cookies from a local bakery). Joe Price not only knew ALL of the hot burger joints in Tulsa, he also ended up asking all of the questions in the Tulsa interviews. Jay Castaldi confirmed my favorites in Chicago and has joined me for burgers at all of them. Kris Brearton, the first EBT, has logged more miles with me on farout burger journeys than anyone, including an insane 670-mile, 18-hour journey into New England. And my wife Casey left behind 17 years of vegetarianism to join me on the road for this edition of the book (finally, she got to eat some amazing burgers). But one EBT stands out above them all: Todd McIlwee from Waunakee, Wisconsin. His dedication is beyond comprehension and his love of the traditional American hamburger is enormous. He has driven hundreds of miles in pursuit of hamburger knowledge and firmly believes there is much more out there to discover.There are others that have led me to the burgers of my dreams and I’m indebted to you all. Thank you for reminding me that I’m not alone out there in my passion for greasy goodness.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m not really a writer. I’m a filmmaker, a photographer, and a nostalgic American. My quest to find America’s greatest burgers and the people who make them started with a film I made many years ago called Hamburger America. As a result of that project, and the research for this book, I have amassed an absurd amount of hamburger knowledge. I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to dedicated food experts in many parts of the country for pointing me in the right direction and filling my brain and belly with unforgettable burger experiences.
Many thanks to Rick Kogan for being the president of the George Motz Fan Club and smelling success in hamburger reportage far before anyone else could. To columnist Doug Moe who has hosted and written about me in Madison, Wisconsin, and food writer Robb Walsh who made sure I was on the right track in Houston, Texas more than once. To Ed Levine from Serious Eats and Jim Fusilli of the Wall Street Journal for giving me tips on writing. To columnist Marshall King, my host in Indiana, and Tom Palmore and Bill Peterson, who introduced me to great burgers in Oklahoma. To friend Greg Ennis, who led me to burger greatness in Montana and protected me from drunken rugby players. And Rick Cohler who will never say no to a Butter Burger (or three) at Solly’s Grille. To Kacy Jahanbini for venturing into Ann’s Snack Bar before I did, and to Mac Premo for flying all the way to Meers, Oklahoma just to be nearly killed by a buffalo. To Vernon Schwarte for organizing motorcycle rallies to various places in Hamburger America (in the name of breast cancer awareness) and to all of the fans that have taken this book on the road to have it signed by my hamburger heroes (this small gesture goes a long way and shows these hamburger icons that their life’s work is meaningful). Also to NYC Mayor Mike Bloomberg who is, without a doubt, hamburger obsessed. Thanks also to all of the butchers and meat people in my life, like Joe at United Meat in Brooklyn, Pat LaFrieda, Mark Pastore, SuSu Strassburger, and Jamie Schweid at Burger Maker. To Brett Reichler, Paul Sale, and Steve Hanson at Bill’s Burgers, Scott Smith and Andrew Fischel at RUB, and Randy Garutti at Shake Shack.
Thanks also to Nick Solares, Josh Ozersky, Melena Ryzik, Jeff Ruby, Jason Perlow, Stacy Perman, The Rev, and Adam Kuban, all food and culture writers of the highest order. To Seth Unger for attempting to manage all of this hamburger craziness in my life and to Nancy Meyers, always my host in LA. To Izabella, Kris, Diane, and Mitchell at James Beard and to Dan Appel and Rob Knox from danAppelcreative. Thanks also to Martha Stewart and Gayle King for having me on their shows, and to my amazing in-laws Sally and Jon for watching the kids while the wife and I powered through hamburger country. And of course to all of the tipsters who gave me advice about their favorite hamburger joint, whether they were driving the airport rental car shuttle, at the hotel bar, or sending me endless amounts of e-mail (keep sending that e-mail!). I’d also be quite lost without my core EBTs Kris, Jim, Sef, Joe, Wayne, Jay, and Todd (aka #2). I also need to thank my food photography mentor, Greg Ramsey, who taught me a whole new way to look at food.
This book never would have seen the light of day had it not been for my agent, Laura Dail, and my patient editor, Jennifer Kasius, at Running Press. Thanks also to everyone else at Running Press, especially designer Joshua McDonnell.
The cooperation of the restaurants involved made writing this book a pleasure (with the exception of Ann’s Snack Bar and Dirty Martin’s). Enormous thanks is due as well to my close friends and family who have supported me and my burger mission for the last decade. And most importantly, to my wife, Casey, who ate her first burger in 17 years at the Bobcat Bite last year and to my children, Ruby and Mac who love hot dogs (I’m working on it). After enduring tens of thousands of miles of traveling and writing about everyone else’s family, it’s great to come home to my own.
© 2011 by George Motz
All rights reserved under the Pan-American and
International Copyright Conventions
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.
Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010941594
eISBN : 978-0-762-44234-8
All interior photogrphy by George Motz, except
Page 11: Photo by Tom Palmore, Page 29: Photo by Jim Shea
Page 278: Photo by Kristoffer Brearton, Page 365: Photo by Nick Solares
Running Press Book Publishers
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- Dec 13 Wed 2023 14:23
The Ultimate Burger Book - With meat and vegetarian burgers
Nothing represents the American Way of Life quite as much as a fresh, juicy burger – and now here’s the ultimate burger book for all lovers of these succulent delights.
46 varied burger recipes, ranging from the classic and double-cheese to veggie, with beef, pork, chicken, lamb or fish are waiting to perform. A detailed introduction tells you all you need to know about the various burger buns, various spice mixes for patties and fabulously tasty toppings. You’ll also find lots of tips on preparation, the necessary basics and the perfect way to cook them.
Choose your favourite burger from the abundance of variations, and complete your burger meal with home-made fries, wedges or nachos, ketchup or BBQ sauce, cole slaw or Caesar’s salad.
Everything guaranteed
home-made!
© Naumann & Göbel Verlagsgesellschaft mbH,
a subsidiary of VEMAG Verlags- und Medien Aktiengesellschaft
Emil-Hoffmann-Str. 1, 50996 Cologne (Germany)
www.vemag-medien.de
Picture credits: TLC Fotostudio (cover and recipe photos); Fotolia.com: ©
ivanbaranov (illustrations)
Text and recipes: Sabine Durdel-Hoffmann, Elke Eßmann, Brigitte Lotz
Advice: Burkhard Schröger
Translation from German: Mo Croasdale for SAW Communications
Realisation of the English edition: SAW Communications, Dr. Sabine A. Werner, Mainz
Complete production: Naumann & Göbel Verlagsgesellschaft mbH
All rights reserved
ISBN 978-8-8155-8794-2
CONTENT
Introduction
PREPARATION & INGREDIENTS
MEAT
ROLLS AND BUNS
TOPPINGS, DRESSINGS, SEASONING & MORE
All about burgers
BURGER BUNS
SIDE DISHES
SALADS
DIPS & SAUCES
Burger recipes
BEEF & VEAL
PORK
LAMB & GAME
POULTRY
FISH & SEAFOOD
VEGGIES
INTRODUCTION
When it comes to sheer popularity, nothing in the world beats the traditional burger, prepared the traditional American way. Only the best ingredients are used in the preparation, and the sum of its ingredients makes it irresistible. This icon of pleasure is available in a mind-blowing range of flavours and varieties – it’s the perfect meal for gourmets of all ages!
Traditional accompaniments such as homemade fries, wedges or slaw are the perfect enhancement of this already perfect culinary delight. Tasty home-made burgers buns, ketchup, sauces and dips are the perfect finishing touches to the taste experience.
Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of dining at a good American burger restaurant, perhaps at Shake Shack, P. J. Clarke’s or Bill’s Bar and Burger in New York, and enjoying a freshly prepared burger prepared with consummate skill and passion knows just what a culinary treat it is. And there are almost as many stories about how it came to be as there are recipes for making it. Almost everyone believes that Hamburg, Germany’s gateway to the world, is the original home of this meat patty, which is grilled, fried or barbecued and served in a roll or bun. In the 18th century, many Europeans departed from Hamburg to spend weeks at sea en route to a new home. They took with them a particular Hamburg speciality as fortification and to have something for their trip: a round bread roll that was filled with a slice of roast beef or seasoned, fried minced beef and with sauce. It filled them up, left them feeling full for some time, and was easy to eat in the hand. And even then, it tasted really good.
It is believed that beef was shipped to America, again from Hamburg harbour, as there was a serious lack of it in the “New World”, which did not yet have any of the vast herds of cattle for which it is now famous. The English (or American) word “hamburger” originally referred to lean minced beef. No one knows exactly when which particular American restaurant or kiosk owner first thought up the hamburger that we know today. It might have been elegant “Delmonico’s” in New York, Charlie Nagreen, Fletcher Davies, the Menches Brothers in Erie County, Louis Lunch in New Haven or any of numerous others. In fact, it is most likely that the burger as we know it actually came into being in several different places at the same time.
What is certain, though, is that the burger was extremely popular in America at the beginning of the 20th century. Originally, the hamburger was anything but a rather questionable form of fast food. The reasons for its reputation as this also came from America, when a number of restaurant chains standardised its preparation and sale in the 1940s and 1950s. However, connoisseurs have long since come to terms with the origins, and know that a freshly prepared hamburger made with the best and freshest ingredients can be a gustatory revelation: the combination of grilled, seasoned meat, crispy-fresh vegetables and aromatic sauces, side dishes and dips is simply delicious. And there are so many different combinations that interesting new varieties are constantly being served up.
Restaurants and gourmets have long since taken up the American tradition of the skilfully prepared burger again, and create highly imaginative taste sensations that delight burger-lovers of all ages and classes. When it comes to the various recipes, it is impossible to deny the American roots, although they have long since spread themselves far and wide, and even award-winning chefs the world over are pleased to serve up their variations of this success. It’s undeniable: wherever it came from, the hamburger is more popular today than ever before.
Enjoy!
PREPARATION & INGREDIENTS
What makes a good burger?
First of all, there are “hamburgers” and there are “cheeseburgers”. As the name implies, a cheeseburger is a burger to which a layer of cheese (or several layers, according to taste) have been added. We haven’t made too much distinction in the following. Ultimately, it is up to the connoisseur to decide whether he wants cheese on his burger, how much of it and what kind it should be. You will find a basic recipe for the “classic” hamburger on page 26.
As a general rule, a hamburger can consist of several different – variable – components:
•meat or vegetarian ingredients for the “patties” (such as beef, pork, lamb, poultry, fish and seafood, bulgur or tofu)
•bread rolls or buns (for instance, wheat, rye, multi-grain or ciabatta, brioches or all kinds of flat breads)
And for the toppings:
•salad, vegetables, fruit
•cheese (for instance blue cheese, brie, camembert, cheddar, feta, Gouda, Gruyère, halloumi, manchego, mozzarella, provolone, Taleggio, goat’s cheese)
•dressing, marinade, pesto, tapenade, mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, chutney, relish etc.
•herbs and spices
Making your own tasty burger has nothing to do with magic, even if the ingredients and artistic arrangements that you will often find in the burger restaurants would encourage you to think so. The utensils as well as the ingredients will already be found in most households. However, a little basic knowledge of the preparation as it is provided on the following pages of this book will certainly ensure that your efforts are a success.
The preparation is easy with our “modular system”, and also opens up an endless variety of possible combinations. And you’ll soon see that it’s just as easy to produce your own creative combinations.
The grill
Whether a charcoal, gas or electric grill or barbecue, open or closed grill, ceramic or stainless steel grill: (almost) everyone has their own version at home. Basically, burgers can be cooked on almost any grill, and also in ridged or cast iron pans or skillets. For instance, you can fry the burger on both sides in a pan, then put in a pre-heated oven at 180 °C (Gas Mark 4) for 20–25 minutes to finish (depending on the ingredients and your preferred level of doneness).
Whether you use charcoal or briquettes on the grill is up to you. Charcoal glows sooner, but although briquettes take longer to get there, they glow for longer. We prepared our recipes on a traditional charcoal grill with charcoal (not briquettes).
•As patties are smaller and flatter, they are ideal for quick, direct grilling over the charcoal. They heat up quickly, which creates a crispy outside, and they remain tender as they cook on the inside.
•Charcoal gives grilled burgers the unique smoky-roasted flavour that makes them so irresistible.
•And last, but by no means least: grilling the traditional way creates a unique atmosphere.
The accessories
To grill patties, you basically need the same utensils as for grilling other foods. However, it is a good idea to have some of them in duplicate.
•Barbecue or grill, charcoal, barbecue lighter
•Burger press. This is where opinions differ, but people who absolutely insist on having patties all the same size should opt for a press. But that’s not to say it’s essential …
•Barbecue gloves, apron, paper towels for protection and for cleaning
•Grill brush with wire bristle to remove all traces of rust from the rack before cooking and prevent the burgers from sticking to it, or dirt particles from sticking to the burgers
•Tongs for rearranging the charcoal
•Several turners for the different kinds of foods
•Side table to put the cooked food on and rest your utensils on
•Several plates, again for the cooked food, and for the utensils when you have used them
•Heatproof oil (vegetable oil) and brushed for oiling the rack
•Brushes for brushing the food during cooking
•Any spices, glazes and other ingredients that you wish to brush over the burgers while you are cooking them
The ingredients
There are a few points that you need to observe so you can be sure that your burgers are far superior in flavour and consistency to the ready-made products that can bought from fast-food chains, for instance. The most important thing is the quality of your ingredients.
MEAT
The classic burger was made with minced beef, usually cooked medium, but the list of options has been greatly extended, and today even includes exotic rarities such as ostrich. Whether you used minced or whole meat for the patties, it should always contain a certain amount of fat (about 18–20 percent), as this is what keeps it juicy and tender during cooking. Furthermore, it is the fat that gives meat its “meaty” flavour, and it is also the carrier for other flavours. It is easy to be sure of the origin and quality of organic meat, which you can obtain from farm shops, most supermarkets and high-street butchers. Minced meat in particular should be absolutely fresh, kept cool during transportation and until you are ready to use it, then used as quickly as possible after purchase to prevent bacteria from developing. Ask your trusted butcher to grind your meat freshly so you can be absolutely sure of it. Also ask him not to squeeze the minced meat when wrapping it up; you will then find it easier to combine it with the other ingredients when preparing the burgers, and the burgers will not be too tough later on. It is best if the minced meat is cooked all the way through.
You can also combine different kinds of meat, such as lamb and beef, pork and lamb, veal and beef, or beef and pork. The addition of an egg and breadcrumbs will make the mixture looser, but is not to everyone’s taste. You can also use just one egg, instead of the two given in the recipes. If the mixture is too wet, add some more breadcrumbs – you’ll find it’s very much a matter of feeling. Mie de pain (fine white breadcrumbs without crusts) has a finer texture.
You can use just about any part of an animal to make burgers. You can use chicken breast fillets or other whole (that is, unminced) pieces of tender meat instead of minced meat, and in fact it’s better that way if you are making your burgers with fish. Whether you prefer lean fillet, and possibly even exclusive wagyu beef, is a matter of taste – and price. You can marinate the meat and fish before using it.
Some pieces are better than others:
Beef
The meat should be well hung, a rich red in colour and finely marbled with fat. Flank, entrecôte, chuck steak or neck are good choices. Basically, you can use whatever you like, but the leaner the meat is, the more fat there should be in the other ingredients the patties.
Veal
Veal is pale pink and more finely textured. As it has a delicate flavour, it should be seasoned with care. Shoulder and haunch are good choices for burgers.
Pork
The flesh should ideally be a fresh pink and evenly marbled. Back, belly, fore or hind leg – basically, it all depends on how much fat you like in your burgers.
Lamb
Fresh lamb should be a velvety red with white fat. Try shoulder or back. Lamb has a very strong taste, and can cope with a good quantity of seasoning or very strong spices and herbs.
Game
The choice is yours: venison, wild boar, rabbit or other type of game. Ask your butcher. Whichever you choose, all are strong in flavour, and this should be taken into account when barbecuing burgers.
Poultry
Chicken, turkey, duck or goose – the tender flesh of the breast fillets (either whole or minced by your butcher) is the most popular. As a general rule, use poultry quickly, and do not use any of the equipment for other tasks without first washing it thoroughly.
Fish
You can, of course, grind fish and seafood if you so desire. Remember, though, that burgers made with minced fish or seafood will easily fall apart. It is a good idea to barbecue or grill fish or fish fillets and seafood either whole items or as fillets. Choose types with a high fat content (salmon, halibut, swordfish, bass or tuna) so the burger doesn’t end up too dry, and seafood (for example squid, mussels, oysters and scallops) without the shells, of course. All are excellent if you marinate them before cooking.
ROLLS AND BUNS
The buns not only provide the right setting, but they are more than just a “side”, and therefore have to perform a small miracle: they need to be soft enough so that the contents don’t fall out when you bite into them and end up on the floor or, worse, on your lap.
They should also be dense enough not to absorb too much liquid so they turn soggy.
As well as the classic, the “white burger bun” (with or without sesame seeds, recipe on page 15), you can use any kind of roll or bun as long as it meets the above requirements. Those who prefer something a little heartier will enjoy a rye bun (recipe on page 15), while diners with more Mediterranean preferences might want to opt for ciabatta (recipe on page 15).
You can also use bought rolls or buns; most supermarkets and bakers offer a wide selection of good quality alternatives. You could also try brioches or hearty sourdough rolls, Indian naan bread, Turkish flatbreads or just thick slices (“doorsteps”) of plain white bread – the only limits are your own imagination! However, whichever type you choose, it’s better if it’s not too crispy. A little hint to help prevent the burger contents from slipping around: skewer them with a cocktail stick before serving.
TOPPINGS, DRESSINGS, SEASONING & MORE
You, and you alone, decide what you’re going to have on your burger, and the possibilities are almost endless. You can also add additional flavour depending on how you prepare the various ingredients. Spices can be dry-fried, vegetables grilled, barbecued or roasted, onions fried or caramelised – and that’s just the start. You can also choose from many different types of mustard, ketchup and mayonnaise.
Cheese should melt and develop its aromas but without sliding off the burger, which makes some varieties more suitable than others. Firm cheese-based products are another option, light soured cream and herb quark yet more.
You will find information on meat density, cooking times and suitable herbs and spices in the introductions to the various chapters.
On pages 15 to 23 are a few basic recipes that are varied in our recipe suggestions.
But be as creative as you can – to quote so many of the burger menus that you will find all over the world: build your own burger!
Tips & tricks
There are a few things you need to take to heart in order to enjoy tasty burgers:
•If you use a lighter or lighter fluid, make sure it burns off completely so it doesn’t contaminate the food you are cooking.
•Do not put the food on the rack while the charcoal is still throwing flames – not only is this dangerous to the people standing around, but they will also burn the meat and render it inedible.
•Brush the grid with heat-proof vegetable oil to prevent the patties from sticking.
•Use the practical “building block” system: do you have a particular favourite in the beef section, but want to try it with a topping from the pork section you prefer – or even adapt it slightly? You decide which buns you want to combine with which patties and toppings.
•Prepare more lavish toppings before you start to cook and keep them warm or cool, or else wrap the prepared burgers in clingfilm and chill while you prepare the toppings. You can make excellent use of soaking and marinating times for your necessary preparations!
•If a mixture is rather loose (perhaps if you haven’t quite developed the knack for using breadcrumbs and eggs), and you are concerned about it disintegrating while cooking on the grill, wrap it in clingfilm and chill before cooking, and the patty will hold its shape better.
•If possible, only turn the patties once so they don’t dry out or crumble. Always use a spatula for turning, and always be patient! If you leave the patty for long enough, it will easily loosen from the rack by itself.
•Do not press down on the patties with the spatula while they are cooking, or the meat will dry out.
•Cook fish in aluminium foil or a fish basket so it doesn’t crumble.
•Season sparingly, since the flavours don’t start to develop properly until the food heats up.
BURGER BUNS
WHEAT BUNS
Makes 10–12 buns, preparation time:
approx. 20 minutes (plus standing, rising and baking time)
Per bun approx.:
211 kcal/883 kJ, 7 g P, 7 g F, 31 g CH
INGREDIENTS
approx. 200 ml milk
50 g butter
500 g wheat flour (type 405)
50 g yeast
1 egg
1 tsp salt
pinch of sugar
1 egg yolk
sesame seeds to sprinkle
1|Heat the milk and butter in a small saucepan without boiling. Meanwhile, put the flour in a bowl and make a well in the middle. Crumble in the yeast.
2|Gradually pour the warm liquid over the yeast, stirring it with the dough hook of an electric hand mixer at the same time (low speed) to make a pre-dough. Cover the bowl with a clean tea towel and leave the dough in a warm place for about 10 minutes to rise.
3|Add the egg, salt and sugar to the pre-dough and stir until the dough starts to froth and comes away from the side of the bowl. Cover the bowl again and return the dough to the warm place for about 25 minutes to rise.
4|Pre-heat the oven to 200 °C (Gas Mark 6, fan oven 180 °C). Knead the dough thoroughly with floured hands, and divide into 12 portions. Shape each piece into a ball and place on a baking sheet lined with baking parchment. Cover, and leave to stand for 10 minutes. Then press down lightly on them. Be sure to leave plenty of space between the buns, because they will rise as they bake.
5|Brush the buns with whisked egg yolk, and sprinkle with the sesame seeds if desired. Bake in the pre-heated oven for 20 minutes, making sure they do not get too dark and crispy.
Eat while still fresh.
RYE BUNS
Makes 10–12 buns, preparation time:
approx. 20 minutes (plus standing, rising and baking time)
Per bun approx.:
183 kcal/766 kJ, 6 g P, 5 g F, 28 g CH
INGREDIENTS
200 ml milk
50 g butter
300 g finely-grained rye
200 g wheat flour (type 550)
1 cube of yeast (50 g)
1 egg, 1 tsp salt
1 tbsp sugar beet syrup or stewed apple
1|Heat the milk and butter in a small saucepan without boiling. Meanwhile, put the flours in a bowl and combine. Make a well in the middle and crumble in the yeast.
2|Gradually pour the warm liquid over the yeast, stirring it with the dough hook of an electric hand mixer at the same time (low speed) to make a pre-dough. Cover the bowl with a clean tea towel and leave the dough in a warm place for about 10 minutes to rise.
3|Add the egg, salt and syrup to the pre-dough and stir until the dough starts to froth and comes away from the side of the bowl. Cover the bowl again and return the dough to the warm place for about 25 minutes to rise.
4|Pre-heat the oven to 200 °C (Gas Mark 6, fan oven 180 °C). Knead the dough thoroughly with floured hands, and divide into 12 portions. Shape each piece into a ball and place on a baking tray lined with baking parchment. Cover, and leave to stand for 10 minutes. Then press down lightly on them. Be sure to leave plenty of space between the buns, because they will rise as they bake.
5|Bake in the pre-heated oven for 20 minutes. Put a dish of water in the oven with the buns and sprinkle them several times with water so they don’t get too crispy – they should stay quiet soft.
Eat while still fresh.
CIABATTA BUNS
Makes 10–12 buns, preparation time:
approx. 20 minutes (plus standing, rising and baking time)
Per bun approx.:
161 kcal/674 kJ, 5 g P, 3 g F, 30 g CH
INGREDIENTS
500 g wheat flour (type 550) plus flour to dust
25 g yeast
1 level tbsp salt
25 ml olive oil
1|Sift the flour into a bowl and make a well in the middle. Crumble in the yeast, and gradually add 300 ml of water to make a pre-dough (using the dough hook of a mixer). Cover the bowl with a clean tea towel and leave in a warm place for about 20 minutes for the dough to rise.
2|Add the salt and oil to the pre-dough and knead until smooth. The dough should be very moist. Cover again, and leave at room temperature for at least 12 hours to rise – ideally overnight. This will make the dough very airy with large pores.
3|Dust the worktop and dough generously with flour. Use a dough scraper to carefully divide the dough, press down gently and fold – the idea is to retain the airiness. Cover again, and leave for another hour. Pre-heat the oven to 220 °C (Gas Mark 7, fan oven 200 °C).
4|Carefully divide the dough into 12 segments, and shape them into ciabatta buns. Place on a baking tray lined with baking parchment, leaving plenty of space between the buns. Bake on the bottom runner for about 30 minutes. Sprinkle frequently with water while baking so the buns stay nice and moist.
Eat while still fresh.
SIDE DISHES
HOME-MADE FRIES
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 15 minutes (plus frying time)
Per portion approx.:
329 kcal/1377 kJ, 3 g P, 28 g F, 84 g CH
INGREDIENTS
600 g oil for deep-frying
6 large potatoes
salt
1|Pre-heat the deep-fryer and pour in the oil.
2|Peel and wash the potatoes and cut into thick chips. Pat dry with kitchen paper so they are as dry as possible. Once the deep-fryer has reached 160 °C, put the potatoes in the hot oil for 10 minutes.
3|Lift out the potatoes and put in a large sieve lined with paper towels to drain.
4|Increase the temperature of the deep-fryer to 180 °C and fry the pre-cooked potatoes in the hot oil for a further 5 minutes until golden and crispy. Place on kitchen paper to dry, then put in a bowl and sprinkle with salt according to taste.
WEDGES
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 15 minutes (plus cooking time)
Per portion approx.:
250 kcal/1046 kJ, 4 g P, 9 g F, 29 g CH
INGREDIENTS
800 g potatoes
4 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp paprika powder
salt
1|Pre-heat the oven to 200 °C (Gas Mark 6, fan oven 180 °C).
2|Wash the potatoes well, then dry them and cut into long wedges. Combine in a bowl with the oil, ground paprika and salt.
3|Line a baking sheet with baking parchment and arrange the potato wedges on it. Bake in the oven for 30–40 minutes.
NACHOS
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx.: 15 minutes (plus standing and baking time)
Per portion approx.:
278 kcal/1163 kJ, 1 g P, 8 g F, 46 g CH
INGREDIENTS
250 g maize meal
½ tsp salt
sunflower oil for frying
sweet paprika powder to sprinkle
1|Sift the maize meal into a bowl and gradually pour in 250 ml lukewarm water. Knead slowly to make a smooth dough, then leave it to rest for 5–7 minutes. Knead again with the salt.
2|Put the dough on one piece of baking parchment and cover with another one, then roll out with a rolling pin until very thin (2 mm). Cut out slices of any diameter.
3|Heat the oil in a non-stick pan and fry the dough circles in batches over a medium heat for half a minute on each side.
4|Leave to cool, then cut into large triangles. Deep fry or bake in a pre-heated oven until crispy, and season to taste.
SALADS
CAESAR’S SALAD
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 20 minutes
Per portion approx.:
761 kcal/3184 kJ, 14 g P, 73 g F, 3 g CH
INGREDIENTS
2 thick slices white bread
200 ml olive oil plus a little extra for roasting
2 small romaine lettuces
1 avocado
2 tbsp lemon juice
1 garlic clove
4 anchovies
1 egg yolk
1 tbsp Worcester sauce
salt
sugar
100 g Parmesan
1|Cut the crusts of the slices of bread and dice the bread. Heat a little olive oil in a non-stick pan and fry the bread cubes until golden. Set aside.
2|Trim, wash and spin dry the lettuces and shred the leaves with your fingers. Halve the avocado. Remove the stone and scoop the flesh out of the shells. Dice the flesh and sprinkle with a little lemon juice.
3|Peel and finely chop the garlic, and chop the anchovies. Stir together the egg yolk and the remainder of the lemon juice. Add the olive oil in drop, then in a thin stream, and stir well. Combine with the Worcester sauce and seasoning until creamy, and check whether more seasoning is required.
4|Combine the salad and the dressing. Sprinkle over the croutons and grate over the Parmesan in rough flakes.
COLE SLAW
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 30 minutes (plus standing time)
Per portion approx.:
167 kcal/699 kJ, 6 g P, 8 g F, 16 g CH
INGREDIENTS
1 small white cabbage
2–3 small carrots
2 shallots
150 g plain yoghurt
50 g mayonnaise
juice of ½ lemon
1 tbsp cider vinegar
1 tbsp sugar
salt
freshly ground pepper
1|Remove the outer leaves of the cabbage. Cut the cabbage into large pieces, then thinly slice the leaves. Trim, peel and grate the carrots. Peel and dice the shallots.
2|Combine the remainder of the ingredients to make a salad cream, and combine with the vegetables. The salad should not be too dry. Place in the refrigerator and leave for 1 hour.
3|Remove the salad from the fridge about 15 minutes before serving so it is not too cold.
WILD GARDEN HERB SALAD
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 15 minutes
Per portion approx.:
138 kcal/577 kJ, 2 g P, 10 g F, 3 g CH
INGREDIENTS
2 cherry tomatoes
1 small cucumber
120 g rocket
40 g dandelion leaves
20 g sorrel
3 large wild garlic leaves
1 finely chopped shallot
½ tsp Dijon mustard
3 tbsp white balsamic vinegar
4 tbsp pumpkin seed oil
pinch of sugar
salt
freshly ground pepper
1|Wash and quarter the cherry tomatoes. Peel the cucumber with a vegetable peeler and cut into slices. Trim or wash and shake dry the salad leaves and herbs, then shred them.
2|Combine the remainder of the ingredients to make a dressing, then check the seasoning and combine with the salad.
Choose salad leaves and herbs of the season that you like.
DEEP-FRIED ONION RINGS
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 40 minutes
Per portion approx.:
260 kcal/1087 kJ, 8 g P, 10 g F, 28 g CH
INGREDIENTS
oil for deep-frying
2 Spanish onions
150 g wheat flour
2 eggs
salt
70 ml beer
1|Heat the oil in a large saucepan or deep-fat fryer (to about 180 °C).
2|Peel the onions and cut into thick rings. Stir together all the remaining ingredients to make a batter. Dip the onion rings in the batter and deep-fry until golden. Place on kitchen paper to drain.
DIPS & SAUCES
MAYONNAISE
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 10 minutes
Per portion approx.:
51 kcal/213 kJ, 2 g P, 9 g F, 1 g CH
INGREDIENTS
1 egg yolk
1 tbsp lemon juice
1 tbsp mustard
pinch of salt
pinch of freshly ground pepper
pinch of sugar
125 ml neutral oil
other ingredients to taste
Stir together all the ingredients except the oil in a bowl. Add the oil first in drops, then in a thin stream, stirring continuously until the mayonnaise takes on a smooth, fine, creamy consistency.
You can flavour this basic mayonnaise to suit your menu and tastes with spices, chopped herbs, ground herbs, ketchup, chopped egg, grated lemon ring and juice – and much more.
AIOLI
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 10 minutes
Per portion approx.:
624 kcal/2611 kJ, 2 g P, 66 g F, 2 g CH
INGREDIENTS
2 egg yolks
1 tbsp lemon juice
5 garlic cloves
260 ml olive oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
Stir together the egg yolks and lemon juice, then peel the garlic cloves and crush into the egg yolk mixture. Stir in the olive oil in drops until you have a mayonnaise. Season according to taste.
SOUR CREAM
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 10 minutes
Per portion approx.:
47 kcal/197 kJ, 5 g P, 2 g F, 3 g CH
INGREDIENTS
½ bunch curly-leafed parsley
125 g low-fat quark
125 g plain yoghurt
1 tbsp sliced chives
½ finely chopped onion
dash of lemon juice
salt
freshly ground pepper
Wash and shake dry the parsley and chop the leaves very finely. Combine well with the other ingredients, then checking the seasoning and chill.
GUACAMOLE
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 10 minutes
Per portion approx.:
262 kcal/1096 kJ, 127 g P, 0 g F, 29 g CH
INGREDIENTS
2 avocados
8 coriander stalks
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 small red chilli, deseeded and finely chopped
salt, freshly ground pepper
1|Halve the avocados. Remove the stones and set them aside. Scoop the flesh out of the shells with a spoon and mash in a bowl with a fork. Wash and shake dry the coriander. Pluck off the leaves and chop very finely.
2|Combine all the ingredients and check the seasoning. Put the avocado stones back in with the purée, as they will help to retain its bright green colour.
KETCHUP
For 4 portions, preparation time:
approx. 20 minutes
Per portion approx.:
127 kcal/531 kJ, 6 g P, 0 g F, 29 g CH
INGREDIENTS
4 apples, 4 finely chopped onions
400 g tomato purée
1 tbsp curry powder
pinch of salt, pinch of cinnamon
1 tbsp sugar beet syrup
100 ml cider vinegar
1|Peel and quarter the apples and cut out the cores. Chop into very small pieces.
2|Put all the ingredients in a sauce with a little water (to your preferred consistency). Simmer until soft, then purée very finely. Pour the ketchup into clean bottles, then seal well and keep in a cool place.
BBQ SAUCE
Makes 600 ml, preparation time:
approx. 20 minutes (plus standing and cooking time)
Per portion approx.
129 kcal/540 kJ, 3 g P, 1 g F, 17 g CH
INGREDIENTS
1 smoked chipotle pepper
75 ml cider vinegar
750 g vine tomatoes
1 chopped Spanish onion
2 chopped garlic cloves
50 g brown sugar
1 tbsp sugar beet syrup
1 tbsp hot mustard
1 tsp salt
1 tsp freshly ground pepper
1 tsp chilli powder
pinch of ground cumin seed
1|Put the chilli in a small bowl and pour over a little vinegar. Cover, and leave to stand at room temperature for 1 day, then chop. Cut a cross in the tomatoes, then pour over boiling water and skin. Remove the stalks and chop the flesh. Take the chilli out of the vinegar and chop.
2|Put the chilli, tomatoes, onion and garlic in a saucepan with the remainder of the vinegar and bring to the boil. Stir in the sugar, sugar beet syrup, mustard, salt, pepper, ground chilli and ground cumin seed and simmer, stirring, for about 30 minutes. Then pass through a fine sieve into a clean saucepan and boil until thick.
BEEF & VEAL
It is a good idea to cook patties made of minced beef and veal, about 2 cm thick, over a medium to high heat for a total of about 3–4 minutes on each side. Of course, the exact time depends on the food you are cooking, the barbecue or grill and – not least – your personal taste.
The meat harmonises well with spices and herbs such as chilli, garlic, oregano, paprika, parsley, rosemary, sage or thyme.
HAMBURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
790 kcal/3305 kJ
57 g P 44 g F 53 g CH
BUNS
4 sesame wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
Basics:
600 g minced beef
salt
freshly ground pepper
To bulk out and bind:
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
Spices & flavouring:
3 tbsp finely chopped red pepper
pinch of chilli powder
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp dried rosemary
TOPPINGS
4 green lettuce leaves
2 pickled gherkins
4 tomatoes
4 slices Gouda
4 tsp ketchup (recipe on page 22)
4 tsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
The basics for a classic hamburger patty are good meat, salt and – if desired – pepper; you don’t really need anything else. A bread roll, onions and eggs will bulk out the patty and help to bind the ingredients; the quantities depend on your personal preference. You can also add spices and flavourings if you like.
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Thinly slice the gherkins. Wash the tomatoes, cut out the stalks and cut the flesh into thin slices.
4|Place 1 lettuce leaf, some gherkin slices, the patty, a slice of cheese and some tomato slices on the bottom halves of the buns. Spread with 1 teaspoon ketchup and 1 teaspoon mayonnaise, and top with the other half of the bun.
DOUBLE-DOUBLE
CHEESEBURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
1061 kcal/4439 kJ
65 g P 86 g F 64 g CH
BUNS
4 sesame wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef
3 tbsp finely chopped red pepper
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
½ tsp chilli powder
1–2 tbsp Worcester sauce
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp dried rosemary
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 large green lettuce leaves
2 pickled gherkins
1 red onion
ketchup (recipe on page 22)
mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
8 slices young Gouda
8 slices semi-mature Gouda
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Thinly slice the gherkins. Peel the onion and cut into thick slices.
4|If you like, put thick blobs of ketchup and mayonnaise on the bottom halves of the buns. Place 1 lettuce leaf on each. Top this with 1 slice each of the young Gouda and 1 of the semi-mature at an angle so that the differently-coloured corners of the cheese can be seen. Place 1 patty and another slice of the young and semi-mature cheese on top, again with the cheeses at an angle. Arrange the sliced gherkins on top, and garnish with the onion rings. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
Serve with ketchup and mayonnaise.
Goes with
CORN ON THE
COB
Per portion approx.:
103 kcal/431 kJ
7 g P 29 g F 33 g CH
4 fresh corn on the cob, salt
125 g cold butter
4 garlic cloves
freshly ground pepper
Remove the leaves and threads from the corn on the cob and boil in salted water for about 15 minutes. Drain, and place on the grill for about 15 minutes, turning frequently. Cut the butter into pieces. Combine with the crushed garlic and seasoning, and spread over the corn on the cob.
BUFFALO RANCH BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
839 kcal/3510 kJ
50 g P 50 g F 44 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef (Black Angus or similar quality)
3 tsp finely chopped black olives
1 tbsp finely chopped onion
2 eggs
pinch of jalapeño chilli powder
1–2 tsp jerk seasoning (Jamaican BBQ seasoning)
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
1 small romaine lettuce
3 tbsp balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp forest honey
1 tbsp pine kernels
salt
freshly ground pepper
4 thick slices of Gorgonzola
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash the lettuce leaves and tear the leaves with your fingers. Stir together the balsamic vinegar, olive oil, forest honey, pine kernels, salt and pepper for the dressing, and arrange the salad. The salad should not be too wet.
4|Arrange the salad on the bottom halves of the buns. Place a patty and 1 slice of Gorgonzola on each. Grind some pepper over each burger and top with the remaining halves of the buns. Serve with BBQ sauce (recipe on page 23) and fried onion rings (recipe on page 19).
As a tasty alternative to the patty take a medium-rare rump steak.
Goes with
MARSALA
MUSHROOMS
Per portion approx.:
126 kcal/527 kJ
2 g P 7 g F 1 g CH
olive oil for frying
1 finely chopped shallot
250 g brown button mushrooms
100 ml Marsala
20 g butter
salt and freshly ground pepper
Heat the olive oil in a pan and fry the shallot-dices over a medium heat until glassy. Trim the button mushrooms and wipe with a damp cloth, then slice. Add to the shallotdices and increase the heat, shaking the pan from time to time. Continue cooking over a medium heat for a few more minutes, then pour over the Marsala. Reduce the liquid and add the butter to bind. Check the seasoning, and serve.
HOT HAMBURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 25 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
834 kcal/3490 kJ
45 g P 56 g F 35 g CH
BUNS
4 sesame wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef
3 tbsp finely chopped red pepper
1 finely chopped onion
2 tbsp roughly chopped flat-leafed parsley
2 eggs
½ tsp chilli powder
1 tsp dried thyme
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
8 iceberg lettuce leaves
120 g herb butter
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash the lettuce and shake dry, then thinly slice the leaves. Spread the bottom half of the bun thinly with herb butter while still warm. Top with the sliced lettuce leaves. Place the patty on top, and put 1 thick slice of herb butter on the warm patty to melt before serving.
These burgers go well with thin fries and herb or lemon mayonnaise (basic mayonnaise recipe on page 20).
MEDITERRANEAN BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
764 kcal/3197 kJ
49 g P 44 g F 42 g CH
BUNS
4 ciabatta buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
1 courgette
600 g minced beef
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
½ tsp paprika powder
1 tsp dried oregano
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 large green lettuce leaves
1 beef tomato
200 g feta cheese
4 tbsp BBQ sauce (recipe on page 23)
freshly ground pepper
12 Kalamata olives, pitted
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Wash and trim the courgette, then chop finely or grate. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Wash the tomato and cut into 8 slices, discarding the stalk. Carefully cut the feta cheese into thin slices or small segments.
4|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with the BBQ sauce. Arrange the lettuce leaves, tomato slices and patties on top. Top with the feta cheese, and grind over some pepper. Garnish with olives. Place the tops of the buns on top, and serve with extra BBQ sauce.
Goes with
PAPRIKA
RELISH
Per portion approx.:
101 kcal/424 kJ
2 g P 7 g F 9 g CH
2 red peppers
1 finely chopped onion
2 tbsp oil
1 garlic clove
½ tsp paprika powder
4 tbsp white wine vinegar
salt
1 tbsp sugar
freshly ground pepper
Deseed and wash the pepper, then chop into small pieces. Sauté the diced onion in hot oil until glassy. Add the chopped peppers, garlic and paprika powder, and simmer for 4–5 minutes. Stir in about 8 tablespoons of water, the vinegar, salt and sugar and simmer for about 40 minutes to reduce until velvety and smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Purée if you want to. Allow to cool before serving.
MEXICAN BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
834 kcal/3490 kJ
46 g P 48 g F 58 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
100 g sweetcorn (can)
600 g minced beef
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
1 tbsp hot mustard
2 tbsp chopped coriander leaves
½ tsp paprika powder
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
1 ripe avocado
1 finely chopped shallot
1 finely chopped garlic clove
1 tbsp light soured cream
juice of ½ lemon
salt
freshly ground pepper
big pinch of cayenne pepper
4 large green lettuce leaves
2 tomatoes
1 onion
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Drain the sweetcorn. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, halve the avocado, then peel and remove the stone. Put the flesh of the avocado in a bowl and mash with a fork. Stir in the diced shallot, garlic, soured cream and lemon juice, then season with salt, pepper and cayenne pepper.
4|Wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Wash and slice the tomatoes, cutting out the stalk. Peel and thinly slice the onion. Put the lettuce leaves on the bottom halves of the buns. Place the patties on the leaves and brush with avocado cream. Arrange the tomato slices on top and garnish with onion rings. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
CHANTERELLE BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
821 kcal/3435 kJ
54 g P 49 g F 49 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
3 tbsp pine kernels
600 g minced beef
3 tbsp pickled capers
1 tsp dried oregano
2 eggs
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 large oak leaf lettuce leaves
400 g chanterelles
4 spring onions
2 tbsp butter
salt
freshly ground pepper
4 tbsp chopped flat-leafed parsley
4 tsp BBQ sauce (recipe on page 23)
4 slices cheddar
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Finely chop the pine kernels. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Trim the chanterelles and cut in half if necessary. Trim, wash and thinly slice the spring onions.
4|Melt the butter in a pan and sauté the mushrooms over a medium heat for about 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper when cooked and stir in the parsley.
5|Drizzle 1 teaspoon of barbecue sauce over the bottom halves of the buns. Place a salad leaf and patty on each half. Arrange the chanterelles evenly over the top, and garnish with the spring onions. Finish with 1 slice of cheese. Top with the other halves of the buns, and secure each bun with a wooden cocktail stick.
BURGERS WITH BACON
AND RADISHES
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
664 kcal/2778 kJ
46 g P 38 g F 36 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
100 g smoked streaky bacon
600 g minced beef
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
1 tbsp hot mustard
2 tbsp sliced chives
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 large green lettuce leaves
1 bunch radishes
½ cucumber
4 tbsp sour cream (recipe on page 21)
2 tbsp dill tips
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Finely dice the bacon and fry in a pan over a medium heat until crispy. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Trim, wash and slice the radishes. Peel and slice the cucumber.
4|Arrange the lettuce leaves on the bottom halves of the buns. Put 1 tablespoon of sour cream and one patty on each. Arrange the sliced radishes and cucumber on the burgers, and garnish with dill tips. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
ORIENTAL BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
624 kcal/2611 kJ
41 g P 37 g F 25 g CH
BUNS
1 pitta bread
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef
1 finely chopped onion
1 finely chopped garlic clove
2 eggs
2 tbsp freshly chopped parsley
½ tsp paprika powder
big pinch of cinnamon
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
200 g baby spinach leaves
1 pomegranate
100 g full-fat yoghurt
3 tbsp olive oil
salt
pepper
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the spinach. Cut the pomegranate in half and scoop out the seeds, reserving the juice. Stir together the pomegranate seeds and juice, yoghurt and olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Fold the spinach into the yoghurt and pomegranate dressing.
4|Cut the pitta bread into quarters. Slice each quarter in half and toast on the grill (or in an electric toaster). Put the patties and spinach on the bottom halves of the buns. Top with the remaining bread quarters and secure each portion with a wooden cocktail stick.
BURGERS WITH PEARS
AND GORGONZOLA
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
909 kcal/3803 kJ
53 g P 59 g F 43 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
½ tsp chilli powder
1 tsp dried rosemary
1 tsp dried oregano
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
100 g lamb’s lettuce
1 large ripe pear
200 g Gorgonzola
4 tbsp crème fraîche
50 g chopped walnuts
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce. Wash the pear and cut into quarters, cutting out the seeds. Cut each quarter into slices. Carefully slice the Gorgonzola cheese.
4|Spread each bottom half of the buns with 1 tablespoon of crème fraîche and place a lettuce leaf on top. Put a patty on each lettuce leaf. Arrange the Gorgonzola slices on the patty and the pear slices in a fan shape on top of the cheese. Sprinkle over the walnuts and serve with the top halves of the buns.
WASABI BURGERS
DE LUXE
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
873 kcal/3653 kJ
49 g P 42 g F 60 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef
1 walnut-sized piece of ginger, freshly grated
2 tbsp finely chopped coriander leaves
big pinch of cinnamon
1 tsp ground cumin seed
2 eggs
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 large iceberg lettuce leaves
1 stalk lemon grass
400 g sugar snap peas
6 tsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
2 tsp wasabi paste (hot green horseradish used in Japanese cooking)
2 tbsp sesame oil
2 tbsp soy sauce
pinch of sugar
freshly ground pepper
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Then season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Wash the lemon grass and beat the lower, white part to soften in, then cut into thin slices and chop these finely. Wash and trim the sugar snaps. Stir together the mayonnaise and wasabi paste until well blended.
4|Heat the oil in a pan and sauté the lemon grass for about 2–3 minutes. Add the sugar snaps and cook over a high heat for just 1 minute, shaking the pan frequently. Add the soy sauce and season with sugar and pepper.
5|Brush each bottom half of the buns with 1 teaspoon of wasabi mayonnaise. Place a salad leaf and patty on each half. Arrange the sugar snaps on the meat, and top with the remaining halves of the buns.
Goes with
BANANA AND
ORANGE
CHUTNEY
Per portion approx.:
95 kcal/397 kJ
1 g P 0 g F 21 g CH
2 oranges
2 ripe bananas
juice of 1 lime
1 red chilli pepper
honey
Squeeze the juice out of 1 orange. Cut the other one into segments and chop the orange segments into small pieces. Mash the bananas with a fork, and combine with the lime and orange juice. Deseed the chilli, then wash and chop finely and add to the chutney with the diced orange. Add a little honey according to taste.
ANDALUSIAN BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
910 kcal/3808 kJ
64 g P 54 g F 48 g CH
BUNS
4 ciabatta buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
½ tsp habanero pepper paste
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp dried rosemary
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
2 red chilli peppers
75 g mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
2 finely chopped garlic cloves
1 tbsp paprika powder
salt
8 slices serrano ham
8 slices manchego cheese
basil leaves to taste
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, deseed the chillies, then wash and chop finely. Put in a mixer with the mayonnaise and garlic, and beat until smooth. Season with paprika powder and salt.
4|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with the paprika mayonnaise. Top each with 1 slice of ham and 1 of cheese, then 1 patty, and then 1 slice of cheese and 1 of ham. Add more paprika mayonnaise and basil leaves as desired, then top with the other halves of the buns.
Goes well with BBQ sauce (recipe on page 23).
SURF & TURF
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS MARINATING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
605 kcal/2531 kJ
46 g P 28 g F 41 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
4 beef fillet steaks (120 g each)
100 ml tomato juice
60 ml olive oil
2 dashes Tabasco
2 tbsp vodka
1 tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp zest of 1 unwaxed lemon
1 tsp cumin seeds
2 sprigs rosemary
4 garlic cloves
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
200 g ready-to-use (peeled and deveined) shrimps (heads removed)
1 red onion
4 tbsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
1|Wash and pat dry the beef fillet. To make the marinade, stir together the tomato juice, 30 ml olive oil, Tabasco, vodka, lemon juice, 1 tablespoon lemon zest and the cumin seeds. Wash and shake dry the rosemary springs, then chop the needles. Stir half into the marinade. Peel and finely chop 2 of the garlic cloves, and also stir into the marinade.
2|Put the meat in a suitably sized freezer bag and pour in the marinade. Seal the bag well and leave the meat to marinate overnight.
3|3 hours before cooking, put the shrimps, the remainder of the olive oil and lemon rind, the finely chopped garlic cloves and rosemary in a freezer bag and leave to marinate.
4|Put the meat and shrimps in a sieve and drain well, then pat dry. Season with salt and pepper and grill for about 6–8 minutes, turning two or three times. If you like, you can first thread the shrimps onto wooden sticks (soak the sticks first).
5|To make the toppings, peel and thinly slice the onion. Place some onion rings and 1 fillet on the bottom halves of the buns. Put 1 tablespoon of mayonnaise on each, and arrange the shrimps on top. Top with the other halves of the buns, and secure each bun with a wooden cocktail stick.
Goes with
TOMATO AND
CHILLI SALSA
Per portion approx.:
73 kcal/305 kJ
2 g P 3 g F 8 g CH
3 tomatoes
2 red onions
3 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tbsp honey
1 tbsp rapeseed oil
1 tbsp chilli paste
2 tbsp freshly chopped coriander leaves
salt
Wash, deseed and finely chop the tomatoes. Peel and finely chop the onions. Stir together the vinegar, honey, chilli paste and coriander. Combine all the ingredients and season with salt.
CAESAR’S SALAD BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
726 kcal/3038 kJ
52 g P 40 g F 41 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced beef
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
1–2 tsp medium-hot mustard
1 tsp dried oregano
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
1 romaine lettuce
2 hard-boiled eggs
4 tbsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
2 tbsp traditional soured cream
50 g grated Parmesan
salt
freshly ground pepper
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, tear off the salad leaves, then wash them and shake them and slice into thin strips. Slice the eggs. In a small bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, soured cream and Parmesan, and season with salt and pepper.
4|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with the mayonnaise and layer with some of the shredded lettuce. Arrange the patties and more salad on top, and spread with more mayonnaise. Garnish with the slices of egg. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
This burger is also delicious made with 1 thick slice of pastrami or corned beef instead of the patty.
PORK
Patties made of minced pork about 2 cm thick are grilled directly over a medium heat for about 3–4 minutes on each side. Just how long they will require is determined by the type of food, the barbecue or grill and the individually preferred level of doneness.
The meat goes well with spices and herbs such as cayenne pepper, curry, cloves, ginger, cardamom, coriander, bay leaves, marjoram or nutmeg.
BREAKFAST BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
1087 kcal/4548 kJ
63 g P 65 g F 54 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced pork
2 tbsp diced smoked bacon
10 g fried onions
2 eggs
20 g chopped green pepper (jar)
1 tbsp medium-hot mustard
1 tbsp chopped mild chilli
big pinch of chilli powder plus a little extra to garnish
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 slices of bacon
800 g baked beans
4 thick slices of cheddar
vegetable oil for frying
4 eggs
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the other ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, dry-fry the bacon in a pan until crispy, then remove and place on kitchen paper to drain. Heat the baked beans. Fry 4 eggs in a large pan with a little oil or butter.
4|Put 1 slice of bacon and 1 patty on each of the four bottom halves of the buns. Spoon generous helpings of baked beans over each. Place the cheddar on top, and finish with a fried egg. Dust with a little of the chilli powder and top with the remaining halves of the buns.
CURRY BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
703 kcal/2941 kJ
16 g P 44 g F 48 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced pork
1 walnut-sized piece of ginger, freshly grated
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
1–2 tsp curry powder
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 large green frisée lettuce leaves
1 red onion
4 tbsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Peel and thinly slice the onion.
4|Spread 1 teaspoon of mayonnaise on each of the bottom halves of the buns. Place a lettuce leaf and patty on each. Divide the remainder of the mayonnaise and the onion rings among the burgers. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
Goes with
MANGO AND
CHILLI SALSA
Per portion approx.:
79 kcal/330 kJ
1 g P 1 g F 10 g CH
1 large ripe mango
1 red onion
½ a fresh red chilli pepper
2 tbsp oil
juice of 1 lime
salt
1 tsp brown sugar
Peel the mango, then cut the flesh from the stone and chop into small pieces. Peel and dice the onion. Wash, deseed and finely chop the chilli pepper. Combine all the ingredients with oil, lime juice, salt and sugar, and leave to stand for about 20 minutes before serving.
PARMA HAM BURGERS
WITH MOZZARELLA
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
1054 kcal/4410 kJ
76 g P 57 g F 41 g CH
BUNS
4 ciabatta buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced pork
2 tbsp diced mild bacon
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
2 chopped firm small tomatoes
1 tbsp tomato paste
1 tbsp chopped curly-leafed parsley
1 tbsp pine kernels
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar plus a little extra to garnish
½ tsp paprika powder
sea salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
150 g rocket
2 tbsp white balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
12 slices Parma ham
300 g mozzarella affumicata (smoked)
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the rocket, and shred any large leaves. Make a dressing from the balsamic vinegar, olive oil and the seasoning, and dress the salad. It shouldn’t be too wet.
4|Halve the burger buns. Arrange the salad over the bottom halves and place the patty on top. Cut the mozzarella into thick slices and place on the patty. Loosely arrange 3 slices of the Parma ham over each. Drizzle over some balsamic vinegar, and season with a little salt and pepper. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
Goes with
HAZELNUT
PESTO
Per portion approx.:
330 kcal/1381 kJ
6 g P 13 g F 4 g CH
2 bunches flat-leafed parsley
8 large basil leaves
75 g hazelnuts
2 garlic cloves
60 ml olive oil
1 tbsp nut oil
3 tbsp grated Parmesan
salt
freshly ground pepper
Wash and shake dry the parsley and basil leaves. Blend with the hazelnuts and garlic cloves. Slowly add the oils, then stir in the Parmesan and check the seasoning. Drizzle generous quantities of the pesto over the mozzarella slices instead of the balsamic vinegar.
For a pesto verde:
Increase the quantity of herbs and omit the hazelnuts for a delicious pesto verde.
IBÉRICO BURGERS
WITH CHORIZO
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
1109 kcal/4640 kJ
60 g P 69 g F 45 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced pork
2 tbsp diced smoked bacon
1 finely chopped red onion
1 finely chopped garlic clove
2 eggs
2 tbsp chopped red pepper
1 tbsp red paprika paste (Mojo)
big pinch of medium hot Pimentón de la Vera (Spanish smoked paprika powder)
sea salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
200 g manchego
150 g chorizo
2 medium Kumato tomatoes
plenty of aioli (recipe on page 21) for spreading, garnishing and serving
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Then season well to taste with the spices and seasoning.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes.
3|To make the toppings, thinly slice the manchego and cut the chorizo into very thin slices. Wash the tomatoes, cut out the stalks and slice them.
4|Halve the burger buns. Spread some of the aioli over the bottom halves. Arrange the manchego slices on top with the triangles protruding over the sides of the buns. Place the chorizo slices and patties on the cheese. Arrange the tomato slices on the patties and dollop on generous amounts of aioli. Top with the remaining halves of the buns. Serve with more aioli.
Goes with
GRILLED GREEN
PEPPERS
Per portion approx.:
31 kcal/130 kJ
0 g P 3 g F 1 g CH
16 small green peppers (Pimientos de Padrón)
olive oil for drizzling
sea salt to sprinkle
Wash and trim the peppers, then drizzle with olive oil and grill until soft. Alternatively, fry the peppers in olive oil over a high heat, then cook for 4–6 minutes until they are soft. Sprinkle generously with sea salt before serving.
ALOHA BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
928 kcal/3888 kJ
42 g P 58 g F 61 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
600 g pork fillet
salt
freshly ground pepper
2 tbsp forest honey
1 tbsp sesame seeds
4 slices semi-mature Gouda
red peppercorns
TOPPINGS
4 thick slices of pineapple
1 tbsp brown sugar
6 tbsp salad cream
1 small frisée lettuce
4 cocktail cherries
1|Cut the pork fillet diagonally into not-too-thick slices. Season the medallions well. Grill for no longer than 4–5 minutes on each side; the meat should still be tender and slightly pink on the inside. Brush lightly with forest honey while grilling. Sprinkle with sesame seeds after grilling, and place the cheese slices on the patties while they are still hot so the cheese melts. Sprinkle liberally with red peppercorns.
2|Sprinkle the pineapple slices with sugar, pressing down with a spatula if desired. Grill on each side for 2–3 minutes. The sugar should be lightly caramelised without letting the pineapple become soft.
3|Halve the burger buns, and spread the bottom halves with salad cream. Trim the lettuce. Wash and shake dry the leaves, then arrange on the buns with the pork medallions on top. Place the pineapple slices on top. Garnish with the whole, halved or thinly sliced cocktail cherries. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
Goes with
APRICOT
CHUTNEY
Per portion approx.:
928 kcal/3883 kJ
42 g P 42 g F 61 g CH
2 dried apricots
5 fresh apricots
1 tsp sunflower oil
pinch of dried cumin seeds
½ finely chopped red chilli pepper
1 tsp raisins
1 tsp freshly grated ginger
dash of lemon juice
salt
brown sugar
Thinly slice the dried apricots. Then wash and pit the fresh apricots, and thinly slice the flesh. Heat the sunflower oil in a saucepan and add the dried cumin seeds. Put the chopped chilli pepper, dried apricots, raisins and grated ginger in the saucepan. Add the fresh apricots and 1 tablespoon of water. Cook over a low heat until the apricots are soft. Stir in the lemon juice and season with salt and brown sugar according to taste. Leave until cool, then serve the apricot chutney with the burgers.
BACON BURGERS
WITH PORCINI
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
897 kcal/3753 kJ
49 g P 60 g F 40 g CH
BUNS
wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced pork
2 tbsp diced smoked bacon
2 finely chopped shallots
2 eggs
2 tbsp chopped dried porcini
1 tbsp grated Parmesan
4 thinly sliced sage leaves
salt
freshly ground pepper
4 slices of bacon
TOPPINGS
2 slices of bacon
250 g lamb’s lettuce
600 g fresh porcini
vegetable oil for frying
20 g butter
1 tsp thyme leaves
½ finely chopped garlic clove
salt
freshly ground pepper
1 tbsp chopped parsley leaves
2 tbsp traditional soured cream
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, wrap the bacon slices around them and grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, first fry the bacon in a pan until crispy. Remove from the pan and allow to cool a little, then crumble with your hands. Trim, wash and shake dry the lamb’s lettuce.
4|Trim the porcini and cut into thick slices. Heat a little oil in a pan and fry the mushrooms. Add the butter, thyme and garlic and continue cooking. Season to taste and stir in the parsley and soured cream.
5|Arrange the lamb’s lettuce over the bottom halves of the buns and drizzle with a little of bacon fat. Sprinkle the bacon over the salad and place the patties on top. Cover with the porcini and place the remaining halves of the buns on top.
Serve with BBQ sauce (recipe on page 23).
APPLE AND CHEESE BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
866 kcal/3623 kJ
52 g P 51 g F 51 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
1 medium apple
600 g minced pork
1 finely chopped onion
2 eggs
1 tbsp hot mustard
1 tbsp chopped parsley leaves
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 slices of bacon
1 medium apple
1 red onion
4 tbsp sour cream (recipe on page 21)
4 slices semi-mature Gouda
punnet of cress
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Peel, core and finely chop the apple. Put all the ingredients except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, fry the bacon in a pan over a medium heat until crispy. In the meantime, peel, core and quarter the apple, then slice the quarters. Remove the bacon from the pan, and quickly fry the apple slices in the hot fat. Peel and thinly slice the onion.
4|Spread the sour cream on the bottom halves of the buns. Place the patties, 1 slice of bacon and the onion and apple slices loosely on top. Put 1 slice of Gouda on top of each. Cut the cress off the stalks, then wash and dry and arrange over the cheese. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
LAMB & GAME
Patties made of lamb or venison that are about 2 cm thick are grilled directly over a medium to high heat for about 4–5 minutes on each side. Of course the exact cooking time depends on the particular type of food, the barbecue or grill and your personal taste.
Lamb and venison are very strongly flavoured, so season them with strong herbs and spices such as lamb with mugwort, savoury, cloves, ginger, garlic, cumin, caraway, bay leaves, mint, thyme or lemon zest.
Venison is well suited to herbs and spices such as ginger, lemon, bay leaves, nutmeg, cloves, pimento, rosemary, thyme, juniper or cinnamon, and especially wild boar is also good with caraway.
GREEK LAMB BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
768 kcal/3213 kJ
43 g P 39 g F 45 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
1 garlic clove
1 shallot
600 g minced lamb
2 eggs
1 tsp dried oregano
salt
freshly ground pepper
100 g feta cheese
TOPPINGS
¼ iceberg lettuce
1 beef tomato
50 g black olives
50 g feta cheese
100 g Greek yoghurt
1 chopped garlic clove
salt
freshly ground pepper
smooth parsley leaves to garnish
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Crush the garlic. Peel and finely chop the shallot. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the spices and feta in a bowl, and combine well. Season the minced lamb to taste.
2|Cut the feta into four equally-sized pieces. With damp hands, shape the minced lamb into 4 spheres. Make a well in the middle of each. Put a piece of feta in each well, then seal it and shape the meat into patties. Grill the patties on each side for 4–5 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash the lettuce leaves and tear the leaves with your fingers. Slice the tomatoes and olives. Crush the feta with a fork and combine with the yoghurt and garlic. Season with salt and pepper.
4|Arrange some of the lettuce over the bottom halves of the buns. Place the patties, some more lettuce and more yoghurt dressing on top. Cover with the tomato slices, and garnish with olives and parsley. Top with the remaining halves of the buns, and secure each one with a cocktail stick.
PUMPKIN AND HALLOUMI BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
929 kcal/3887 kJ
54 g P 63 g F 45 g CH
BUNS
4 ciabatta buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced lamb
1 finely chopped shallot
2 eggs
½ courgette
100 g halloumi
1 garlic clove
½ tsp ground ginger
1 tsp dried thyme
salt and freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
120 g halloumi
1 finely chopped shallot
olive oil for frying
200 g pumpkin (e. g. Hokkaido, prepared weight)
100 ml vegetable stock
20 g butter
1 tsp thyme leaves
big pinch of cinnamon
½ tsp curry powder
freshly ground pepper
2 tbsp chopped pumpkin seeds
2 tbsp herb cream cheese
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put in a bowl with the minced lamb, diced shallot and eggs, and combine well. Wash, trim and coarsely grate the courgette. Roughly chop the halloumi, then peel and crush the garlic. Work the courgette, cheese and garlic into the meat mixture. Season according to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes.
3|To make the toppings, first cut the halloumi in half lengthwise and grill on both sides until it colours slightly, but without it becoming tough. Wrap in aluminium foil to keep warm.
4|Fry the chopped shallot in a little oil in a large pan until glassy. Add the pumpkin flesh and cook for a few moments. Pour over the vegetable stock, and finish cooking. Bind with the butter. Stir in the thyme and seasoning, and check the flavour again. Dry-fry the pumpkin seeds in a pan.
5|Halve the ciabatta buns and spread with the cream cheese. Place the patties on top, and cover with plenty of cooked pumpkin. Cut the grilled halloumi into segments and arrange in a grid over the top. Sprinkle with pumpkin seeds, then place the remaining halves of the buns on top and secure each one with a cocktail stick.
Goes well with sweet potato wedges (recipe on page 17).
KEBAB BURGERS
WITH GRILLED VEGETABLES
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
637 kcal/2665 kJ
44 g P 52 g F 51 g CH
BUNS
4 sesame wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
400 g minced lamb
200 g minced beef
2 diced shallots
2 eggs
1 red chilli pepper
1 green chilli pepper
1 garlic clove
½ tsp sweet paprika powder
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
1 large red pepper
1 Spanish onion
1 aubergine
olive oil for drizzling
salt
20 g sugar
2 tbsp finely chopped mint leaves
100 g plain yoghurt
100 ml cream
freshly ground pepper
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Then place in a bowl with the minced beef, shallots and eggs, and combine well. Halve and deseed the chillies, then wash and chop finely. Peel and crush the garlic. Work everything into the meat mixture and season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes.
3|To make the toppings, trim and wash or peel the vegetables, and cut into large segments or thick slices. Drizzle with olive oil and season, grill on both sides until the vegetables are soft and smell delightfully of roasting.
4|In a small saucepan, simmer the sugar, 1 tablespoon of mint leaves and 100 ml of water over a low heat. Stir frequently until the sugar has dissolved. Leave to cool, then whisk with the yoghurt and cream until creamy.
5|Halve the rolls and spread thinly with mint yoghurt. Arrange half the grilled vegetables over the buns. Place the patties on top, and cover them with the remainder of the vegetables. Grind some pepper over the top. Top with thick dollops of the mint yoghurt and sprinkle with the remainder of the mint leaves. Top with the other halves of the buns, and secure each bun with a wooden cocktail stick.
LAMB AND SPINACH BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS STEAMING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
895 kcal/3745 kJ
57 g P 49 g F 53 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
10 black olives, pitted
600 g minced lamb
1 diced shallot
2 eggs
1 garlic clove
½ tsp ground cumin seed
1 tsp hot paprika powder
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
5 tsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
3 tsp horseradish
500 g tender young spinach leaves
500 g leeks
2 tbsp butter
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
100 g freshly grated Parmesan
generous pinch of grated nutmeg
salt
freshly ground pepper
2 tbsp chopped flat-leafed parsley
1|To make the patties, dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Finely chop the olives. Put the minced lamb and the remainder of the ingredients (except for the seasoning and the garlic) in a bowl and combine well. Then peel and crush the garlic and work into the meat mixture. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties, then grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes. Halve the buns, toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, stir together the mayonnaise and horseradish. Wash the spinach leaves and dry well. Wash and trim the leeks, then cut into thin slices.
4|Melt the butter in a pan and sauté the leeks over a medium heat for 8–10 minutes. Add the spinach and cook until slightly wilted. Remove from the hob. Drain the vegetables in a sieve if the mixture is too liquid. Combine the leeks, spinach, breadcrumbs and Parmesan in a bowl. Season to taste.
5|Brush the bottom halves of the buns with 1 teaspoon of horseradish mayonnaise. Arrange the spinach and leek mixture on the buns, and top each with 1 patty. Sprinkle over the chopped parsley. Brush equal amounts of the remaining mayonnaise on the tops of the buns, and place on the bottom halves.
Goes with
POMEGRANATE
RELISH
Per portion approx.:
114 kcal/477 kJ
1 g P 7 g F 11 g CH
2 pomegranates
1 shallot
2 tbsp finely chopped basil leaves
1 tsp grated ginger
2 tbsp olive oil
4 tbsp cider vinegar
big pinch of cinnamon
big pinch of chilli powder
salt
freshly ground pepper
Halve the pomegranates and scoop out the seeds. Peel and finely chop the shallot. Combine the pomegranate seeds, diced shallot, basil and ginger in a bowl. Add the olive oil and cider vinegar, and season to taste. Leave to stand for about 30 minutes before serving.
LAMB AND AUBERGINE BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 40 MINUTES (PLUS STANDING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
1229 kcal/5142 kJ
48 g P 93 g F 48 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
1 onion
100 g feta cheese
600 g minced lamb
2 eggs
1 garlic clove
1 tsp dried sage
salt, freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
2 aubergines
salt, 2 beef tomatoes
1 sprig rosemary
4 tbsp olive oil
punnet of beetroot sprouts
For the salsa verde:
2 garlic cloves, 1 onion
1 tbsp pickled capers
2 tbsp sliced chives
2 tbsp chopped basil leaves
150 ml olive oil
½ tbsp raspberry vinegar
1 tbsp lime juice
salt and freshly ground pepper
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Peel and finely chop the onion, and cut the feta cheese into small cubes. Put the minced lamb and the remainder of the ingredients (except for the garlic and seasoning) in a bowl and combine well. Then peel and crush the garlic and work into the meat mixture. Season to taste. With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes.
2|Wash and wipe dry the aubergines and cut into slices 1 cm thick. Sprinkle with a little salt, and leave for 5 minutes to draw out the juices.
3|In the meantime, to make the salsa verde, peel and finely chop the garlic and onion. Drain and finely chop the capers. Put the garlic, diced onion and capers in a bowl with the chives and basil. Add the oil, vinegar and lime juice, and combine well, season.
4|Slice the tomatoes, cutting out the stalks. Pat the aubergine slices dry with kitchen paper. Finely chop the rosemary and combine with the olive oil. Brush the aubergines with oil on both sides and season with salt. Grill on both sides for about 6–8 minutes until golden.
5|Halve the buns and brush half the salsa verde over the four bottom halves. Arrange the tomatoes over the buns. Place 1 patty on each, then arrange the aubergines on top, and cover the vegetables with the remainder of the salsa. Garnish with the sprouts, then place the remaining buns halves on top.
ARTICHOKE BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
853 kcal/3569 kJ
46 g P 56 g F 43 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 stale bread roll
approx. 120 ml lukewarm milk
600 g minced lamb
40 g pine kernels
1 finely chopped shallot
2 eggs
2 tbsp chopped flat-leafed parsley
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 artichoke hearts (can)
100 g feta cheese
4 dried tomatoes in oil
1 tsp dried thyme
freshly ground pepper
4 tbsp crème fraîche
flat-leafed parsley stalks to garnish
1|Dice the bread roll and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Put all the ingredients for the patties except the seasoning in a bowl, and combine well. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, drain the artichoke hearts and cut each one into 4 slices. Crush the feta with a fork. Drain and finely chop the tomatoes and combine with the feta. Stir a little of the tomato oil into the feta mixture, and season with thyme and pepper.
4|Spread each bottom half of the buns with 1 tablespoon of crème fraîche, and place the patties on top. Arrange the sliced artichokes over the patties. Spoon the tomato and feta mixture over the burgers. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
VENISON BURGERS
WITH QUINCE AND CRANBERRY RELISH
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 40 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
1046 kcal/4377 kJ
50 g P 25 g F 131 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
600 g minced venison
3 finely chopped shallots
150 g diced unsmoked bacon
4 tbsp breadcrumbs, 2 eggs
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 tsp chopped fresh thyme
1 tsp chopped fresh rosemary
1 teaspoon zest of 1 unwaxed orange
salt and freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
320 g quince (pear quince)
50 g brown sugar
250 ml sweet red wine (e. g. Marsala)
big pinch of cinnamon
cornflour to bind if desired
For the cranberry relish:
1 chilli pepper
2 large red onions, 1 pear
1 tbsp sunflower oil
50 ml white wine vinegar
juice of 1 orange
250 g cranberries (jar)
plus to sprinkle 100 g brown sugar
pinch of salt
1|Put the minced venison in a bowl and combine thoroughly with the remainder of the ingredients. Season with salt and pepper. With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
2|To make the toppings, cut the quince in quarters, then peel them and cut out the cores, slice. Caramelise the sugar lightly in a pan, then pour over the wine. Simmer the quince until they start to turn soft and season with cinnamon. If necessary, add a little more wine and reduce. If desired, measure out 1 tablespoon of the liquid and combine with 1 tablespoon of cornflour. Pour over the quince and bind the liquid.
3|To make the relish, halve the chilli pepper and remove the seeds, then wash and chop into tiny pieces. Peel and finely chop the onions. Peel and quarter the pear, then cut out the cores and chop into chunks.
4|Heat the oil in a saucepan and sweat the chopped chilli and onions. Pour over the vinegar and orange juice, then fold in the cranberries, pear and sugar. Add a pinch of salt and simmer gently over a moderate heat until thickened. Leave to cool.
5|Spread the bottom halves of the buns generously with the cranberry relish. Place the patties on top, and arrange the quince slices over them. Drizzle with the wine reduction and scatter a few cranberries over it. Serve with the top halves of the buns.
POULTRY
Patties made of minced poultry about 2 cm thick are grilled directly over a medium to high heat for about 3–4 minutes on each side. Poultry is very tender, so the grilling time can sometimes be shorter than expected.
The meat harmonises well with herbs and spices such as mugwort, savory, tarragon, garlic, coriander, caraway, parsley, saffron, thyme and lemon grass.
CHICKEN BURGERS
WITH BACON
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 25 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
609 kcal/2548 kJ
41 g P 29 g F 45 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
600 g minced chicken (from your butcher)
1 chopped small onion
zest of 1 unwaxed lemon
2 tbsp traditional soured cream
1 egg
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
½ tsp curry powder
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 slices of bacon
4 large lettuce leaves
1 beef tomato
1 garlic clove
50 g mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
1|Put all the ingredients except for the seasoning in a bowl and combine well, then season with salt and pepper according to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, fry the bacon in a pan over a medium heat until crispy. In the meantime, wash and shake dry the salad. Wash the tomato and cut into 8 slices, discarding the stalk. Peel and finely chop the garlic. Stir the garlic into the mayonnaise.
4|Cover the bottom halves of the buns with lettuce and tomato slices. Place 1 patty and 1 slice of bacon on each bun, and finish with a generous dollop of the garlic mayonnaise. Finish with the top halves of the buns.
SESAME CHICKEN BURGERS
WITH ASPARAGUS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 40 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
873 kcal/3653 kJ
49 g P 54 g F 48 g CH
BUNS
4 sesame wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
600 g minced chicken (from your butcher)
1 chopped small onion
1 tsp zest of 1 unwaxed lemon
2 tbsp traditional soured cream
1 egg
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
1 tbsp sesame seeds
1 tbsp tahini (sesame paste)
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
150 g white asparagus
sugar, butter
½ a lollo bianco lettuce
4 slices prosciutto
For the hollandaise sauce:
1 unwaxed lemon
1 tsp white wine vinegar
½ tsp crushed white peppercorns plus a little more to sprinkle
2 egg yolks
120 g butter
salt
1|Put all the ingredients except for the seasoning in a bowl and combine well, then season to taste. With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
2|Peel the asparagus. Cook in plenty of water with a pinch of sugar and the butter for about 10 minutes, making sure it doesn’t get too soft. Cut into pieces 2–3 cm long and set aside. Wash and dry the lettuce.
3|To make the hollandaise sauce, start by halving the lemon. Heat the cut sides of the lemon on the grill for a few minutes. Squeeze one half and grate the rind.
4|Heat two tablespoons of water in a saucepan with the vinegar and peppercorns and reduce slightly, then leave to cool. Put the reduction in a metal bowl over hot water and whisk the egg yolks until foamy. Do not allow to boil! Melt the butter and slowly add to the egg mixture; whisk until thick. Season with salt, lemon juice and zest.
5|Spread the bottom halves of the buns thinly with the hollandaise sauce. Arrange the lettuce leaves on the buns. Drape the prosciutto over the lettuce. Put the patties on the ham, then the asparagus sections, and top them with dollops of the hollandaise sauce. You can also combine the asparagus and hollandaise sauce. Grate some pepper over the top and sprinkle with the remainder of the lemon zest. Top with the other halves of the buns. Serve with quarters of the roasted half lemon.
TANDOORI BURGERS
WITH CURRIED CAULIFLOWER
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
970 kcal/4058 kJ
44 g P 49 g F 64 g CH
BUNS
4 naan breads with sesame seeds
PATTIES
600 g minced chicken (from your butcher)
1 chopped small onion
1 tsp lemon zest, 2 tbsp lassi
4 tbsp breadcrumbs, 2 tbsp dried prunes
1 egg, 1 tsp tandoori seasoning for chicken
big pinch of ground cardamom
1 tsp grated ginger
salt and freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
2 red peppers, 200 g cauliflower
200 g green beans (jar), 2 tbsp soy oil
1 finely chopped onion
2 tbsp red curry paste
150 ml coconut milk, 3 kaffir lime leaves
sugar, salt
For the curry sauce:
2 small ripe tomatoes, 2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp mustard seeds, 2 tbsp chilli flakes
2 finely chopped onions
½ tsp ground coriander, ½ tsp garam masala, ½ tsp ground turmeric, ½ tsp cayenne pepper
salt and freshly ground pepper
100 ml coconut milk
1|Put all the ingredients for the patties except for the seasoning in a bowl and combine well, then season to taste. With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 burgers and grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Cut the naan breads in half and toast on the grill.
2|To make the toppings, trim, deseed and wash the peppers. Cut 1 of them into quarters, and the other into thin strips. Cook the quarters on the grill. Trim and wash the cauliflower and divide into florets. Halve the beans.
3|Heat the oil in a pan and fry the onion and curry paste. Pour over the coconut milk. Add the lime leaves and simmer to reduce, adding coconut milk if required. Take out the lime leaves and stir in the pepper strips and cauliflower. Simmer until the vegetables are soft, then stir in the beans. Season with sugar and salt.
4|To make the sauce, wash and quarter the tomatoes and cut out the stalks. Heat the oil in a pan and cook the mustard seeds until they burst open. Add the chilli flakes and onions and simmer until the onions are soft. Add the remainder of the spices and the tomatoes, and simmer for a further 5 minutes. Pour over the coconut milk, and simmer until you have a smooth, creamy sauce.
5|Spread one half of the bread with a little curry sauce, and cover with grilled pepper. Place 1 patty on the pepper. Heap the curried cauliflower over the patty and place the other half of the bread on top. Secure with cocktail sticks and serve with the remainder of the curry sauce.
ORANGE BURGERS
WITH CURRY AND GOAT’S CHEESE
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 25 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
744 kcal/3113 kJ
48 g P 36 g F 53 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
600 g minced turkey (from your butcher)
1 chopped small onion
1 tsp zest of 1 unwaxed orange
2 tbsp traditional soured cream
1 egg
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
½ tsp curry powder
sea salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
1 small lollo rosso lettuce
1 tbsp grapeseed oil
1 tbsp raspberry vinegar
sea salt
freshly ground pepper
1 large orange
2 tbsp forest honey
2 tbsp coarse-grained sweet mustard
4 small goat’s cheeses (50 g each)
1|Put all the ingredients except for the seasoning in a bowl and combine well, then season to taste. With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
2|To make the toppings, wash the lettuce and spin dry. Make a dressing out of the oil, vinegar, salt and pepper and marinate the salad, it should not get too wet.
3|Peel and fillet the orange. Warm the honey in a pan and coat the orange slices in it.
4|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with the mustard and cover loosely with the lettuce. Push the patties into the salad, and top with the goat’s cheeses. Cover with the still-hot orange fillets, and drizzle over the honey from the pan. Top with the other halves of the buns and secure with wooden cocktail sticks.
TERIYAKI BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS MARINATING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
457 kcal/1913 kJ
38 g P 14 g F 40 g CH
BUNS
4 sesame wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
4 chicken breast fillets (125 g each)
4 tbsp soy sauce
2 tbsp sherry
1 tbsp grated ginger
1 finely chopped garlic clove
1 tsp honey
TOPPINGS
100 g rocket
1 beef tomato
1 onion
3 tbsp medium-hot mustard
1 tbsp honey
3 tbsp full-fat yoghurt
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
1|Wash and pat dry the chicken. Thoroughly combine the remainder of the ingredients for the marinade. Put the meat in a suitably sized freezer bag and pour in the marinade. Seal the bag well and leave the meat to marinate overnight.
2|Drain the chicken fillets and grill for 5–10 minutes on each side until they are done and golden. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, wash and dry the rocket. Wash and slice the tomato, cutting out the stalk. Peel and slice the onion.
4|Stir together the mustard, honey, yoghurt and balsamic vinegar, then add the oil and continue stirring until you have a creamy dressing. Season with salt and pepper.
5|Arrange some of the rocket over the bottom halves of the buns. Place the chicken fillets on top, then the sliced tomato, the remainder of the rocket and the onion rings. Drizzle over the honey and mustard dressing. Top with the other halves of the buns, and secure each one with a wooden cocktail stick.
PINEAPPLE BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
714 kcal/2987 kJ
47 g P 34 g F 59 g CH
BUNS
4 ciabatta buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
600 g minced chicken (from your butcher)
1 chopped small onion
2 tbsp traditional soured cream
1 egg
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
2 tbsp chopped flat-leafed parsley
1 tsp five-spice powder
salt
freshly ground pepper
4 slices fresh pineapple
TOPPINGS
4 large iceberg lettuce leaves
4 tsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
1 tsp curry powder
big pinch of chilli powder
4 slices Gruyère
1|Put the minced meat with the other ingredients except the seasoning and pineapple in a bowl and combine well. Season to taste.
2|Wrap the meat mixture around the pineapple slices, avoiding the hole in the middle. Grill the patties on each side for 3–4 minutes. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|In the meantime, to prepare the toppings wash the lettuce leaves and shake dry. Combine the mayonnaise, curry and chilli powder.
4|Spread each bottom half of ciabatta with 1 teaspoon of curry mayonnaise and place 1 lettuce leaf on top. Place the pineapple patty on the lettuce. Finish with 1 slice of cheese and the top half of the rolls.
MANGO AND CHICKEN BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
725 kcal/3033 kJ
44 g P 36 g F 59 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
600 g minced poultry (from your butcher)
1 chopped small onion
zest of 1 unwaxed lemon
2 tbsp traditional soured cream
1 egg
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
1 tsp pul biber (Turkish red pepper flakes)
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
1 ripe mango
1 radicchio
2 tbsp lime juice
1 tbsp honey
30 g meats of hazelnuts
100 g cream cheese
3 coriander stalks if liked
1|Put all the ingredients for the patties except for the seasoning in a bowl and combine well, then season with salt and pepper to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, peel the mango, cut the flesh off the stone, and slice it into strips. Wash and spin dry the radicchio, then cut into thin slices. Stir together the lime juice and honey and combine with the radicchio. Roughly chop the hazelnuts.
4|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with cream cheese, and place the patties on top. Arrange the mango and radicchio on top and sprinkle over the hazelnuts. Garnish with coriander leaves if desired. Finish with the top halves of the buns.
FISH & SEAFOOD
Grill a whole fish over a low heat for about 10 minutes on each side, a fish fillet over direct medium heat for about 4–5 minutes on each side, and a patty made from minced meat (about 2 cm thick) over direct medium heat for about 2–3 minutes on each side. Seafood such as shrimp and prawns requires a total of about 2–5 minutes.
Flavour fish and seafood with basil, dill, tarragon, fennel, ginger, garlic, parsley, mustard or lemon.
TUNA BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
613 kcal/2565 kJ
45 g P 27 g F 49 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
4 tuna steaks (150 g each)
juice of 1 lime
2 tbsp vegetable oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
1 tsp dried oregano
TOPPINGS
200 g pointed cabbage
1 small fennel bulb (approx. 200 g)
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tbsp honey
salt
freshly ground pepper
1 red chilli pepper
4 tsp ketchup (recipe on page 22)
1|Wash and pat dry the tuna steaks and sprinkle each side with lime juice. Combine the oil, salt, pepper and oregano and brush all over the fish. Grill carefully on both sides for about 2–4 minutes, taking care that the fish doesn’t get too dry. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
2|To make the toppings, trim, wash and dry the cabbage and cut into slices about 2 cm wide. Trim the fennel bulb, cutting out the stalk, root base, any brown areas and hard ribs. Reserve the leaves. Wash the bulb and slice crosswise into thin strips. Heat the oil in a pan and sauté the fennel strips for about 3 minutes. Add the cabbage and cook for a further 2 minutes. Add the vinegar and honey, and season with salt and pepper.
3|Wash, shake dry and finely chop the fennel leaves. Halve and deseed the chilli pepper, then wash and chop finely. Combine with the ketchup.
4|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with 1 teaspoon of chilli ketchup. Arrange the cabbage and fennel mixture over the top. Place 1 tuna steak on each and garnish with fennel leaves. Top with the other halves of the buns, and secure with wooden cocktail sticks.
NY DELI BURGERS
WITH SHRIMPS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES (PLUS STANDING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
397 kcal/1661 kJ
32 g P 17 g F 35 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
juice of 1 lime
2 tbsp olive oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
1 garlic clove
2 sprigs of thyme
500 g prepared shrimps
TOPPINGS
200 g rocket
½ cucumber
zest of 1 unwaxed lime
1 tsp lime juice
4 tsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
salt
pepper
2 stalks of chervil
1|Combine the lime juice, oil, salt and pepper in a large bowl to marinate the shrimps. Peel the garlic and crush into the marinade. Wash and shake dry the thyme and pluck off the leaves. Finely chop the thyme leaves and add to the marinade. Wash and pat dry the shrimps. Place in the marinade and leave for a short time.
2|In the meantime, wash and dry the rocket. Wash, peel and slice the cucumber. Combine the lime zest and juice with the mayonnaise.
3|Cook the shrimps on the grill for 2–4 minutes. Either thread the seafood onto wooden skewers or place them in an oiled grill dish. Reserve the remainder of the marinade. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
4|Cover the bottom halves of the buns with 1 teaspoon of lime mayonnaise. Arrange the cucumber slices over the rolls and season with salt and pepper. Add the rocket and sprinkle over the remainder of the marinade. Arrange the shrimps over the salad. Wash and shake dry the chervil. Pluck the chervil leaves off the stalks and garnish the burgers with them. Top with the second halves of the buns.
Goes with
ROUILLE
Per portion approx.:
333 kcal/1393 kJ
12 g P 43 g F 10 g CH
1 yellow pepper
1 tbsp olive oil
2 slices dry baguette
1 fresh red chilli pepper
2 garlic cloves
salt
1 tbsp white wine
250 g mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
First slice the pepper in half lengthwise, then deseed, wash, dry and dice. Heat the olive oil in a pan and sauté the pepper for about 3 minutes. Cut the crusts off the baguette and soak in water. Afterwards squeeze out gently and place in a bowl. Halve and deseed the chilli pepper, then wash and cut into thin slices. Peel and chop the garlic cloves. Purée the pepper, chilli and garlic in a blender with a little salt. Add the bread and white wine and fold in. Stir this creamy paste into the mayonnaise. You can add a little more bread if the mixture is too thin.
SALMON BURGERS
WITH SPINACH
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 40 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
780 kcal/3264 kJ
48 g P 35 g F 48 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
2 stale bread rolls
approx. 200 ml lukewarm milk
600 g salmon fillet
1 finely chopped onion
1 tbsp chopped curly-leafed parsley
1 tsp chopped tarragon leaves
1–2 eggs
grated potato if required
salt
freshly ground pepper
breadcrumbs
TOPPINGS
600 g baby spinach leaves
salt
1 garlic clove
100 g freshly grated Parmesan
big pinch of nutmeg
freshly ground pepper
4 sorrel leaves
4 tsp mayonnaise (recipe on page 20)
1|Dice the bread roll, soak in the milk and squeeze out well. Chop or thinly slice the salmon fillet. Put the roll and fish in a bowl with the other ingredients except for the seasoning and breadcrumbs, and combine well. Add a little water, another egg or a little grated potato and work in if the mixture is too dry. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and carefully coat in the breadcrumbs. Grill the patties on each side for about 2–4 minutes, turning carefully. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, pick over and wash the spinach. Blanche in a little salted water for 3–5 minutes. Drain, then squeeze out well. Peel the garlic and crush into the spinach. Add the Parmesan and combine well. Season with nutmeg, salt and pepper. Wash and shake dry the sorrel, then cut into thin strips.
4|Spread 1 teaspoon of mayonnaise over the bottoms of the buns. Arrange the spinach over the top. Place 1 patty on each bun and garnish with the sorrel strips. Top with the second halves of the buns.
Goes with
APPLE AND
HORSERADISH DIP
Per portion approx.:
131 kcal/548 kJ
2 g P 10 g F 9 g CH
1 small tart apple
2 tbsp lime juice
1 tbsp freshly grated horseradish
100 g plain yoghurt
100 g crème fraîche
1 tbsp chopped walnuts
1 tbsp finely chopped basil leaves
salt
freshly ground pepper
Peel and core the apple, and grate to a pulp. Sprinkle over the lime juice immediately to prevent the apple from turning brown. Add the remainder of the ingredients apart from the seasoning. Combine well, and season to taste.
FISH BURGERS
WITH DILL DRESSING
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
651 kcal/2724 kJ
42 g P 26 g F 51 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
2 stale bread rolls
approx. 200 ml lukewarm milk
600 g pollock fillet
1 finely chopped onion
1 tbsp chopped curly-leafed parsley
1 tsp chopped tarragon leaves
1–2 eggs
grated potato if required
salt
freshly ground pepper
breadcrumbs
TOPPINGS
punnet of watercress
½ cucumber
1 red onion
100 g light soured cream
2 tbsp chopped dill
dash of lemon juice
salt
freshly ground pepper
1|Dice the bread rolls and soak in the milk for 10 minutes, then squeeze out well. Mince the fish in a mincer or purée in a blender (not too finely). Put all the ingredients except the seasoning and the breadcrumbs in a bowl, and combine well. Add a little water, another egg or a little grated potato and work in if the mixture is too dry. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and gently coat in the breadcrumbs. Grill carefully on each side for about 3–4 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, trim the watercress, then wash, dry and chop. Peel and slice the cucumber. Peel and slice the onion. Combine the soured cream and dill, and season with lemon juice, salt and pepper.
4|Arrange a little of the watercress over the bottom halves of the buns and place the patties on top. Arrange the cucumber and onion slices on top, and finish with the watercress. Spoon the dill dressing over the top. Place the top halves of the buns on the watercress.
VEGGIES
We recommend cooking vegetarian patties (about 2 cm thick) over direct medium heat for about 3–4 minutes on each side, depending on the ingredients in your patties, of course.
Basil, savoury, cayenne pepper, chilli, curry, tarragon, garlic, coriander, cumin, caraway, bay leaves, nutmeg, oregano, paprika, parsley and rosemary are just a few of the herbs and spices that will add the necessary flavour.
WILD GARLIC BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES
Per portion approx.:
1033 kcal/4322 kJ
39 g P 80 g F 39 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
400 g halloumi
1 red chilli pepper
1 sprig rosemary
4 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp lemon juice
2 garlic cloves
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
1 aubergine
1 courgette
2 red onions
For the wild garlic pesto:
bunch of wild garlic
50 g ground almonds
50 g freshly grated Parmesan
100 ml olive oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
1|To make the pesto, wash the wild garlic, then shake dry and cut into thin strips. Dry-fry the almonds in a small pan. Purée the wild garlic, almonds, olive oil and Parmesan in a mortar and pestle. Alternatively, you can purée them in a blender. Season with salt and pepper.
2|Cut the halloumi in half lengthwise. Slit open and deseed the chilli, then wash and finely chop. Wash and shake dry the rosemary, and chop the needles. Combine the chilli, rosemary and oil, then stir in the lemon juice. Peel the garlic cloves and crush into the marinade. Season with salt and pepper.
3|To make the toppings, wash and wipe dry the aubergine and courgette, then trim and cut into slices. Peel and thinly slice the onions.
4|Brush half the marinade over both sides of the halloumi slices. Use the remaining half for the avocado and courgette slices. Place the cheese and vegetables on the grill, cook on both sides for 4–6 minutes until brown.
5|Halve the buns and brush half the wild garlic pesto over the bottom halves. Arrange the aubergine and courgette slices over them. Place 1 slice of halloumi on each, drizzle over the remainder of the pesto, garnish with the onion rings. Top with the other halves of the buns.
VEGGIE BURGERS
WITH HERB DIP
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES (PLUS SOAKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
416 kcal/1741 kJ
21 g P 13 g F 92 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
1 tbsp oil
1 finely chopped onion
150 g green spelt
vegetable stock for soaking
1 carrot
2 tbsp chopped parsley
1–2 eggs
grated potato if required
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
4 large lettuce leaves
2 tomatoes
½ bunch radishes
1 red onion
4 tbsp ketchup (recipe on page 22)
1|Heat the oil in a pan and fry the onions until glassy. Add the spelt and vegetable stock. Leave the spelt to absorb the liquid for about 10 minutes, then cool. Meanwhile, trim, peel and finely grate the carrot. Add the carrot, parsley and 1 egg to the cooled spelt and combine well. Add a little water, another egg or a little grated potato and work in if the mixture is too dry. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 6 minutes.
3|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Wash, trim and slice the tomatoes and radishes. Peel and slice the onion.
4|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with ketchup and arrange the lettuce leaves on top. Arrange the patties and the slices tomatoes, radishes and onion on the buns. Top with the other halves of the buns, and secure each one with a wooden cocktail stick.
Goes with
HERB DIP
Per portion approx.:
214 kcal/895 kJ
8 g P 19 g F 3 g CH
200 g full-fat cream cheese
100 g cream quark
4 tbsp chopped herbs (e. g. chives, chervil, tarragon)
1 tbsp lemon juice
salt
freshly ground pepper
Combine the cream cheese, quark and herbs well, and season with lemon juice, salt and pepper.
VEGGIE BURGERS
WITH POINTED CABBAGE
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES (PLUS SOAKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
503 kcal/2105 kJ
18 g P 18 g F 67 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
150 g bulgur wheat
vegetable stock for soaking
1 medium carrot
1 finely chopped onion
1 garlic clove
1 tbsp flour
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
1 tbsp chopped flat-leafed parsley
1–2 eggs
grated potato if required
1 tsp ground coriander
salt
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
50 g sesame seeds
150 g pointed cabbage
1 carrot
2 tbsp rice vinegar
1 tbsp sesame oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
½ cucumber
4 tbsp ketchup (recipe on page 22)
1|Soak the bulgur wheat in stock in accordance with the packet instructions. Trim, peel and finely grate the carrot. Put the bulgur, slightly cooled, in a bowl with the carrot and chopped onion. Peel the garlic and crush over it. Add the flour, breadcrumbs, parsley and whisked egg, and knead. Add a little water, another egg or a little grated potato and work in if the mixture is too dry. Season to taste.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, dry-fry the sesame seeds in a pan. Trim and wash the cabbage, then dry and cut into thin slices. Peel and grate the carrot. Make a dressing with the vinegar, oil, salt and pepper, and stir into the cabbage and carrot. Fold the sesame seeds into the salad. Peel and slice the cucumber.
4|Spread ketchup over the bottom halves of the buns. Place the patties on top, and arrange the sliced cucumber and cabbage over them. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
CHICKPEA BURGERS
WITH BEAN AND CHILLI SALSA
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
912 kcal/3816 kJ
36 g P 22 g F 143 g CH
BUNS
1 pitta bread with sesame
PATTIES
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 finely chopped garlic clove
1 finely chopped shallot
1 green chilli, deseeded and finely chopped
big pinch of garam masala
big pinch of ground turmeric
1 tsp ground cumin seed
500 ml vegetable stock
250 g pumpkin (prepared weight)
200 g chickpeas (can)
2 tbsp roasted chickpea flour
handful of roughly chopped coriander
2 tbsp breadcrumbs, sea salt
TOPPINGS
2 tbsp olive oil
1 finely chopped onion
2 finely chopped garlic cloves
1 red pepper, deseeded and finely chopped
1 can kidney beans (approx. 400 g)
1 can chopped tomatoes (approx. 400 g)
2 tbsp roughly chopped coriander leaves
2 tbsp cumin seeds
1 tbsp ground chilli plus a little extra for sprinkling
2 peeled beetroot
4 tbsp traditional soured cream
1|Heat the oil in a pan and sauté the garlic, diced shallot and chilli until soft. Add the garam masala, turmeric and cumin, and cook for a few seconds, set aside.
2|Bring the vegetable stock to the boil. Dice the pumpkin and cook in the stock, then add the chickpeas and cook for a few more minutes. Drain and blend, but not too finely. Add the flour, coriander, breadcrumbs and the contents of the pan. Combine thoroughly, then check the seasoning.
3|With moist hands, shape into patties, using a little more breadcrumbs if necessary, then grill carefully for 2–3 minutes on both sides. Cut the pitta bread into quarters, then open out the quarters and toast on the grill.
4|For the toppings, heat the olive oil in a pan, and sauté the onion, garlic and pepper until soft. Add the beans, tomatoes and seasoning, and simmer until smooth and velvety. Add a little water if required, mash lightly, season well. Cut the beetroot into very thin slices.
5|Spread the bean and chilli salsa generously over the bottom halves of the pitta bread, and put the patties on top. Cover with the sliced beetroot and spoon a large dollop of soured cream on top. Sprinkle with chilli powder. Top with the remaining pieces of bread.
Goes well with nachos (recipe on page 17).
ASIAN LENTIL BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
376 kcal/1573 kJ
17 g P 14 g F 54 g CH
BUNS
4 wheat buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
300 g red lentils
1 tbsp oil
1 finely chopped onion
1–2 eggs
1 tsp freshly grated ginger
1 tsp cumin seeds
salt
freshly ground pepper
30–50 g wheat bran
grated potato if required
TOPPINGS
1 romaine lettuce heart
2 spring onions
½ red chilli pepper
2 tbsp lime juice
2 tbsp soy sauce
½ cucumber
coriander leaves for garnishing
1|Cook the lentils in accordance with the packet instructions, then drain and leave to cool. Heat the oil in a small pan and sauté the chopped onion until soft, then add to the lentils with 1 egg and the seasoning. Slowly add the wheat bran to the lentils until the mixture is firm enough to shape patties. Add a little water, another egg or a little grated potato and work in if the mixture is too dry. Check the seasoning, and add more if required.
2|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and carefully grill on each side for about 4–5 minutes. Halve the burger buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
3|To make the toppings, trim, wash and dry the romaine lettuce and cut into strips. Trim and wash the spring onions, and cut the white sections into thin rings. Deseed and wash the chilli pepper and chop into small pieces. Combine the lime juice and soy sauce, and combine with the other ingredients apart from the cucumber and coriander. Peel and slice the cucumber.
4|Arrange the sliced cucumber on the bottom halves of the buns and place the patties on top. Loosely place more cucumber slices and the salad on top of the patties. Garnish with coriander leaves. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
Goes with
TOMATO AND
CORIANDER DIP
Per portion approx.:
47 kcal/197 kJ
1 g P 3 g F 3g CH
4 tomatoes
10 coriander stalks
1 finely chopped onion
2 finely chopped garlic cloves
1 tbsp sesame oil
salt
freshly ground pepper
Pour boiling water over the tomatoes, then skin, deseed and chop into small pieces. Pull the leaves off the coriander stalks and chop finely. Combine the tomatoes, coriander, chopped tomato and garlic, and pour over the sesame oil. Season with salt and pepper.
PEANUT BUTTER BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 35 MINUTES (PLUS SOAKING AND COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
481 kcal/2013 kJ
19 g P 18 g F 61 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
150 g bulgur wheat
vegetable stock for soaking
1 onion
2 tbsp butter
200 g peas (jar)
salt
pinch of sugar
1 tbsp flour
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
1 tbsp chopped flat-leafed parsley
1–2 eggs
grated potato if required
freshly ground pepper
TOPPINGS
400 g rocket
1 large beef tomato
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp raspberry vinegar
salt
freshly ground pepper
4 tbsp crunchy peanut butter
1|Soak the bulgur wheat in stock in accordance with the packet instructions. Peel and finely chop the onion. Melt the butter in a saucepan, sauté the onion until glassy. Stir in the peas, salt and sugar. Pour over a little water and simmer for about 10 minutes. Drain the water.
2|Combine the bulgur, peas, flour, breadcrumbs, parsley and beaten egg in a bowl. Add a little water, another egg or a little grated potato and work in if the mixture is too dry. Season to taste.
3|With damp hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties and brown on the grill for about 10 minutes, turning carefully. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
4|For the toppings, wash, dry and finely chop the rocket. Wash and slice the tomato, cut out the stalk. Make a light dressing with the oil, vinegar and seasoning.
5|Spread the bottom halves of the buns with peanut butter and arrange the rocket leaves on top. Drizzle a little dressing over the salad. Place the patties on top, and arrange the tomato slices over them. Top with the remaining halves of the buns.
Goes with
HOT CHEESE
DIP
Per portion approx.:
140 kcal/586 kJ
3 g P 14 g F 1 g CH
5 fresh red chilli peppers
2 garlic cloves
salt
6 tbsp coarsely grated Parmesan
1 tsp lime juice
1 tsp finely chopped coriander leaves
4 tbsp olive oil
Cut open the chilli peppers and remove the seeds, then wash and dry them and chop them very small. Put in a mortar and pestle or blender. Peel and roughly chop the garlic cloves and add to the chillies with a little salt. Blend until smooth. Add the cheese, lime juice and chopped coriander. Whisking hard, gradually stir in the olive oil to make a smooth, well-blended mixture.
ROQUEFORT BURGERS
FOR 4 PORTIONS
PREPARATION TIME: APPROX. 30 MINUTES (PLUS SOAKING AND COOKING TIME)
Per portion approx.:
734 kcal/3071 kJ
29 g P 43 g F 55 g CH
BUNS
4 rye buns (recipe on page 15)
PATTIES
30 g dried soy beans
1 red onion
1 medium carrot
80 g Roquefort
60 g ground almonds
1 tbsp chickpea flour
4 tbsp breadcrumbs
1 tbsp sesame seeds
1 egg
1 tsp ground cumin seed
1 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp ground coriander
salt
freshly ground pepper
2 tbsp olive oil
TOPPINGS
4 frisée lettuce leaves
2 pears
150 g Roquefort
100 g plain yoghurt
2 tbsp crème fraîche
1 tsp lemon juice
salt
freshly ground pepper
1|Soak the soy beans in cold water for 24 hours, then rinse and drain well. Alternatively, you can also use canned soy beans (approx. 100 g), which do not require soaking or cooking.
2|Put the beans in a large saucepan and cover with water, then simmer over a low heat for about 1 hour 30 minutes until soft. Pour off the water, then rinse the beans and leave to drain.
3|Peel and finely chop the onion, and trim, peel and finely grate the carrot. Roughly chop the beans, onion, carrot, cheese and almonds in a blender. Combine in a bowl with all the other ingredients except the seasoning and olive oil. Season to taste.
4|With moist hands, shape the mixture into 4 patties. Brush on both sides with the olive oil and brown on the grill for about 10 minutes, turning carefully. Halve the buns and toast the cut surfaces over the grill for a few moments.
5|To make the toppings, wash and shake dry the lettuce leaves. Peel and quarter the pears, then cut out the cores and slice the flesh. Crush the cheese with a fork, and combine with the yoghurt, crème fraîche and lemon juice. Season to taste.
6|Put 1 lettuce leaf on each bottom half of a bun. Place the patties on top and garnish with the pear slices. Spread over the Roquefort cream. Place the top halves of the buns on top, and secure with small wooden skewers.
More recipes for your barbecue!
Party Food
Our 100 top recipes presented in one cookbook
ISBN 978-3-8155-8767-6
Sauces and Dips
Our 100 top recipes presented in one cookbook
ISBN 978-3-8155-8760-7
Entertaining with Friends
Our 100 top recipes presented in one cookbook
ISBN 978-3-8155-8783-6
Tapas
Our 100 top recipes presented in one cookbook
ISBN 978-3-8155-8765-2
Eating Outdoors
Barbecues, picnics and summer parties
ISBN 978-3-8155-8752-2
Vegetarian Cooking
Enjoying fresh ingredients
ISBN 978-3-8155-8751-5
- Dec 13 Wed 2023 14:15
Best-Ever Burgers
Welcome
Dear Friend,
Whether broiled, grilled, open-faced or stuffed, there’s no wrong way to eat a burger...they’re always a treat! That’s why we’ve gathered all of our tastiest, tried & true burger recipes for you in this convenient collection.
Best-Ever Cheddar Burgers, Mini Onion Burgers and Delicious Patty Melts are all family favorites. Try Black Bean Burgers and Irene’s Portabella Burgers for a meatless twist, or Crunchy Chicken Burgers for something deliciously different.
We’ve included recipes to make your own burger toppings like Garden-Fresh Catsup and Quick Hot & Sweet Mustard...even whip up a batch of Homemade Burger Buns. So fire up the grill, turn on the oven or grill and discover heaven on a bun!
We’ll take ours with everything!
Jo Ann & Vickie
Gooseberry Patch
2545 Farmers Dr., #380
Columbus, OH 43235
www.gooseberrypatch.com
1-800-854-6673
Copyright 2014, Gooseberry Patch 978-1-62093-151-6
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Do you have a tried & true recipe…
tip, craft or memory that you’d like to see featured in a Gooseberry Patch cookbook? Visit our website at www.gooseberrypatch.com, register and follow the easy steps to submit your favorite family recipe. Or send them to us at:
Gooseberry Patch
Attn: Cookbook Dept.
2545 Farmers Dr., #380
Columbus, OH 43235
Don’t forget to include the number of servings your recipe makes, plus your name, address, phone number and email address. If we select your recipe, your name will appear right along with it…and you’ll receive a FREE copy of the cookbook!
Bestest Burger Ever
Makes 6 sandwiches
2 lbs. ground beef
1 onion, chopped
1 t. salt
1 t. pepper
1 t. dried basil
1/3 c. teriyaki sauce
1/4 c. Italian seasoned bread crumbs
1 T. grated Parmesan cheese
6 slices American cheese
6 onion rolls, split
Mix together beef, onion, salt, pepper and basil. Add teriyaki sauce, bread crumbs and Parmesan cheese; mix well. Divide into 6 patties. Grill to desired doneness; top with American cheese. Serve on onion rolls.
Juicy burgers start with ground beef chuck. A little fat in the beef adds flavor...there’s no need to pay more for extra-lean ground sirloin!
Italian Hamburgers
Makes 12 to 14 servings
2 to 3 slices bacon, crisply cooked and crumbled
3 lbs. ground beef
0.7-oz. pkg. Italian salad dressing mix
2 eggs, beaten
1 c. Italian-flavored dry bread crumbs
1 c. shredded mozzarella cheese
12 to 14 hamburger buns, split
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except buns. Mix well and form into 12 to 14 patties. Grill to preferred doneness. Serve on buns.
Tuck burgers into the pockets of halved pita rounds...easy for small hands to hold and a tasty change from the same old hamburger buns.
Mini Onion Burgers
Makes 12 to 15 servings
1 red onion, sliced
1 lb. lean ground beef
1/4 t. salt
1/8 t. pepper
12 to 15 small potato rolls, split
6 T. mayonnaise
2 T. Dijon mustard
1/2 to 1 t. cayenne pepper
Optional: mustard, catsup or mayonnaise
Preheat a flat-top grill pan over high heat. Add onion and cook until tender, about 10 minutes; remove to a bowl. In a separate bowl, mix beef, salt and pepper. Form into small patties, about 2 inches across. Add patties to grill pan; cook 3 to 4 minutes per side. For Special Sauce, mix mayonnaise, mustard and cayenne pepper in a small bowl. Serve patties on buns with grilled onion, Special Sauce and other toppings, if desired.
Savor sweet onions when they’re in season from April to August! Often named for the region where they’re grown, like Vidalia, Walla Walla, Maui Sweets and Bermuda, sweet onions are mild, crisp and especially delicious eaten uncooked on grilled burgers, sandwiches and tossed salads.
Best-Ever Cheddar Burgers
Serves 4
1 to 1-1/2 lbs. ground turkey
4 green onions, finely chopped
1/3 c. fresh parsley, chopped
1 T. grill seasoning
1 t. poultry seasoning
2 T. oil
1 Granny Smith apple, cored and thinly sliced
8 slices Cheddar cheese
1/4 c. whole-berry cranberry sauce
2 T. spicy brown mustard
4 buns, split and toasted
8 leaves green leaf lettuce
Combine turkey, onions, parsley and seasonings; form into 4 patties. Heat oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add patties and cook 5 minutes per side, or until no longer pink in the center. Arrange 2 to 3 apple slices and 2 cheese slices over each patty. Remove skillet from heat; cover to let cheese melt. Blend cranberry sauce and mustard together; spread on cut sides of buns. Add lettuce and burgers; close sandwiches.
Slip your hands inside 2 plastic bags when shaping ground beef into burgers...no more messy hands!
Irene’s Portabella Burgers
Serves 4
4 portabella mushroom caps
1 c. Italian salad dressing
4 sourdough buns, split
4 slices Muenster or Gruyère cheese
Garnish: romaine lettuce
Combine mushrooms and salad dressing in a plastic zipping bag, turning to coat. Chill 30 minutes, turning occasionally. Remove mushrooms, discarding dressing. Grill mushrooms, covered with grill lid, over medium heat for 2 to 3 minutes on each side. Grill buns, cut-side down, one minute, or until toasted. Top buns with mushroom, cheese and lettuce; serve immediately.
Store unwashed, dry mushrooms in the refrigerator. The mushrooms will stay fresher longer if they’re placed in a paper bag rather than a plastic bag.
Deviled Hamburgers
Makes 4 servings
1 lb. ground beef
2 T. catsup
1 T. onion, chopped
2 t. mustard
1 t. red steak sauce
1 t. seasoned salt
1/2 t. pepper
4 hamburger buns, split
In the morning, mix together all ingredients except buns; form into 4 patties. Cover and refrigerate until evening. Cook to desired doneness as you prefer by frying in a skillet, or grilling on a countertop grill or an outdoor grill. Serve burgers on buns.
Make a quick condiment kit for your next backyard barbecue. Just place salt, pepper, mustard, catsup, flatware and napkins in an empty cardboard pop carrier...so easy!
Bacon-Stuffed Burgers
Makes 8 servings
4 slices bacon, crisply cooked, crumbled and drippings reserved
1/4 c. onion, chopped
4-oz. can mushroom pieces, drained and diced
1 lb. ground beef
1 lb. ground pork sausage
1/4 c. grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 t. pepper
1/2 t. garlic powder
2 T. steak sauce
8 sandwich buns, split
Optional: lettuce
Heat 2 tablespoons reserved drippings in a skillet over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until tender. Add cooked bacon and mushrooms; heat through and set aside. Combine beef, sausage, cheese, pepper, garlic powder and steak sauce in a large bowl. Shape into 16 thin patties. Spoon bacon mixture over 8 patties. Place remaining patties on top and press edges tightly to seal. Grill over medium coals to desired doneness. Serve on buns with lettuce, if desired.
Traveling a distance to your cookout site? Wrap and freeze burgers or marinated meat before packing in an ice chest. The frozen meat will help keep other items cold and will thaw in time for grilling.
Gobblin’ Good Turkey Burgers
Makes 4 to 6 sandwiches
1 lb. ground turkey
1 onion, minced
1 c. shredded Cheddar cheese
1/4 c. Worcestershire sauce
1/2 t. dry mustard
salt and pepper to taste
4 to 6 hamburger buns, split
Combine all ingredients except buns; form into 4 to 6 patties. Grill to desired doneness; serve on hamburger buns.
For the juiciest foods, flip grilled burgers with a spatula and turn steaks or chicken with tongs, not a fork. The holes a fork makes will let the juices escape.
Prosciutto Burgers
Makes 6 burgers
1 to 1-1/2 lbs. ground beef
1/2 c. dry bread crumbs
1 to 2 t. dried parsley
1 egg, beaten
2 T. milk
1/2 c. grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 c. sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
3/4 t. salt
3/4 t. pepper
6 slices prosciutto ham
1/4 c. olive oil
6 hamburger buns, split
6 slices tomato
Garnish: grated Parmesan cheese
In a large bowl, mix together beef, bread crumbs, parsley, egg, milk, cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, salt and pepper. Form mixture into 6 patties. Wrap each patty with a slice of prosciutto. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Fry patties in oil for 3 to 4 minutes per side, until prosciutto is crisp and burgers reach desired doneness. Serve each burger on a bun, topped with a slice of tomato and sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.
Hollowed-out peppers make garden-fresh servers for catsup, relish and mustard! Just cut a slice off the bottom so they’ll sit flat.
Norma’s BBQ Sauce
Makes 13 one-quart bottles
6 c. onions, chopped
3 c. margarine
12-oz. pkg. all-purpose flour
6 c. vinegar
1/4 c. hot pepper sauce
4 qts. water
1-1/4 c. Worcestershire sauce
2-1/2 t. pepper
8 qts. catsup
1 c. chili powder
1-1/2 lbs. brown sugar
1 c. mustard
13 1-quart catsup bottles and lids, sterilized
In a large skillet over medium heat, cook together onions and margarine until warmed through; whisk in flour. Cook until onions are tender; place in a very large stockpot. Add remaining ingredients; increase heat to medium-high and bring to a boil. Pour into sterilized catsup bottles, leaving 1/4-inch headspace; wipe rims. Secure with sterilized lids; set aside to cool to room temperature. May keep in the freezer up to one year; thaw to use.
Use a length of jute to tie a basting brush to the top of a jar of Norma’s BBQ Sauce, then slip the jar into an oven mitt or apron pocket...so clever!
Spicy Butter Bean Burgers
Serves 4
15-oz. can butter beans or lima beans, drained
1/2 c. onion, chopped
1 T. jalapeño pepper, finely chopped and seeds removed
6 to 8 saltine crackers, crushed
1 egg, beaten
1/2 c. shredded Cheddar cheese
1/4 t. garlic powder
salt and pepper to taste
olive oil for frying
4 whole-wheat sandwich buns, split
Mash beans in a bowl; mix in remaining ingredients except oil and buns. Form into 4 patties. Add 1/4 inch oil to a skillet over medium-high heat. Fry patties until golden, about 5 minutes per side, turning carefully. If baking is preferred, place patties on a greased baking sheet; bake at 400 degrees for 7 to 10 minutes per side. Serve on buns.
When making any dish with hot jalapeño peppers, it’s always a good idea to wear plastic gloves to avoid irritation while cutting, slicing and chopping. Don’t touch your face, lips or eyes while you’re working! Just toss away the gloves when you’re done.
All-In-One Bacon Cheeseburgers
Makes 6 servings
1-1/2 lbs. lean ground beef
1-oz. pkg. ranch salad dressing mix
3-oz. jar bacon bits
8-oz. pkg. finely shredded Italian-blend cheese
6 hamburger buns, split
Place beef in a large bowl. Mix in remaining ingredients, one at a time, except buns. Form into 6 patties. Grill burgers for 3 to 4 minutes per side, or to desired doneness. Serve on buns.
Charcoal or gas? Every cookout chef has her own definite opinion. A good rule of thumb: charcoal is for taste and gas is for haste.
Crunchy Chicken Burgers
Serves 4 to 6
1 lb. ground chicken
1/4 c. honey barbecue sauce
3/4 c. mini shredded wheat cereal, crushed
1 egg, beaten
1/8 t. salt
1/8 t. pepper
4 to 6 hamburger buns, split
Mix all ingredients together except buns; form into 4 to 6 patties. Grill for 5 to 6 minutes per side, until no longer pink in the center. Serve on buns.
A big shaker of seasoning salt is a must-have for tasty grilling. Mix up your very own blend! A good basic mixture is a teaspoon each of salt, pepper, garlic powder and oregano or rosemary. Like it spicy? Add some cayenne pepper or dry mustard.
Aloha Burgers
Serves 4
8-oz. can pineapple slices, drained and juice reserved
3/4 c. teriyaki sauce
1 lb. ground beef
1 T. butter, softened
4 hamburger buns, split
4 slices Swiss cheese
4 slices bacon, crisply cooked
4 leaves lettuce
1 red onion, sliced
Stir together reserved pineapple juice and teriyaki sauce in a small bowl. Place pineapple slices and 3 tablespoons juice mixture into a plastic zipping bag. Turn to coat; set aside. Shape ground beef into 4 patties and spoon remaining juice mixture over top; set aside. Spread butter on buns; set aside. Grill patties over medium-high heat to desired doneness, turning to cook on both sides. Place buns on grill, cut-side down, to toast lightly. Remove pineapple slices from plastic bag; place on grill and heat through until lightly golden, about one minute per side. Serve burgers on buns topped with pineapple, cheese, bacon, lettuce and onion.
Light and fizzy...the perfect drink for a cookout! Combine one cup sugar, 6 cups chilled pineapple juice and one cup lime juice. Stir in 2 liters sparkling water and serve over crushed ice.
Garlic & Mustard Burgers
Serves 4
1 lb. ground beef
3 T. country-style Dijon mustard
5 garlic cloves, chopped
4 hamburger buns, split
4 Monterey Jack cheese slices
7-oz. jar roasted red peppers, drained
Mix together beef, mustard and garlic. Shape into 4 patties about 3/4-inch thick. Cover and grill patties for 12 to 15 minutes total, to desired doneness. Top burgers with cheese and peppers.
Don’t toss that almost-empty Dijon mustard jar! Use it to mix up a zesty salad dressing. Pour 3 tablespoons olive oil, 2 tablespoons cider vinegar and a clove of minced garlic into the jar, replace the lid and shake well. Add salt and pepper to taste. Drizzle over mixed greens...so refreshing.
Incredible Mini Burger Bites
Makes 24 mini sandwiches
2 lbs. lean ground beef
1-1/2 oz. pkg. onion soup mix
2 eggs, beaten
1/2 c. dry bread crumbs
3 T. water
1/2 t. garlic salt
1 t. pepper
24 dinner rolls, split
6 slices American cheese, quartered
Garnish: catsup, mustard, shredded lettuce, thinly sliced onion, dill pickles
In a bowl, mix beef, soup mix, eggs, bread crumbs, water and spices; refrigerate for one hour. Spread beef mixture on a greased 15”x10” jelly-roll pan. Cover with plastic wrap and roll out evenly with a rolling pin. Discard plastic wrap; bake at 400 degrees for 12 minutes. Slice into 24 squares with a pizza cutter. Top each roll with a burger square, a cheese slice and desired garnishes.
Mini burgers are fun for parties...thriftier than full-size sandwiches too, since everyone can take just what they want! Use mini brown & serve rolls for buns.
Bean & Chile Burgers
Makes 4 servings
16-oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed
11-oz. can corn, drained
4-oz. can green chiles
1 c. cooked rice
1/2 c. cornmeal
1 t. onion powder
1/4 t. garlic powder
salt to taste
2 T. oil
4 sandwich buns, split
Optional: salsa
Mash beans in a large bowl; add corn, chiles, rice, cornmeal, onion powder and garlic powder. Form mixture into 4 large patties; sprinkle with salt. Heat oil in a skillet over medium heat; add patties and cook until golden on both sides. Serve on buns, topped with salsa, if desired.
No more flimsy paper plates at the next potluck...they’ll fit nice and snug inside a plastic flying disc. After lunch, it makes a terrific gift for everyone to take home!
Beverly’s Bacon Burgers
Makes 14 servings
3 lbs. ground beef
2 potatoes, peeled and chopped
4 carrots, peeled and grated
1 onion, grated
2 eggs, beaten
1-1/2 t. garlic, minced
1 to 2 t. dried parsley
1 t. salt
pepper to taste
14 slices bacon
14 sandwich buns, split
Mix together all ingredients except bacon and buns; form into 14 patties. Wrap a bacon slice around each patty and secure with a wooden toothpick. Grill or broil to desired doneness. Serve on buns.
Help the kids set up a summertime lemonade stand! Make a booth from old appliance boxes or push two card tables together...neighbors will line up to enjoy icy glasses of freshly-squeezed lemonade!
Diner-Style Burgers
Makes 8 servings
2 lbs. ground beef
1 egg, beaten
1 c. onion, finely chopped
1/2 c. shredded Cheddar cheese
2 T. catsup
2 T. evaporated milk
1/2 c. cracker crumbs
salt and pepper to taste
1 c. all-purpose flour
2 to 3 T. oil
10-3/4 oz. can cream of mushroom soup
Mix together beef, egg, onion, cheese, catsup, milk, cracker crumbs, salt and pepper. Shape into 8 patties; dredge in flour. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat; brown patties on both sides. Arrange patties in a slow cooker alternately with soup. Cover and cook on high setting for 3 to 4 hours.
Pick up a stack of diner-style plastic burger baskets. Lined with checked paper napkins, they’re lots of fun for serving burgers, hot dogs and fries. Don’t forget to add a pickle spear!
Mexican Burgers
Makes 5
1 avocado, pitted, peeled and diced
1 plum tomato, diced
2 green onions, chopped
1 to 2 t. lime juice
1-1/4 lbs. ground beef
1 egg, beaten
3/4 c. to 1 c. nacho-flavored tortilla chips, crushed
1/4 c. fresh cilantro, chopped
1/2 t. chili powder
1/2 t. ground cumin
salt and pepper to taste
1-1/4 c. shredded Pepper Jack cheese
5 hamburger buns, split
Mix together avocado, tomato, onions and lime juice; mash slightly and set aside. Combine beef, egg, chips and seasonings in a large bowl. Form into 5 patties; grill to desired doneness, turning to cook on both sides. Sprinkle cheese over burgers; grill until melted. Serve on buns; spread with avocado mixture.
“Fried” ice cream is a festive dessert after Mexican Burgers. Roll scoops of ice cream in a mixture of crushed frosted flake cereal and cinnamon. Garnish with a drizzle of honey and a dollop of whipped topping. They’ll ask for seconds!
Make-Ahead Pizza Burgers
Makes 20 servings
1 lb. ground beef
1 onion, chopped
1/2 green pepper, chopped
2 6-inch pepperoni sticks, ground or finely chopped
16-oz. jar pizza sauce
1 c. shredded mozzarella cheese
4 t. dried oregano or basil
1/8 t. garlic salt
Optional: 4-oz. can sliced mushrooms, drained
1/4 c. butter, softened
20 mini sandwich buns, split
In a skillet over medium heat, brown beef, onion and green pepper; drain. Stir in remaining ingredients except butter and buns; cook for several minutes, until cheese melts. Brush butter over cut sides of buns. Divide beef mixture among the bun bottoms; add tops. Burgers may be served immediately, or wrapped individually in aluminum foil and placed in the freezer. To serve if frozen: thaw in refrigerator overnight. Bake foil-wrapped burgers at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes, until heated through.
If you let raw potatoes sit in a bowl of cold water for half an hour, they’ll be crisper when you whip up a batch of homemade French fries.
Special Hamburger Sauce
Makes 12 servings
1 c. mayonnaise
1/3 c. creamy French salad dressing
1/4 c. sweet pickle relish
1 T. sugar
1 t. dried, minced onion
salt and pepper to taste
Combine all ingredients in a bowl; stir well. Cover and refrigerate up to one week. Serve over grilled burgers.
Serve chilled beverages in old-fashioned Mason jars! Setting the jars inside wire drink carriers makes it easy to tote them from kitchen to picnic table.
Mom’s Turkey Burgers
Makes 4 to 6 servings
1 lb. ground turkey
1 onion, chopped
1 to 2 T. oil
10-3/4 oz. can chicken gumbo soup
2 T. mustard
1 T. catsup
1/2 t. salt
4 to 6 hamburger buns, split
In a skillet over medium heat, brown turkey and onion in oil; drain. Add remaining ingredients except buns. Mix together and cook until heated through. Serve turkey mixture on hamburger buns.
Place browned ground beef or turkey in a colander and run hot water over it. Excess fat will rinse right off with no loss in flavor.
Dagwood Burgers
Makes 12 to 15 sandwiches
2 lbs. lean ground beef
1 lb. ground Italian pork sausage
2 c. dry bread crumbs
1 onion, chopped
1/2 c. barbecue sauce
1 egg, beaten
1.35-oz. pkg. onion soup mix
1 t. jalapeño pepper, diced
salt and pepper to taste
12 to 15 hamburger buns, split
Mix all ingredients except salt, pepper and buns in a very large bowl. Form into 12 to 15 patties; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place on a charcoal grill or in a skillet over medium heat. Cook burgers to desired doneness. Serve on buns.
Put a few extra burgers on the grill, then pop into buns, wrap individually and freeze. Later, just reheat in the microwave for quick meals...they’ll taste freshly grilled!
Hero Burgers
Makes 4 servings
1-1/2 lbs. ground beef
10-3/4 oz. can tomato soup
1/3 c. onion, finely chopped
1 T. mustard
1 T. Worcestershire sauce
1 t. prepared horseradish
1 t. salt
1 loaf French bread, halved lengthwise and toasted
2 tomatoes, sliced
2 c. shredded Cheddar cheese
In a bowl, combine beef, soup, onion, mustard, sauce, horseradish and salt. Spread mixture on bottom half of bread, covering edges completely. Broil 4 to 5 inches from heat source for 10 to 12 minutes. Top with tomatoes and cheese; broil for 5 additional minutes or until cheese is melted. Cover with top half of bread. Cut into 3-inch slices and serve.
Have some hometown fun...turn your dining room into a soda shoppe! Group round tables with vintage-style chairs, then top each table with a checkered table cloth. Give your “customers” whimsical menus featuring dinner specials that include burgers, fries, shakes, malts and sundaes!
Broiled Hamburger Sandwich
Makes 4 servings
1 lb. lean ground beef
8-oz. pkg. shredded Cheddar cheese
1 t. Worcestershire sauce
1 t. browning and seasoning sauce
1 t. salt
4 slices French bread, toasted
In a bowl, combine beef, cheese, sauces and salt; mix well. Spread mixture over one side of each bread slice. Place on an ungreased baking sheet. Broil for about 5 to 8 minutes, until beef is cooked through and cheese is melted.
Remember chocolate colas? Go ahead and treat yourself to this soda-shop specialty...a tall glass of cola with a squirt of chocolate syrup stirred in!
Quick Hot & Sweet Mustard
Makes 1/2 cup
1/3 c. brown mustard seed
3 T. cider vinegar
1 T. olive oil
1/2 t. honey
1/8 t. dried tarragon
Grind mustard seeds in a spice grinder; place in a small mixing bowl. Add remaining ingredients; stir until smooth and thick. Refrigerate in an airtight container until serving.
Honey comes in lots of flavor varieties. Seek out a local beekeeper at the farmers’ market and try a few samples...you may find a new favorite!
Garden-Fresh Catsup
Makes 2, one-quart jars
3 lbs. tomatoes, peeled and chopped
1 onion, peeled and diced
1/2 c. vinegar
1/2 c. sugar
1 t. salt
1 t. paprika
1 t. pepper
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/4 t. ground cloves
1 T. chili sauce
2 one-quart wide-mouth jars
Mix together all ingredients in a large stockpot; bring to a boil and let simmer for 20 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool. Ladle into jars. Store in refrigerator up to 2 weeks.
Need to peel tomatoes in a hurry? Simply drop them into boiling water, then submerge them in cold water...the skins will slip right off.
Country Friends Chili Burgers
Serves 4 to 6
1 lb. ground beef
1 10-1/2 oz. can condensed bean with bacon soup
1/2 c. catsup
1 t. chili powder
4 to 6 buns, split and toasted
Brown beef in large skillet; drain. Stir in soup, catsup and chili powder. Let simmer 5 to 10 minutes, adding water if more “juice” is desired. Spoon onto buns.
Invite friends over for a cookout before the big game. Begin with invitations made of felt in the shape of pennants or use a permanent marker to write party information on small plastic footballs.
Black Bean Turkey Burgers
Makes 6 servings
1-1/4 lbs. ground turkey
3/4 c. canned black beans, drained, rinsed and lightly mashed
1 c. tortilla chips, crushed
1 T. chili powder
1 T. ground cumin
salt and pepper to taste
6 hamburger buns, split
In a large bowl, combine turkey, beans, tortilla chips and seasonings. Mix well and form into 6 patties. Grill over medium-high heat for 6 to 8 minutes per side. Serve burgers on buns, topped with a scoop of Avocado & Onion Slaw.
Avocado & Onion Slaw:
3 T. mayonnaise
1 T. vinegar
1/4 t. salt
1 avocado, halved, pitted and cubed
1/2 c. onion, thinly sliced
Mix together mayonnaise, vinegar and salt until well combined. Stir in avocado and onion.
Don’t put your grill away when summer’s over! Fall can be the greatest time of the year for cookouts...the bugs are gone and the cooler weather makes for perfect outdoor suppers.
7-League Pizza Burger
Makes 5 servings
1 lb. ground beef
1/3 c. grated Parmesan cheese
6-oz. can tomato paste
1 t. dried oregano
1 t. salt
1/8 t. pepper
1 loaf French bread, halved lengthwise
1/4 c. sliced black olives
3 tomatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
5 slices sharp pasteurized process cheese
1/4 c. onion, finely chopped
Combine beef, cheese, tomato paste, oregano, salt and pepper. Spread evenly onto both bread halves. Broil about 5 inches from heat source for 12 minutes, or until beef is no longer pink in the center. Arrange tomato and cheese slices alternately down the center of each half. Broil for an additional one to 2 minutes, until cheese starts to melt. Slice each half into 4 to 5 pieces.
The promise of a savory 7-League Pizza Burger is all it takes to get kids motivated for a service project! The little time it takes to help weed a neighbor’s garden or plant flowers around the chapel pays big rewards...kids learn to give of their time and care for others.
All-American Cheeseburgers
Makes 10 sandwiches
1 lb. ground beef, browned and drained
3 T. catsup
2 t. mustard
2 c. pasteurized process cheese spread, cubed
10 hamburger buns, split
Place beef in a slow cooker; add catsup and mustard, mixing well. Top with cubed cheese. Cover and cook on low setting for 3 to 4 hours. Gently stir beef mixture; spoon onto buns.
A backyard camp-out is a fun summertime get-together for kids...staple a bag of mini marshmallows or trail mix to invitations! Fun activities like a scavenger hunt, shadow puppets, a nighttime flashlight walk and stargazing will be sure to keep the fun going all evening long.
Cheeseburger Roll-Ups
Serves 6 to 8
2 lbs. ground beef
3/4 c. soft bread crumbs
1/2 c. onion, minced
2 eggs, beaten
1-1/2 t. salt
1-1/2 t. pepper
12-oz. pkg. shredded Cheddar cheese
6 to 8 sandwich buns, split
Garnish: catsup, mustard and lettuce
In a large bowl, combine beef, bread crumbs, onion, eggs, salt and pepper; mix well. Pat out into an 18-inch by 14-inch rectangle on a piece of wax paper. Spread cheese over beef mixture, leaving a 3/4-inch border around edges. Roll up jelly-roll fashion starting at short edge. Press ends to seal. Place on a lightly greased 15”x10” jelly-roll pan. Bake at 350 degrees for one hour, or until internal temperature on a meat thermometer reaches 160 degrees. Let stand at least 10 minutes before slicing. Slice and serve on buns; garnish as desired.
Stop pesky ants from crashing your picnic! Sprinkle salt, crushed chalk or talcum powder in a line around the picnic table...they won’t cross that line.
Denise’s Pizza Burgers
Serves 8 to 10
2-1/2 lbs. ground beef
1/4 c. bread crumbs
1 T. dried basil
1 T. Italian seasoning
1/2 t. pepper
10 to 12 slices pepperoni, quartered
1/2 c. shredded mozzarella cheese
8-oz. jar pizza sauce, divided
8 to 10 slices mozzarella or provolone cheese
8 to 10 kaiser rolls, split
In a bowl, mix beef, bread crumbs, seasonings, pepperoni and cheese; add 1/4 cup pizza sauce. Shape into 8 to 10 patties. Grill on a hot grill to desired doneness. Warm remaining pizza sauce. Serve burgers on rolls, topping each with cheese and a spoonful of pizza sauce.
Generally, you should close the cover on the grill when you are cooking large pieces of food or slow grilling; swing the lid open when food is cut up into small chunks or thin pieces.
German Burgers
Serves 6
1-1/2 lbs. ground beef
1/2 c. soft pumpernickel bread crumbs
2 T. beer or beef broth
1 T. mustard
1/2 t. caraway seed
1/2 t. salt
1/8 t. pepper
6 slices Swiss cheese
6 pumpernickel sandwich buns, split
14-1/2 oz. can sauerkraut, drained
Garnish: additional mustard
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except cheese, buns and sauerkraut. Mix gently and form into 6 patties. Grill or pan-fry patties to desired doneness, about 10 to 15 minutes, turning halfway through. Top with cheese; let stand until cheese melts. Grill buns, if desired. Serve burgers on buns; top with sauerkraut and mustard.
A tasty apple coleslaw goes well with German Burgers. Simply toss together a large bag of coleslaw mix and a chopped Granny Smith apple. Stir in coleslaw dressing to desired consistency.
Zesty Onion Relish
Makes 10 to 12 servings
2 lbs. large onions, sliced thick
1/4 c. canola oil
3 T. balsamic vinegar
2 T. brown sugar, packed
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
Lightly brush onion slices on each side with oil. Place onions on grill and cook over low heat for 15 minutes or until tender and golden. Flip onions to brown each side, coating again with oil as needed. Remove onions from grill and allow to cool. Chop onions and set aside. Simmer vinegar and brown sugar in a saucepan over low heat. Cook and stir until sugar has dissolved; pour over onions. Sprinkle cayenne pepper over top and stir again. Serve warm, refrigerating any leftovers.
Only using part of an onion? The remaining half will stay fresh for weeks when rubbed with butter or oil and stored in the refrigerator.
Backyard Big South-of-the-Border Burgers
Makes 6 servings
4-oz. can chopped green chiles, drained
1/4 c. picante sauce
12 round buttery crackers, crushed
4-1/2 t. chili powder
1 T. ground cumin
1/2 t. smoke-flavored cooking sauce
1/2 t. salt
1/2 t. pepper
2 lbs. lean ground beef
1/2 lb. ground pork sausage
6 slices Pepper Jack cheese
6 sesame seed hamburger buns, split
Garnish: lettuce leaves, sliced tomato
In a large bowl, combine first 8 ingredients. Crumble beef and sausage over mixture and mix well. Form into 6 patties. Grill, covered, over medium heat for 5 to 7 minutes on each side, until no longer pink in the center. Top with cheese. Grill until cheese is melted. Grill buns, cut-side down, for one to 2 minutes, until toasted. Serve burgers on buns, garnished as desired.
Hosting a barbecue will guarantee a big turnout of friends & neighbors! Load grills with chicken, ribs, brats, burgers and hot dogs, then ask guests to bring a favorite side dish or dessert to share. Add a game of softball and it’s a winner!
Delicious Patty Melts
Makes 4 servings
2 to 3 T. butter, softened and divided
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 lb. ground beef, formed into 4 thin patties
seasoned salt and pepper to taste
8 slices rye bread
8 slices Swiss cheese
Melt one tablespoon butter in a skillet over medium heat; add onion. Cook for 10 to 15 minutes, until onion is golden and caramelized. Meanwhile, season beef patties with salt and pepper. On a griddle over medium heat, brown patties for about 6 minutes on each side, until no longer pink in center. Wipe griddle clean with a paper towel. Spread remaining butter on one side of each bread slice; place 4 slices butter-side down on hot griddle. Top each bread slice with a cheese slice, a beef patty, 1/4 of onion, another cheese slice and another bread slice, butter-side up. Cook sandwiches over medium-low heat until golden on both sides and cheese is melted, about 5 minutes.
An ice cream social is welcome relief from the summer heat. Set up an ice cream stand with big scoops of ice cream and lots of toppings...nuts, whipped cream, bananas and homemade root beer for creamy floats.
Dad’s Wimpy Burgers
Makes 6 to 8 servings
2 lbs. ground beef
1/2 c. catsup
1 egg, beaten
1 onion, chopped
1 t. salt
1 c. Italian-flavored dry bread crumbs
6 to 8 hamburger buns, split
In a large bowl, combine beef, catsup, egg, onion and salt; mix well. Form into 6 to 8 patties. Place bread crumbs in a shallow pan. Pat each side of patties in crumbs until coated. Place patties in a lightly greased 13”x9” baking pan. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes, flipping patties after 8 minutes. Patties may also be pan-fried in a lightly greased skillet over medium heat. Cook on each side for 6 to 8 minutes, until lightly browned. Serve on buns.
A great gift for Dad! Give a platter of Dad’s Wimpy Burgers with a coupon good for an indoor tailgating party...uninterrupted football coverage complete with his favorite snacks and drinks.
Chicken Burgers
Makes 4 to 6 sandwiches
1 lb. ground chicken
1 onion, chopped
1/8 t. garlic powder
1/4 c. fresh bread crumbs
3 T. chicken broth
1 t. Dijon mustard
1 t. salt-free vegetable seasoning salt
pepper to taste
4 to 6 hamburger buns, split
Combine all ingredients except buns in a large bowl. Stir lightly with a fork until well blended. Shape into 4 to 6 burgers. Heat a lightly oiled skillet over medium heat. Cook burgers in skillet for 6 to 8 minutes per side, until no longer pink in the center. Serve on buns.
Burgers don’t have to be ordinary...try making them with ground turkey, chicken or even ground sausage. Season them with Italian, Mexican, Thai, Southwest or Mediterranean blends easily found at the meat counter.
8 Great Burgers
Makes 8 servings
1 lb. ground beef
1 lb. ground pork sausage
2 T. Worcestershire sauce
1/2 c. grated Parmesan cheese
1/3 t. pepper
8 hamburger buns, split
Garnish: lettuce, sliced tomato, sliced onion
Combine beef, pork, sauce, cheese and pepper in a large bowl. Mix well; form into 8 patties. Grill burgers to desired doneness, about 5 to 6 minutes per side. Serve on buns with favorite toppings.
When burgers, hot dogs, tacos or baked potatoes are on the menu, set up a topping bar with bowls of shredded cheese, catsup or salsa, crispy bacon and other yummy stuff. Everyone can just help themselves to their favorite toppings!
Devilishly Good Burgers
Makes 4 servings
1 lb. ground beef
2 T. catsup
1 T. onion, chopped
2 t. mustard
1 t. red steak sauce
1 t. seasoned salt
1/2 t. pepper
4 hamburger buns, split
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except buns. Mix well; form into 4 burgers. Cover and refrigerate for about 8 hours to allow flavors to blend. Grill or fry burgers to desired doneness. Serve burgers on buns.
Before marinating burgers, chicken or chops, pour some marinade into a plastic squeeze bottle for easy basting while the meat sizzles away on the grill...how clever!
Hamburger “Cupcakes”
Makes one dozen
12 slices white or whole-wheat bread
1/4 to 1/2 c. butter, softened
1 lb. ground beef
1/2 c. onion, chopped
10-3/4 oz. can cream of mushroom soup
1/2 c. shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
salt, pepper and garlic powder to taste
Optional: additional cheese
Cut off the crusts from each bread slice; cut the crusts into cubes and set aside. Spread butter over one side of each bread slice. Press bread, butter-side down, into muffin cups. In a bowl, combine crust cubes and remaining ingredients; mix well. Divide mixture among muffin cups. Top with a little more cheese, if desired. Bake at 375 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes, until no longer pink in the center.
Grill some veggies alongside the meat! Brush olive oil over sliced squash, potatoes, peppers or eggplant and grill until tender and golden. You may be surprised how sweet and delicious they are.
Mom’s Nutty Burgers
Serves 4
3 slices whole-wheat bread, torn
1 c. milk
1 egg
1 slice onion
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 stalk celery, diced
2 c. chopped walnuts
1 t. salt
1/4 c. butter
Optional: 8 buns, split
In a blender, process bread for several seconds until crumbs form. Remove crumbs to a bowl. Add milk, egg, vegetables, nuts and salt to blender. Process about 30 seconds, until chopped. Add to crumbs; mix well and form into 8 patties. Heat butter in a skillet. Cook patties for 5 minutes per side, flipping carefully, until golden. Serve on buns, if desired.
Toasting nuts adds lots of flavor...with no oil needed. Place nuts in a dry skillet over medium heat. Cook and stir until lightly golden, about 3 minutes. Cool completely before adding to recipes.
Brie-Stuffed Burgers
Makes 6 servings
2 lbs. ground turkey
6 cubes Brie cheese, 1”x1”x1/2”
2 T. olive oil, divided
salt and pepper to taste
1 tart apple, cored and thickly sliced crosswise
6 multi-grain rolls, split and toasted
Optional: cranberry mustard
Form turkey into 6 thick patties. Hollow out center of each and place a cheese cube inside; press meat around cheese to cover. Brush one tablespoon oil over burgers; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill over medium-high heat to desired doneness. Brush remaining oil over apple slices; grill (or sauté in a skillet) until golden. Place burgers on rolls; top with apple slices and a dollop of cranberry mustard, if desired.
Stuffed burgers turn ordinary into an extraordinary dinner! Form a thin patty and top with a sprinkle of cheese, roasted garlic, bacon crumbles, salsa or fresh herbs. Place another thin patty on top and carefully seal the edges. Grill as usual and enjoy!
Hamburger Seasoning Mix
Makes 2-1/2 cups
1-1/4 t. pepper
3 T. onion powder
1 T. garlic powder
1 t. salt
1-2/3 c. powdered milk
1/3 c. dried, minced onion
3-1/2 T. beef bouillon granules
2 T. dried parsley
Combine ingredients; store in an airtight container.
To use:
Add one to 2 tablespoons Hamburger Seasoning Mix to one pound ground beef before forming into patties to grill.
Pack some Hamburger Seasoning Mix into a barbecue gift bag! Cut 2 back pockets from a pair of old blue jeans, arrange on the front of a white gift bag and secure with hot glue. Slip a sassy red bandanna in one pocket and a gift card in the other.
Key West Burgers
Serves 4
1 lb. ground beef
3 T. Key lime juice
1/4 c. fresh cilantro, chopped
salt and pepper to taste
hamburger buns, split and toasted
Garnish: lettuce
In a bowl, combine beef, lime juice, cilantro, salt and pepper. Form beef mixture into 4 patties. Spray a large skillet with non-stick vegetable spray. Cook patties over medium heat for 6 minutes. Flip patties, cover skillet and cook for another 6 minutes. Place lettuce on bottom halves of buns and top with patties. Add Creamy Burger Spread onto bun tops and close sandwiches.
Creamy Burger Spread:
8-oz. pkg. cream cheese, softened
8-oz. container sour cream
3 green onion tops, chopped
Combine all ingredients until completely blended. Cover and refrigerate at least 15 minutes.
Need just a dash of lemon or lime juice? Pierce the fruit with an ice pick, squeeze out as much as needed and return it to the refrigerator until next use.
Island Burgers
Makes 6 to 8 sandwiches
1 lb. ground beef
1 lb. ground turkey
Optional: 1.35-oz. pkg. onion soup mix
seasoned salt to taste
6 to 8 hamburger buns, split and toasted
1/2 lb. deli shaved ham, warmed
6 to 8 pineapple slices
1/2 c. French salad dressing
In a bowl, mix together beef and turkey; blend in soup mix, if desired. Form into 6 to 8 burgers. Place on a broiling pan or grill; sprinkle on both sides with seasoned salt. Broil or grill to desired doneness. Serve burgers on toasted buns, topped with ham, a slice of pineapple and a drizzle of salad dressing.
Fruit kabobs are a sweet ending to any meal. Arrange chunks of pineapple and banana, plump strawberries and kiwi slices on skewers. For a creamy dipping sauce, blend together 1/2 cup each of cream cheese and marshmallow creme.
Marty’s Special Burgers
Makes 4 sandwiches
1 lb. lean ground beef
2/3 c. crumbled feta or blue cheese
1/2 c. bread crumbs
1 egg, beaten
1/2 t. salt
1/4 t. pepper
4 to 6 cherry tomatoes, halved
4 hamburger buns, split
Mix together all ingredients except buns; form into 4 burgers. Grill over high heat to desired doneness, flipping to cook on both sides. Serve on buns.
For thick burgers that cook up more quickly and evenly, press your thumb into the center of each patty to form a dime-size hole. The hole will close as the burgers brown.
Spinach Cheeseburgers
Makes 8
2 lbs. ground beef
1 c. shredded mozzarella cheese
1.35-oz. pkg. onion soup mix
10-oz. pkg. frozen chopped spinach, thawed and drained
8 hamburger buns, split and lightly toasted
Combine all ingredients except buns in a large bowl; shape into 8 patties. Grill or broil to desired doneness. Serve on toasted buns.
For a quick & tasty side, slice fresh tomatoes in half and sprinkle with minced garlic, Italian seasoning and grated Parmesan cheese. Broil until tomatoes are tender, about 5 minutes...scrumptious!
Garlic Dill Pickles
Makes 3 jars
9 c. pickling cucumbers, sliced
3 1-quart canning jars and lids, sterilized
3 grape leaves
3 t. dill seed
3 cloves garlic
6 c. white vinegar
3 qts. water
1-1/2 c. salt
Pack cucumbers evenly between sterilized jars, leaving 1/2-inch headspace. To each jar add one grape leaf, one teaspoon dill seed and one clove garlic. Combine remaining ingredients in a large saucepan over medium heat. Cook and stir until hot and salt is dissolved. Pour vinegar evenly into hot sterilized jars, leaving 1/2-inch headspace. Wipe rims; secure with lids and rings. Process in a boiling water bath for 15 minutes; set jars on a towel to cool. Check for seals.
Next time you finish a jar of dill pickles, use the leftover juice to make some crunchy, tangy pickled veggies! Cut up fresh carrots, green peppers, celery and other favorite veggies, add them to the pickle juice and refrigerate for a few days.
Bacon & Blue Cheese Stuffed Burgers
Makes 4 burgers
1-1/2 lbs. ground beef
1 T. Worcestershire sauce
2 T. Dijon mustard
1/2 t. pepper
4 to 6 slices bacon, crisply cooked and crumbled
4-oz. container crumbled blue cheese
4 hamburger buns, split and toasted
Garnish: sliced red onion, sliced tomato, lettuce leaves
Combine beef, Worcestershire sauce, mustard and pepper. Mix lightly and form into 8 1/4-inch thick patties. Stir together bacon and blue cheese; set aside 1/3 of mixture for topping. Spoon remaining mixture onto centers of 4 patties. Top with remaining 4 patties; press edges together to seal. Grill over medium-high heat to desired doneness, 4 to 6 minutes per side, topping with reserved bacon mixture when nearly done. Serve burgers on toasted buns, garnished as desired.
To really speed up any recipe with crisply cooked bacon, purchase pre-cooked bacon. Just snip and add to salads or leave whole for sandwiches and burgers.
Smoky Bacon-Gouda Burgers
Makes 4 servings
1/4 c. onion, finely chopped
6 slices bacon, cut into 1/2-inch pieces, crisply cooked and 1 T. drippings reserved
2 T. olive oil
1-3/4 c. onion, thinly sliced
1/4 c. steak sauce
1-1/2 lbs. ground beef sirloin
2 t. Worcestershire sauce
1 t. hot pepper sauce
1 T. steak seasoning
4 slices smoked Gouda cheese
4 kaiser rolls or onion rolls, split and toasted
Optional: crisply cooked bacon, sliced tomato, lettuce leaves
In a skillet over medium heat, cook chopped onion in reserved drippings until soft, 2 to 3 minutes. Combine with bacon in a small bowl; set aside. Heat oil in skillet; add sliced onion and sauté, covered, until golden, about 10 minutes. Place in another bowl; stir in steak sauce and set aside. In a large bowl, combine beef, remaining sauces, seasoning and onion-bacon mixture; mix lightly and form into 4 patties. Grill over medium-high heat to desired doneness, topping with cheese slices when nearly done. Serve burgers on toasted rolls, topped with sliced onion mixture and other toppings as desired.
Fresh corn on the cob is always a favorite summer side dish. Make buttering ears a snap...add melted butter to a glass tall enough for dipping ears, one at a time.
Grilled Summer Burgers
Makes 4 to 5 sandwiches
1 lb. ground beef
1/2 c. onion, chopped
2 T. green pepper, finely chopped
3 T. catsup
1-1/2 T. prepared horseradish
2 t. mustard
1 t. salt
pepper to taste
4 to 5 hamburger buns, split
Combine all ingredients except buns. Shape into patties. Broil or grill for 5 minutes. Flip patties and cook the other side to desired doneness. Place on buns to serve.
Grill a juicy ripe peach for an easy dessert. Brush peach halves with melted butter and place cut-side down on a hot grill. Cook for several minutes, until tender and golden. Drizzle with honey...delicious!
Nightmares
Makes 8 servings
1 lb. ground beef
1/2 c. onion, chopped
salt and pepper to taste
15-oz. can chili without beans
8 hamburger buns, split
8 slices American cheese
In a skillet over medium heat, brown beef with onion, salt and pepper; drain. Add chili and mix well; remove from heat. Divide the beef mixture among the bun bottoms; top each with a slice of cheese and bun top. Wrap each bun in aluminum foil; place on a baking sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes. May be made in advance and frozen unbaked. To serve, bake frozen sandwiches for about 45 minutes.
A sweet treat for a lazy summer afternoon...ice cream floats! Frosty glasses filled with scoops of vanilla ice cream topped with root beer, red or orange soda will be a hit.
County Fair Maidrites
Makes 20 to 25 servings
5 lbs. ground beef
1/2 c. onion, diced
2 T. salt
2 t. pepper
5 c. catsup
1/3 c. mustard
1/4 c. quick-cooking oats, uncooked
3 T. brown sugar, packed
2-1/2 t. Worcestershire sauce
20 to 25 hamburger buns, split
Brown beef in a very large skillet over medium heat; drain. Add onion, salt and pepper; cook until onion is transparent. Add remaining ingredients except buns; stir and simmer until heated through. Spoon onto buns.
Delight the kids with super-simple ice cream sandwiches! Place a scoop of softened ice cream on the flat bottom of one side of a cookie. Top with another cookie, bottom-side down; press gently. Enjoy right away, or wrap and freeze for up to one week.
Olive Burger Topping
Makes 6 to 10 servings
8-oz. pkg. cream cheese, softened
1 c. sliced green olives with pimentos
6 T. olive juice
1/2 onion, finely chopped
Optional: chopped green chiles to taste
Mix together all ingredients, stirring well to blend in olive juice. Cover and chill at least 2 hours. Serve on grilled burgers as desired.
Keep an eye out for vintage silver spoons at flea markets...oh-so clever tied onto giftable jars of Olive Burger Topping, salsa, mustard or relish.
Black Bean Burgers
Makes 4 sandwiches
15-oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 onion, chopped
1 egg, beaten
1/2 c. dry bread crumbs
1 t. garlic salt
1 t. cayenne pepper
4 whole-wheat buns, split
Garnish: sliced tomatoes, Swiss cheese slices
Place black beans and onion in a food processor; process to a mashed consistency. Transfer to a bowl; mix in egg, bread crumbs and seasonings. Form into 4 burgers; cook on a grill or in a skillet for about 5 minutes on each side, until golden. Serve on buns; garnish as desired.
For a speedy side with Tex-Mex flair, dress up a 16-ounce can of refried beans...it’s easy! Sauté 2 seeded and diced pickled jalapeños, 2 chopped cloves garlic and 1/4 cup chopped onion in 2 tablespoons bacon drippings. Add beans, heat through and stir in 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin.
Alberta Prairie Burgers
Makes 4 to 6 sandwiches
1 lb. ground beef
1/2 c. quick-cooking oats, uncooked
1/4 c. light sour cream
1/4 c. mushrooms, minced
1 onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 T. Dijon mustard
1 T. fresh parsley, chopped
1 t. dried oregano
1 t. dried thyme
1/4 t. salt
1/4 t. pepper
4 to 6 hamburger buns, split
Combine all ingredients except buns; mix lightly, blending well. Form into 4 to 6 patties, one to 2 inches thick. Grill on a lightly oiled grill over medium heat for 5 to 7 minutes per side, flipping once, to desired doneness. May broil or pan-fry if preferred. Serve on buns.
Burgers are even more mouthwatering when served on toasty grilled buns! Simply place buns split-side down on the grill for one to 2 minutes, until golden.
Open-Faced Lone Star Burgers
Makes 6 servings
1/4 c. onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 t. dried thyme
1-1/2 c. shredded Colby Jack cheese, divided
1-1/2 lbs. ground beef
6 slices frozen garlic Texas toast
8-oz. can tomato sauce
1 T. brown sugar, packed
1 t. Worcestershire sauce
1 t. steak sauce
In a large bowl, combine onion, garlic, thyme and one cup cheese. Crumble beef over top and mix well. Form into 6 oval-shaped patties. In a large skillet, cook patties over medium heat for 5 to 6 minutes per side, to desired doneness. Meanwhile, prepare toast according to package directions. Drain burgers; set aside and keep warm. Add remaining ingredients to the skillet. Bring to a boil; cook and stir for 2 minutes, or until slightly thickened. Return burgers to skillet; turn to coat. Sprinkle with remaining cheese. Serve burgers on toast.
Bright bandanas make colorful napkins for any barbecue. Tie one around each person’s set of utensils. After the party, just toss them in the wash.
Tex-Mex Burgers
Makes 8 burgers
2 lbs. ground beef
1 c. shredded Cheddar cheese
1/2 c. onion, grated
1/2 c. salsa
2 to 3 cups tortilla chips, crushed
8 sandwich buns, split
In a bowl, combine all ingredients except buns; shape into patties. Grill over medium heat to desired doneness. Serve on buns.
Having a picnic on a breezy day? Cast-off clip earrings make sparkly tablecloth weights...simply clip ’em to each corner of the cloth.
Homemade Burger Buns
Makes 8 to 12 buns
2 T. active dry yeast
1 c. plus 2 T. warm water
1/3 c. oil
1/4 c. sugar
1 egg, beaten
1 t. salt
3 to 3-1/2 c. all-purpose flour
Optional: melted butter
In a large bowl, dissolve yeast in very warm water, 110 to 115 degrees. Stir in oil and sugar; let stand for 5 minutes. Mix in egg and salt; stir in enough flour to form a soft dough. Turn onto a floured surface. Knead for 3 to 5 minutes, until smooth and elastic. Divide dough into 8 to 12 balls. Place on greased baking sheets, 3 inches apart. Cover and let stand for 10 minutes. Brush with butter, if desired. Bake at 425 degrees for 8 to 12 minutes, until golden. Cool buns on wire racks.
Grandma’s little secret...kneading bread dough is a fun way to get rid of stress! Be sure to knead the dough as long as the recipe states, until the dough is silky smooth. You’ll be rewarded with moist, tender buns or bread.
Index
Burgers – Beef
7-League Pizza Burger
8 Great Burgers
Alberta Prairie Burgers
All-American Cheeseburgers
All-In-One Bacon Cheeseburgers
Aloha Burgers
Backyard Big South-of-the-Border Burgers
Bacon & Blue Cheese Stuffed Burgers
Bacon-Stuffed Burgers
Bestest Burger Ever
Beverly’s Bacon Burgers
Broiled Hamburger Sandwich
Cheeseburger Roll-Ups
Country Friends Chili Burgers
County Fair Maidrites
Dad’s Wimpy Burgers
Dagwood Burgers
Delicious Patty Melts
Denise’s Pizza Burgers
Deviled Hamburgers
Devilishly Good Burgers
Diner-Style Burgers
Garlic & Mustard Burgers
German Burgers
Grilled Summer Burgers
Hamburger “Cupcakes”
Hero Burgers
Incredible Mini Burger Bites
Island Burgers
Italian Hamburgers
Key West Burgers
Make-Ahead Pizza Burgers
Marty’s Special Burgers
Mexican Burgers
Mini Onion Burgers
Nightmares
Open-Faced Lone Star Burgers
Prosciutto Burgers
Smoky Bacon-Gouda Burgers
Spinach Cheeseburgers
Tex-Mex Burgers
Burgers – Meatless
Bean & Chile Burgers
Black Bean Burgers
Irene’s Portabella Burgers
Mom’s Nutty Burgers
Spicy Butter Bean Burgers
Burgers – Turkey & Chicken
Best-Ever Cheddar Burgers
Black Bean Turkey Burgers
Brie-Stuffed Burgers
Chicken Burgers
Crunchy Chicken Burgers
Gobblin’ Good Turkey Burgers
Mom’s Turkey Burgers
Condiments & Go-Withs
Garden-Fresh Catsup
Garlic Dill Pickles
Hamburger Seasoning Mix
Homemade Burger Buns
Norma’s BBQ Sauce
Olive Burger Topping
Quick Hot & Sweet Mustard
Special Hamburger Sauce
Zesty Onion Relish
Our Story
Back in 1984, we were next-door neighbors raising our families in the little town of Delaware, Ohio. Two moms with small children, we were looking for a way to do what we loved and stay home with the kids too. We had always shared a love of home cooking and making memories with family & friends and so, after many a conversation over the backyard fence, Gooseberry Patch was born.
We put together our first catalog at our kitchen tables, enlisting the help of our loved ones wherever we could. From that very first mailing, we found an immediate connection with many of our customers and it wasn’t long before we began receiving letters, photos and recipes from these new friends. In 1992, we put together our very first cookbook, compiled from hundreds of these recipes and, the rest, as they say, is history.
Hard to believe it’s been over 25 years since those kitchen-table days! From that original little Gooseberry Patch family, we’ve grown to include an amazing group of creative folks who love cooking, decorating and creating as much as we do. Today, we’re best known for our homestyle, family-friendly cookbooks, now recognized as national bestsellers.
One thing’s for sure, we couldn’t have done it without our friends all across the country. Each year, we’re honored to turn thousands of your recipes into our collectible cookbooks. Our hope is that each book captures the stories and heart of all of you who have shared with us. Whether you’ve been with us since the beginning or are just discovering us, welcome to the Gooseberry Patch family!
An exclusive Gooseberry Patch magazine, one page at a time?
And it’s free?
When you sign up for our newly redesigned emails, you’ll get just that! We’ll be sharing hand-picked recipes, exclusive products, bite-size tips, ideas and plenty of inspiration, so whether you’re looking for kitchen creativity, new ideas for decorating at home or still miss our mail-order catalog, this subscription is built with YOU in mind.
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www.gooseberrypatch.com
- Dec 13 Wed 2023 04:27
G H
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY MAMA:
Thanks for making it look so easy
And to the rest of my loving, food-crazy family
CONTENTS
FOREWORD BY ANDREW ZIMMERN
INTRODUCTION
A Brief History of the Hamburger
Tools of the Trade
Talk to Your Butcher
A Word About Hamburger Buns
A Word About Cheese
Hamburger Architecture
THE BASICS
The Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburger
Flame-Grilled Burger
The Thick Pub Classic Burger
The Patty Melt
REGIONAL FAVORITES
The Great American Burger Map
The Smoked Burger (Texas)
The Loose Meat Sandwich (Iowa)
The Steamed Cheeseburg (Connecticut)
The Poached Burger (Wisconsin)
The Fried-Onion Burger (Oklahoma)
The Nutburger (Montana)
The Slug Burger (Mississippi)
The Cuban Frita (Florida)
The Butter Burger (Wisconsin)
The Green Chile Cheeseburger (New Mexico)
The Deep-Fried Burger (Tennessee)
The Jersey Burger (New Jersey)
The Hamburger Parm (Massachusetts)
The Jucy Lucy (Minnesota)
The Loco Moco (Hawaii)
The Teriyaki Burger (Hawaii)
The Pastrami Burger (Utah)
The Olive Burger (Michigan)
The Bierock (Nebraska/Kansas)
The Bacon-Avocado Toast Burger (California)
The Guberburger (Missouri)
The Provel Burger (Missouri)
The San Antonio Beanburger (Texas)
The Tortilla Burger (New Mexico)
The Pimento Cheeseburger (South Carolina)
The Carolina Slaw Burger (North Carolina)
The Swine and Cheese (Texas)
TOPPINGS & SAUCES
Steve’s Country-Fried Bacon
Beanless Beef Chili Sauce
Goop Sauce
Harry’s Schnäck Sauce
Pickled Jalapeños
Burger-Perfect Fried Eggs
Bacon in the Round
SIDES
Depression-Era Cole Slaw
Stupid-Easy Cole Slaw
Mama’s Potato Salad
Red Chile Potato Chips
Deviled Eggs With a Kick
POSTSCRIPT: THE BEET BURGER (Brooklyn, New York)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
INDEX OF SEARCHABLE TERMS
FOREWORD
ANDREW ZIMMERN
Food is good. Food with a story is better. Food with a story you haven’t heard before is best of all. Hold that thought.
I stand for many things: I’m a globalist, and a regionalist, but I am first and foremost a New Yorker, which means I was weaned on great hamburgers served in bars, without lettuce or tomato anywhere near them. P.J. Clarke’s and J.G. Melon—those were the burger joints my father took me to.
Evenings were always at Melon’s. My dad had his Dewar’s scotch, into which Billy always poured just the right-size splash of soda. Bobby always gave us a great table. I was in awe of my father at Melon’s. He was the master of his domain, saying hi to our friends and neighbors, all the while pounding those crisp, griddled, and rare burgers, served plain. Always with a side of cottage fries that poofed when you cooked them. Lunches were at P.J. Clarke’s, taken quickly around the corner from his office. Same style burgers. But Clarke’s changed over the years. Went commercial. Sad.
Burgers at Melon’s are still beefy and well crusted, they taste of the bowed and broken griddle and the steer. They run their exquisite juices into the bun quickly, so that the bun is always toasted and crisped on the inside to give the burger a fighting chance of holding together. Burgers with my dad were special, the way it is when you’re a kid: A rare opportunity to be a man when you’re really only a child.
I had my first drink with my dad over a burger. I took my first girlfriend to Melon’s for a burger. I got into my first fistfight over a burger there—a girl may have been involved. I got dumped there, too. Twice. Well, more than twice, actually.
I can measure my life in Melon’s burgers if I so desire. For me, they’re seminal.
Which is why this book is so important. Part historical reference, part recipe book, it doesn’t get religious about either. Rather than argue the cultural-authenticity screed, or prattle on about whose burger is better, George Motz celebrates them all, the diversity of America’s greatest food obsession. The regional charm and the warm memories speak to all of us, because your burger is in here, too.
I’m a food guy because of my dad, just a paler version of him. I don’t live in New York City anymore, so I only get a burger at Melon’s a few times a year. Every burger I ever bite into makes me think of my dad; so do the green-and-white checkered tablecloths, those poofy potatoes, and that spinach salad. And those nights I got drunk at Melon’s, with all those fabulous women who for some crazy reason went on a date with me—I can see their faces, I can remember their names and how they kissed. Food reminds me of my life; it’s powerful that way.
Which is why I’ve made it my business to eat your burger. The one that does that same thing for you, and thank the sweet baby Jesus that George loves them even more and has collected this incredible all-star cast of archetypes.
Hamburgers are deliciously regional. I am sure there are readers who will dote on the pages dedicated to the Maid-Rite of Iowa in ways I can never fully appreciate. But I know in every fiber of my soul that the Maid-Rite plucks at your heartstrings, and I felt some of that when I had my first one twenty-five years ago.
I remember my first trip to Milwaukee, strolling into Solly’s, biting into a butter burger for the first time, a real one, with a dollop of salted butter melting over the hot burger, its slippery-slidey life snuffed out when the top bun was placed on it, trapping happiness on the inside. Its carnal pleasure was released with my first bite. The regional diversity of American foods is the source of our stories, our collective culture, and our communal joy. It needs to be shared.
Look, I’ve had burgers steamed in Connecticut, fried in Tennessee, enrobed in Hatch green chiles in New Mexico (at Bobcat Bite, before they closed after a near seventy-year run), gone Loco-Moco in Hawaii, and of course Jucy Lucy-ed in Minnesota, where I live now. For my son, that’s a real hamburger. For me, it’s someone else’s story, well, his actually. And when he’s old enough to appreciate it I will show him a real burger at J.G. Melon’s, because that one’s mine.
George Motz is my friend, and I struggled with this assignment; I didn’t want it to seem like a favor, or false flattery. But I think this book is a gorgeous rendering of America, seen through the hamburgers of our sons and daughters, of you and yours. These are our stories, all valid, all delicious, all important to someone somewhere.
Through them we see ourselves, and I know you will see yourself in here and be moved, and made joyful, because food with a story works that way. And if you haven’t eaten all these burgers or heard of some of them, I am exceedingly jealous, because food with a story you haven’t heard about is best of all.
INTRODUCTION
A REGIONAL ODYSSEY
Across America, burger diversity abounds. The unique flavors and textures of our best burgers run deep, and they begin with the regional methods by which the burgers are cooked, well before toppings (both traditional and far-out) are introduced. In my many years of research around the country I have discovered that burgers can be smoked, stuffed, smashed, steamed, deep-fried, grilled, breaded, and poached—very different cooking methods that all produce wonderful results. They are mouthwatering variations on a theme.
A number of cookbooks have been written about the hamburger, arguably America’s favorite food. But these tend to focus on the myriad sauces and toppings that can be applied to a standard patty. Rarely is cooking method discussed in depth. This new cookbook explores the roots of the American hamburger and the steps required to bring regional methods into your home. I have experimented with all the different ways a burger can be cooked, topped, and presented, and I am excited to share my discoveries with the adventurous home cook.
Making great burgers requires careful attention to detail. Even preparing the most basic of burgers takes well-chosen ingredients, a few specific tools, and a bit of practice. I will cover all of this territory, and also aim to open your mind to a wide range of regional burger styles. With just a modest amount of trial and error, you should be able to make your regional hamburger dreams come true.
The hamburger should not be a complicated thing. Like a haiku, the best burgers benefit from an imposed limitation of form. The one ingredient paramount to all others is the beef, the foundation of a great burger. The fewer the ingredients and toppings, the more the beefiness of your burger can shine. All of the recipes and methods in this book bring the emphasis back to the flavor of beef. So don’t look for any tuna burgers (gasp), turkey burgers, or other such variations here. To the burger purist, anything but beef is just a distraction, a gimmick. (I’ve made one exception at the end of the book, a beet burger that tops any non-beef burger I’ve ever tried.)
For years I have considered it my duty to preserve the sanctity of the All-American burger. With my first book, Hamburger America, and my documentary film by the same name, I drew attention to the variety of burger styles in America, their culinary history, and their impact on the evolution of the burger. I took to the road and experienced America’s best and most innovative burgers at the source. I met the people who spend just about every day of their lives keeping regional burger traditions alive. I encourage you to explore these places if you can—your burger knowledge will grow with each joint, counter, and stand you visit, as will your appreciation of the people behind one of the greatest foods in America.
Like great chefs everywhere, many of my hamburger heroes have secret recipes that they will not divulge. Although they have become my friends and some are inclined to confide in me, I prefer to let them keep their secrets. (Besides, some of their recipes are decades old and have transferred hands through the sale of their businesses). Most of the recipes that I share here are very similar to the originals—with a little license for interpretation—but if you are determined to try the “real thing,” hit the road and experience these hamburgers at their place of origin. A burger road trip makes a great vacation, and the perfect excuse to get off the interstate and immerse yourself in an America you may have thought already vanished. Believe it or not, I’ve lost count of the number of Burger Honeymoon road trips I’ve designed for newlyweds. Yes, there is such a thing.
I’m not a trained chef, but I am for certain a skilled home cook and a careful observer. I also have a great passion for food and an unwavering love for America. I rarely follow recipes, instead cooking the way my mother does, with controlled reckless abandon and the freshest, most authentic ingredients possible. There are a few basic cooking rules that should not be broken, but beyond that, in my opinion it’s best to experiment. Follow your instincts and blaze your own path to flavor. Most of what I know about cooking I learned from my mother and grandmother, but not all of those lessons were about ingredients or techniques. My mother gave me the most important tool for cooking success—confidence. That, and the willingness to get into the kitchen every single day and make magic. It can be done.
Prepare to experience an American culinary road trip in your own home. With The Great American Burger Book, explore little-known cooking methods and time-tested recipes from Texas to Wisconsin, Utah to Tennessee, New Jersey to Hawaii. Transport yourself, your family, and friends to the unheralded cooktops of a country where the burger is king.
—George Motz
A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE HAMBURGER
The history of the hamburger is admittedly a bit nebulous, but for fun we can trace it as far back as the thirteenth-century Mongol Empire. Apparently, the Mongols used to place bits of raw mutton under their saddles as they rode, thus tenderizing the meat for their dinner. Soon after, the Russians adopted a minced version of this dish, added spices, and called it Tartar, presumably after the Mongolian people of Central Asia, who were known as Tartars. At this point the basis of the dish shifted from raw mutton to raw beef. It took three hundred years, but the dish eventually made its way across the Baltic Sea to Germany, where the chopped beef was served cooked.
Germans immigrating to the United States in the mid-nineteenth century left out of the Port of Hamburg and sometimes would have to wait months for passage. There they developed a fondness for a local dish, a steak prepared according to the fashion of Hamburg (known outside of the city as the Hamburg Steak), which was chopped beef formed into a patty, cooked, and served on a plate with potatoes and gravy. Upon arriving in New York City, German immigrants found that their Hamburg Steak had already made its way to America via Germans who had immigrated before them. It was hugely popular at high-end restaurants like Delmonico’s, as well as from food carts found all over lower Manhattan. News of the Hamburg Steak spread and soon it was available all across America.
It took another twenty to thirty years for the Hamburg steak to be served between two slices of bread, the purest ancestor of the modern-day burger. The many claims to the “invention” of the traditional hamburger hail from different parts of America; all are pretty shaky but they point to around the same time period (1885–1900). Some of these claims are linked to transient state fair vendors who reportedly were looking for a way for fairgoers to eat their meatballs and Hamburg steaks on the go. Fletch Davis, the Menches Brothers, Charlie Nagreen, and others also laid claim to the invention, but unfortunately there is little evidence to substantiate them. Of course, whoever had the flash of brilliance to first slip a Hamburg steak between two pieces of bread is a national hero. And a genius.
Regardless of what history can or cannot prove, Louis’ Lunch in New Haven, Connecticut, has been selling their “hamburger sandwich” since 1900 and has one of the strongest claims to the invention. Today, more than 115 years later, Louis’ Lunch still serves the same burger between two slices of white toast.
For its first two decades, the hamburger suffered from an image problem. Upton Sinclair’s book The Jungle, an exposé of the wrongs of the meatpacking industry, caused the general public to be wary of ground beef. The burger was seen as an unsanitary, cheap meal sold to factory workers from dilapidated food carts. But in 1921 one man, Billy Ingram, changed the hamburger world forever when he opened the first White Castle.
White Castle saved the American hamburger from its uncertain future and potential demise. Billy Ingram saw potential in the burger business and partnered with successful Wichita, Kansas, burger-stand owner Walt Anderson. The two cleaned up the burger’s image by building small white brick castles with white enamel steel interior walls, staffed by young men in clean uniforms and crisp white paper caps. And the name alone said it all; “White” conveyed a sense of cleanliness, and “Castle” stood for strength.
White Castle, Opening Day, Chicago, Illinois, 1929
Perhaps the single most important event in modern hamburger history was White Castle’s standardization of the hamburger bun in the early 1920s. Before that, burgers were served on whatever bread the cook could get his hands on. For the next twenty-five years, unless you were copying White Castle’s tasty little sliders and its expanding network of burger stands, you were toast.
The Great Depression and World War II altered the burgerscape. Young men went off to war, rationing caused shortages, and burger joints shuttered. But the hamburger managed to survive these hard times through the invention of the machine-formed frozen beef patty and additional menu items like French fries. Following World War II, franchising, the interstate system, and the popularity of the automobile led to the exponential growth of the hamburger business. By the middle of the twentieth century it was clear that the American burger was here to stay, and on its way to becoming a global phenomenon.
TOOLS OF THE TRADE
The hamburger’s humble beginnings are rooted in frugality. The first burgers were made with scraps from higher-end steak trimmings and cooked in pans on street corners for people with very little money. Still today, to make great burgers you do not need fancy cooking tools or expensive kitchen toys, unless of course you are so inclined. The key to producing quality classic-American burgers is simplicity. Here are the basics you will need in your kitchen, or backyard, to make the burgers in this book.
THE SPATULA
You will notice a stiff spatula mentioned in just about every recipe. It will become your most treasured tool, and the thing you’ll proudly show off to your friends (the clueless ones with the flimsy spatulas). At a restaurant-supply store it should only set you back five dollars or less; there’s no reason to spend much more. And when I say stiff, I mean stiff. If the spatula you own now bends even a little, chuck it—you will only become frustrated as you make your way through these burger recipes. Get your hands on a 6½-inch (16.5-cm) solid-wood-handled “turner,” or spatula. It should have a beveled edge, which you will need for scraping the pan.
THE TONGS
We all own tongs, but you’ll need to make sure you have a pair of extra-long steel tongs, free of any plastic or silicone on the business end. You’ll be using these tongs in or near hot flames and you won’t want that plastic melting into your precious burgers. Get yourself a pair of 16-inch (40-cm) stainless-steel tongs, again, available at any kitchen-supply store.
THE SCOOP
One of the most misunderstood tools in the hamburger cook’s arsenal is the salad scoop (also referred to as a “baller” or “disher,” depending on where you’re shopping). In order to successfully make consistently sized smashed burgers (the base for many of the burger recipes in this book), you will need a #12 scoop (2½ ounce or 75 g capacity). You may also need a #16 scoop (2 ounce or 60 g capacity) for making sliders. Most of the recipes in this book call for you to shape heaping scoops of ground beef with these dishers so, in effect, you’re almost doubling the capacity (4 ounces or 120 g for hamburgers, 3 to 3½ ounces or 90 to 105 g for sliders).
Unless the cooking technique requires hand-pattying (for grilling and steaming, for example), I always use a scoop to shape burgers. Hand-pattying can lead to compressed meat. With scooping, the meat stays loose, which is the key to the best pan-fried or griddled burgers. Scoop directly from a bowl of loose ground chuck for the best results.
THE FOOD RING
One really cool trick I picked up while observing high-end chefs making low-brow burgers in their award-winning restaurants was the use of a food ring, sometimes referred to as a “cutter.” It’s basically a round cookie and biscuit cutter that also works well for forming hamburger patties. The ring allows you to create patties that are uniform in circumference and to shape them with minimal contact. When forming the patties this way, you only use the tips of your fingers (instead of the palms of your hands), which keeps the patties less compressed than the hand-forming method.
THE CAST-IRON SKILLET
I’ve been at this for a while and, not surprisingly, I own an array of great cast-iron cooking surfaces and pans. But the one I treasure most is my grandfather’s 10-inch (25-cm) cast-iron skillet. The pan is easily more than a hundred years old, has been owned by my family since day one, and has seen some serious Southern cooking, thanks to its South Carolina heritage. My grandfather passed it on to my mother when she was twenty and starting a family on Long Island, and my mother passed it on to me when I moved to New York City at age twenty-one. That skillet has been in appreciative hands since the beginning.
A cast-iron skillet or flat top is a must for your success in the hamburger arts. Absolutely nothing cooks like cast iron. Once you have a cast-iron skillet hot it stays hot, maintaining constant heat better than even the most expensive aluminum pans. Also, because you are working with a porous, seasoned surface, the last burger you cooked will help flavor the next. That’s how the old-school burger joints make such tasty burgers. And, unlike the fancy pans out there, a good 12-inch (30-cm) cast-iron skillet will only set you back about forty dollars and it will last forever.
If you’ve never owned a cast-iron skillet you are in for a treat. The relationship between you and your pan will become one of caring and commitment. You can purchase pre-seasoned cast iron, which will save you the seasoning process. Then, the more you use the pan, the better it gets. Unlike aluminum, you get out of it what you put into it; take good care of your cast-iron pan and you’ll be rewarded with great burgers.
THE CAST-IRON FLAT TOP
When you need to make more than just a few burgers, it’s time to pull out a cast-iron flat-top griddle. Lodge makes the perfect pro flat top that you can either fit across two burners on your stovetop or toss on your grill outside. Which, by the way, is an excellent solution when you’re strapped with cooking burgers on an outdoor propane grill—using a flat top or cast-iron skillet directly on the grill grate will help you produce amazing burgers outdoors. Plus, all of that grease produced by the fifty amazing burgers you made for your friends will not end up in your kitchen.
THE OUTDOOR GRILL
If you have a backyard or outdoor space and are reading this book, chances are you also have a grill. Unfortunately many of you probably own propane-fired grills, because the results are predictable and passable. But anyone who cooks on propane knows in their heart that the true path to outdoor-grilling magic is charcoal.
And, like all of the tools needed to make great burgers, purchasing a decent charcoal grill will not empty your wallet. A large Weber kettle grill, the standard in outdoor charcoal grilling, costs around a hundred dollars, plus maybe an additional forty dollars for accessories (grill brush, cover, etc.). They also are somewhat portable. Toss your Weber kettle grill in the back of your car and you can spontaneously grill at a friend’s house or on the beach. You cannot do this with a propane grill.
Most valuable, though, is the understanding of open flame and heat that you will develop by cooking with charcoal. I like to think of it this way: Grilling with propane is like driving an automatic car, whereas working with charcoal is much closer to driving stick shift. When you drive stick, you feel the rhythm of the car. When you drive an automatic, your goal is to simply get to your destination. Cooking over charcoal forces you appreciate the ride.
Although the Weber kettle grill is a favorite for backyard charcoal grilling, as with everything, there’s the next level. Once you become familiar with the ways of the kettle grill, it may be time to move to something more serious (and way more expensive)–the Big Green Egg. Keep in mind, however, that with practice you will be able to achieve just about anything you desire with a Weber kettle grill.
TALK TO YOUR BUTCHER
Fresh ground beef is the single most important element to any great burger. You care enough about quality burgers to buy this book, so you probably already know this. There are a few simple scientific reasons why fresh beef makes for the very best burgers, but it’s the end result that matters—fresh beef tastes better than frozen.
Scientifically, the moment that raw beefsteaks are sent through a grinder, liquid is released as the muscle fibers are basically crushed. The clock is ticking, so it goes without saying that the best burgers come from beef that has just been ground. When the Midwestern burger chain Steak ’n Shake opened in 1934, they would grind beef in the dining room in full view of customers to prove this point.
The integrity of ground beef changes dramatically when it has been frozen. When thawed, frozen ground beef will never resemble the loose, plush stuff that came out of a grinder. The liquid present in the meat forms ice crystals when frozen, and those crystals actually cause damage to the cell structure of the beef, altering its flavor and texture. And as we all know, good food is all about flavor and texture. But it gets worse—the deeper the freeze, the more extensive the damage, especially upon thawing. Please stick to fresh ground beef, the only path to hamburger success.
If you are grinding at home, pick up an inexpensive hand grinder. The hand-crank models that clamp onto a table edge work well, but if you have a lot to grind it becomes tedious. If you already own a KitchenAid stand mixer it’s time to invest in their dependable grinding attachment. Introduced in the 1940s, the KitchenAid food-grinder attachment has changed very little over the years and costs only about fifty dollars.
Your beef should be kept cold in the fridge until just before you’re ready to grind. Beef that has warmed even slightly will begin to soften the fat content and that in turn will gum up your grinder. Managing culinary director at SeriousEats.com, J. Kenji López-Alt, recommends chilling the grinding attachment itself, which is a great idea. Most butchers keep their grinders in their walk-in meat lockers, right by the hanging sides of beef, so Kenji’s method is pure common sense. I’m guessing you do not have a walk-in at home, so toss your grinder in the fridge the day before you plan to grind some beef.
Chuck-26%, Rib-9.5%, Short Loin-8%, Sirlion-9%, Round-27%, Brisket-6%, Fore Shank-4%, Short Plate-5.5%, Flank-4%
My advice, which comes from years of studying my burger heroes and their methods, is to use chuck steak as a baseline for making great burgers. It’s a forgiving cut and the choice for just about every small-town joint and big-city burger pub. Chuck steaks have the perfect muscle-to-fat ratio, especially if ground to 80/20-percent specifications (a scientific method best left to butchers and meatpackers). Certified Angus Beef is a great option to start with; it was the first beef brand in America that was promoted for its consistency and high quality, and it still delivers on that promise today.
If you have not done so already, start a relationship with your local butcher shop. Explain to them that you plan to grind your own beef for burgers and they should be able to choose a chuck steak that contains marbling close to the ideal 80/20 ratio just by eyeballing it. Ask for a chuck steak, or chuck roast. This is the big steak that butchers sell as pot roast. Experiment by tossing in other cuts of the animal as well, like bits of tasty short rib or brisket (but don’t add too much—there’s a reason these “less desirable” cuts require longer cooking methods, such as smoking and braising, when cooked on their own). Or ask for their special burger blend: Most butchers, especially those that sell dry-aged steaks, save the trimmings from those cuts and use them in special blends specifically for burgers. It’s the way it’s been done in butcher shops forever. That’s why your butcher’s burger blends always taste so damned good.
Certified Angus Beef loves to promote beef and give away cattle-related goodies such as their classic Angus beef cuts poster (see this page). If you are anything like me you’ll stare at that poster for hours. It’s a great way to familiarize yourself with the various cuts of the animal. They also offer an updated version via their website.
A WORD ABOUT HAMBURGER BUNS
After the beef, the bun is unquestionably the most important element to a great hamburger. It can also be one of the most overthought and underappreciated decisions. Buns or bread are the delivery system, and the only other ingredient necessary to call a burger a burger. A hamburger without a bun is a ground beefsteak, and a bun without a patty is just toast. Put the two together and you have a hamburger. Even without mustard, onions, pickles, or any of the myriad of other condiments available, it is still a burger.
My friend and one of my burger heroes, Bill Bartley of Mr. Bartley’s Burger Cottage in Cambridge, Massachusetts, describes the bun as “the envelope for the good news that’s coming.” Bill believes that overthinking the bun is your first mistake. And Bartley’s, a tremendously successful Harvard-area burger joint for over fifty years, uses large, pillowy, bakery-fresh white squishy buns.
Soft is usually better when seeking out burger buns. Depending on your preference, the recipe buns can be steamed, toasted with butter, or used right out of the bag (assuming the bag was not in a cold place like your freezer). They should be the classic, enriched kind, what I have been referring to for years as the “white squishy bun.” Potato rolls/buns also work well (this is actually the bun of choice worldwide for Shake Shack). If you are so inclined, whole-wheat buns will do, though look for the soft ones. Or try using the buns that The Plaza in Madison, Wisconsin, uses: the “half-wheat” bun, or what I like to call the “Look, I’m eating healthy!” bun.
Most of the companies that make organic buns have finally changed their recipes to please the basic tastes of hamburger traditionalists. Not long ago, your only option for a “healthy” burger bun was a ridiculously hard, sprouted-wheat bun the size of a grapefruit. Today, health-conscious bakers have found a way to make buns that are very close to the white squishy versions of our dreams.
On the subject of seeded buns, it really makes no difference whether or not your buns have seeds on top (unless of course you are allergic to sesame seeds). Has anyone ever actually been able to taste the difference between seeded and unseeded buns? Not me. Some people do prefer the texture, though.
Toasting hamburger buns before applying beef and condiments is a good idea in most cases. As the late food writer Josh Ozersky once pointed out to me, “Toasting creates a prophylactic barrier between burger and bun.” This is true, and toasting will give your burger, loaded with liquid ingredients like mustard, mayo, and grease, a bit more durability. An untoasted bun will disintegrate more rapidly than a toasted one.
A WORD ABOUT CHEESE
It’s difficult to imagine a time when the cheeseburger did not exist. The first condiment to grace a hamburger patty in the beginning was probably raw or cooked onion. It took a good thirty years after the introduction of the hamburger for someone to slip a slice of cheese on a patty as it neared completion. And today, cheese is one of the most recognized accessories in the construction of the perfect burger.
There are varying claims, but it is widely accepted that the cheeseburger first made its appearance in Los Angeles in the late 1920s. It is said that short-order cook Lionel Sternberger at The Rite Spot in Pasadena, California, was the first to melt American cheese on a burger in 1926. Within just two years, the cheeseburger was on menus all over town. An early printed menu from the now-shuttered South Los Angeles restaurant Odell’s lists a cheeseburger smothered with chili in 1928, making the first-cheeseburger claim by Kaelin’s of Louisville, Kentucky in 1934 completely false.
It goes without saying that today the most popular cheese for a cheeseburger, from New York to California, is American cheese. And there’s good reason for this: American cheese is basically engineered for the American burger. It has twice the sodium content of aged cheddar, is inexpensive, and melts perfectly every single time. That said, some don’t even consider it cheese, and they are somewhat correct.
In the beginning, American cheese was an unaged cheddar, pasteurized to maintain a lengthy shelf life. It was invented by the son of a Canadian dairy farmer, James Lewis Kraft, for use by the U.S. military. That’s right, American cheese (formerly called “pasteurized loaf cheese”) was invented by a Canadian. Over the years, the makeup of American cheese has been altered to give it an extraordinary shelf life, mostly due to the absence of microbacteria, the stuff real cheeses thrive on. It’s still a dairy product, in the loosest sense of the term, but if you desire “real” cheese on your burger, stick with cheddar, Swiss, or any of the other sliced options.
Cheddar is unquestionably the most popular choice of cheese for the burgers found in higher-end restaurants across America. Cheddar is incredible because, unlike salty American cheese, its funky, sharp quality complements beef grease well. One downside is that most cheddar takes far longer to melt, which can throw off cooking time for your burgers. Bill Bartley, at Mr. Bartley’s Burger Cottage in Cambridge, Massachusetts, melts the cheese for his burgers directly on the flat top. He believes that the cheese and patty should not meet until the burger is ready for a bun. He once explained the science to me, saying, “The temperature of the cheese is ambivalent about the temperature of the burger.” So true.
Although cheese seems to be inextricably connected to the burger it is by no means a mandatory condiment. Cheese has been absent from some of the greatest burgers I’ve consumed. But in most cases, cheese will undoubtedly elevate the burger experience. Cheese also acts as a sort of adhesive to keep other unruly condiments within the burger.
I still love American cheese and its long relationship with the all-American hamburger. In a major twist, Whole Foods and others are now selling an American cheese from Andrew & Everett that tastes excellent and is relatively guilt free (and free from growth hormones and preservatives!). Finally, American cheese may be able to shake off its negative image and continue to make cheeseburgers great.
HAMBURGER ARCHITECTURE
We’ve all been burned by a poorly constructed burger. You know what I mean: the “How do I pick this thing up?” burger, or the burger overflowing with absurd amounts of mismatched condiments. There’s also the burger that food writer Adam Kuban calls the “backslider”: a burger whose bun is so hard that the pressure from your first bite causes the contents to slide out the back and onto the plate (or your lap). I’ve had the misfortune of trying to eat burgers with cold cheese, oversized buns, and limp lettuce, and have slogged my way through over-sauced burgers on disintegrating, untoasted, undersized buns. Bad burger architecture is inexcusable and easily avoidable.
A hamburger is a sandwich, and the sandwiches that we return to are the ones we savor down to the last bite. The ones you can’t believe you finished because they were that good. A great hamburger should have the same effect. And like a traditional sandwich, the burger’s success is in its simplicity. Too much stuff on a burger leads to disappointment or disaster. If you have to use a fork because your burger has fallen apart, I’m sorry, it is no longer a burger. Remember, the basic design of the hamburger makes it a handheld food—it is the ultimate portable meal. And if you find yourself merging onto the 405 in Los Angeles while taking a bite of your In-N-Out Double Double Animal Style with your free hand, you’ve just proven my point.
The original American hamburger was not a gut-busting, overdressed two-fister. It was a tiny thing—only around 2 ounces (60 g) with a single flourish of chopped onion grilled into the patty. Cheese didn’t even enter the picture until a full three decades after the first burgers were conceived. Over the years, the standard size of the classic cheeseburger has grown, but if you pay attention, you’ll see that the mom-and-pop shops are still keeping their burgers at a manageable size.
When constructing the burgers in this book, be mindful of the final stage—consumption. As incredible as some burgers look with mounds of condiments and a crazy stack of patties, think about the mouths you’re about to feed and what can actually fit into them. I would much rather eat four basic classics than one enormo burger dreamed up by someone who would never eat it.
Finding the right balance of elements, meaning the ideal burger architecture, is a matter of experimentation. You may need to fail first to succeed. When your bacon cheeseburger tastes like a bacon sandwich, it’s time to reconsider the ratios. It may sound obvious, but your hamburger should taste like beef first, enhanced by the addition of select ingredients. Also, take your cues from history. Look at the success of the burgers in the various regions of America over the decades. There’s a reason that a burger with nothing but soft Wisconsin butter on it has been continuously served for over seventy-five years. Simplicity trumps all.
GRIDDLE-SMASHED CLASSIC CHEESEBURGER
I’m not going mince words here. This is my favorite way to make a burger. And there’s a reason for this. In cooking, in most cases, the simplest path leads to the greatest rewards. With this astonishingly straightforward recipe, you will be transported to a time long ago, before the highway system, frozen patties, hell, even before the invention of the patty press and the conventional hamburger bun! That’s because this is the way burgers were made in America at the very beginning. The progenitor of every burger we have ever seen, made, or tasted. This is the burger to which all other burgers can trace their DNA, and arguably it’s the most significant burger style in American culinary history.
Short-order chefs at the dawn of the burger age were not interested in brioche buns or bacon marmalade. They were interested in one thing only—speed. The typical burger stand in the 1910s and 1920s was just that: a place to stand and order a burger on the street. Often, stands were outfitted with four or five stools, so turnover was key. The faster a burger was served, the faster that stool became free. These stands used cast-iron skillets and flat tops because they were inexpensive. And the method of squashing a ball of meat evolved because the ball was a uniform unit of measure, and the patty press was some years off in the future.
In the beginning, it was common practice to grab a handful of rolled balls of beef, scatter them on a flat top, and whack them into the shape of patties. There are still places today that continue the method—White Manna in New Jersey, Crabill’s in Ohio, and Wedl’s in Wisconsin, to name a few.
Boo Koo Hamburgers, Harlingen, Texas, 1939
The practice of smashing balls of beef seems instinctively wrong, especially to those who have always been told that a burger will lose its precious juices should the patty be manhandled. Let go of what you think to be true and start smashing. The method contains some crazy magic that just seems to work. The result is a burger that evokes the same response every single time I serve it (especially from people of a certain age)—“This is the burger I remember.”
Even long after all of those corner stands had vanished, and White Castle had expanded greatly and began freezing patties, many mom-and-pop shops continued smashing burgers on flat tops. The places that keep this tradition alive have helped preserve a distinctly American form of gastronomy.
GRIDDLE-SMASHED CLASSIC CHEESEBURGER
MAKES 8 CHEESEBURGERS OR 14 SLIDERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A stiff spatula
A #12 salad scoop for full-size cheeseburgers, #16 salad scoop for sliders (see Note)
THE BURGER
8 potato buns (make sure to get the right-size buns for either cheeseburgers or sliders)
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
American cheese, thinly sliced (preferably fresh-sliced cheese from your deli counter, not prepackaged “singles”)
THE TOPPINGS
Not here, my friend. This classic American cheeseburger needs no condiments. So, before you add anything, taste it. There’s a good chance you’ll become a purist like me on the spot.
1 Toast the buns in a preheated cast-iron skillet or on a preheated flat top (see next column) and set them aside.
2 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of peanut oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface.
3 Put the ground chuck in a mixing bowl. Using the salad scoop, form balls of beef (they should be heaping scoops), placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (Depending on the size of your cooking surface, you may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
4 Sprinkle a generous pinch of salt on each ball of beef and then, using a stiff spatula, press them down, hard. Don’t be afraid, press harder! Press each ball until it’s a wide patty, just a bit larger than the bun it’s about to meet. Here’s the trick, though: Once the patties are flat, step back and don’t touch them again. Let them cook for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patties.
5 Flip them once and resist the temptation to press the patties again.
6 Add a slice of cheese to each patty and let them cook for another 2 minutes.
7 Remove the burgers from the skillet and place them on toasted white buns.
Note: If you’re making sliders, the patties will take slightly less time to cook than is listed here. Watch for red liquid to know when to flip.
THE VERY BEST WAY TO TOAST A HAMBURGER BUN
Most people don’t give much thought to hamburger buns, and that’s a mistake. In many cases (but not all), the bun should be toasted. But stay away from the toaster! Use my pan-toasting method instead. That way the only thing getting toasted is the part of the bun touching the burger patty. The part that you grab should stay soft and fluffy. Here’s how:
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A stiff spatula (recommended)
INGREDIENTS
Butter, softened
Hamburger or slider bun of your choice
1 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium).
2 Spread a thin, even layer of butter on both halves of the bun. Too much butter and the bun soaks it up; too little and it won’t toast. Just enough and the bun will crisp to a tasty golden brown.
3 Once the pan is hot, place the bun halves on it, butter side down.
4 Monitor buns every minute or so, so they don’t burn.
5 Repeat with the remaining buns.
THE FLAME-GRILLED BURGER
Cooking over direct flame is one of the most difficult ways to make a hamburger. One of the reasons so many of the hamburgers made a hundred years ago were cooked on flat tops was simply because the results were predictably good. Squash a ball of beef on a skillet and reap the rewards of the path of least resistance. I also would imagine that way back then, lighting a big charcoal grill and flame cooking at small burger stands and joints throughout America would have been pretty dangerous.
But we all know that a burger cooked on a flame grill is a very different burger.
It’s easy to master the skillet-cooked burger. Grilling a burger on open flame requires more dedication to the craft, more time, more equipment, and a willingness to fail. That’s because cooking on an outdoor grill can be very unpredictable. The grill master is at the mercy of uneven temperatures, depending on the type of coals used and where those coals are in relation to the grilling grate. Even the weather can be a factor. The outdoor propane grill solves a few of these issues, but if you really want to experience a flame-cooked burger, super-hot charcoal is the only way to go.
There’s something fundamental and primal in our desire to harness fire and grill. “The greatest advantage to cooking over flame is the grilled flavor,” Michael Ollier, corporate chef at Certified Angus Beef®, told me once, adding with a smile, “I crave that.” It’s a flavor that you cannot ever achieve cooking on a flat top or by any other method. Chef Ollier explained the science behind this perfectly: “The fat that drips onto the coals becomes airborne, flavoring your burgers.”
The keys to grilling success are high heat and confidence. Get your coals super hot and your tools, patties, and condiments ready to go, and you’ll be all set up to grill like a pro. When family and friends are hovering around you at the grill, waiting for magic, it may feel like there’s a lot at stake. Just follow the recipe below for the classic grilled cheeseburger—and remember, practice makes perfect.
THE FLAME-GRILLED BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A 3½-inch (9-cm) food ring or round cutter
Parchment paper
A charcoal chimney
Natural lump charcoal
A 22-inch (55-cm) Weber Kettle charcoal grill, or similar
A stiff spatula (with a long handle)
THE BURGER
2½ pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt and coarse black pepper, for seasoning
8 soft white buns
THE TOPPINGS
8 thick slices American, cheddar, or any other good melting cheese
Green-leaf lettuce
1 or 2 red beefsteak tomatoes, sliced
1 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onion, sliced
1 Divide the beef into 8 equal portions (5 ounces/140 g each).
2 Place the food ring on a cutting board or clean surface lined with parchment paper and add a portion of beef. Gently press the beef into the ring to create a perfectly round patty. (I use the ring for consistent thickness, but you can eyeball the size if you prefer. Both methods work fine. Just be sure not to over press the meat—you want it to maintain a somewhat loose grind.)
3 Return the patties to the fridge to chill until you’re ready to grill (hey, that rhymes).
4 Using the chimney starter, light the charcoal. When coals are ready, transfer them to the kettle grill, making sure that the bottom vent is open. Spread the coals out, leaving a small space on one side (as a rest spot in case things get too hot in there).
5 Place the grate over the coals and, using a grill brush, scrape off any residual buildup from your last grilling adventure. Cover the grill and make sure that the top vent is wide open. Give your grill grate a chance to heat up—you don’t want to plop raw burger patties onto a lukewarm grill. That grate should be ridiculously hot!
6 At this point, and not before, season both sides of your patties with a liberal amount of salt and pepper. Salting too early will bind the muscle fibers together and make your burgers tough (yuck).
7 Place the patties on the hot grill grate, cover the grill, and leave them alone. Allow the patties to cook for about 5 minutes. The cooking time can vary depending on environmental and equipment factors, so you’ll have to use your best judgment here. Chef Michael Ollier from Certified Angus Beef® put it best when he told me, “Let the burger speak to you.” If you understand this statement, you’re probably drinking too much at the grill. But seriously, with experience comes wisdom—the burger will actually tell you when it’s time to flip. One good visual cue is when you see red liquid start to form on the uncooked surface of the burger. Go ahead and take a peek just shy of 5 minutes.
8 This would be a good time to toast your buns. Toast them indoors using a skillet on your stovetop (this page), or toast them with butter in a small cast-iron skillet, directly on the grill.
9 Cook the second side (again, untouched and covered) for an additional 4 minutes. With about 1 minute to go, top each patty with a slice of cheese and cover the grill. As the burgers finish cooking, slide them to the cooler rest spot section of the grill, away from the hot coals. Once all your burgers are done, remove them from the heat and allow them to rest for 1½ minutes. The internal temperature of the burgers should be about 143°F (62°C) for medium-rare.
10 Top the toasted buns with the lettuce, tomato, and onion slices, or your condiments of choice. (I love a good, crisp slice of onion on my grilled burgers, as well as mustard, pickle, and sometimes mayonnaise.) Transfer the patties to the toasted buns and serve.
THE THICK PUB CLASSIC BURGER
Sometimes biting into a big, juicy burger is what you crave, but for the most part the burgers of our forefathers were not like this. In the first few decades following the appearance of the hamburger in America, it remained small and smashed thin on a flat top, making for crisped edges. Although this method produced a profoundly tasty burger, the one thing it lacked was the copious juices you might find in, say, a steak.
The best pub-style thick patties come from bars that have a tiny flat top, in certain cases still located near or just behind the bar to quickly feed tipsy patrons. Some of the best I’ve ever had were thick, hand-pattied beauties that were just about the only thing on the menu (other than alcohol). Places like the Mo Club in Missoula, Montana and Paul’s Tavern in Dubuque, Iowa evoke a simpler time when the burger truly was an egalitarian meal and the poor-man’s steak. But it’s New York City that leads the pack in pub burgers per capita. There are still many pubs in the five boroughs peddling nothing more than burgers and booze, some of them over one hundred years old. In my opinion, the best pub burger experiences can be found at New York City classics such as J.G. Melon, P.J. Clarke’s, and Donovan’s Pub.
All of these burgers have a few important things in common—they are all hand-formed, cooked on a flat top griddle, and left untouched while cooking. And unlike the Griddle-Smashed Classic (this page), these burgers are seared like a steak to create a tasty griddle char that seals in those precious juices.
J.G. Melon, New York City
The Mo Club, Missoula, Montana
With the right elements you can create a burger that tastes exactly like a juicy steak. And since the true taste of beef will dominate, this would be a good time to experiment with different cuts of beef blended into the grind. For just about every burger in the book, 80/20 fresh-ground chuck is the call, but if you’re grinding your own (see this page), you should consider adding a small amount of short rib, brisket, or rib eye to make the flavor profile more complex. Now that’s something you can’t do with a steak.
Seasoning is also key when making the thick pub classic. Salt and pepper are staples for a reason—simplicity allows the beef to shine. Please resist the misguided temptation to put things into your ground beef like onions, eggs, and spices. Unless of course meatloaf is your endgame, or the Cuban Frita (this page), a very different type of burger. I recommend seasoning only the outside of your burger just moments before the patty hits the griddle.
THE THICK PUB CLASSIC BURGER
MAKES 4 LARGE BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A 4½-inch (12-cm) food ring or round cutter
Parchment paper
A cast-iron skillet with a lid
A stiff spatula
A small or medium-size metal bowl
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck (or your beef blend of choice)
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
Salt, for seasoning
Ground black pepper (optional)
4 seeded white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
8 slices American or cheddar cheese
Mayonnaise
Green leafy lettuce
1 or 2 red beefsteak tomatoes, sliced
1 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onion, sliced
Cooked bacon (optional but prevalent on pub burgers; see recipe, this page)
Dill pickle spears (on the side)
1 Divide the beef into 4 equal portions (8 ounces/250 g each).
2 Place the food ring on a cutting board or clean surface lined with parchment paper and add a portion of beef. Gently press the beef into the ring to create a perfectly round patty. (I use the ring for consistent thickness, but you can eyeball the size if you prefer. Both methods work fine. Just be sure not to over press the meat—you want it to maintain a somewhat loose grind.)
3 Add a few drops of peanut oil to the cast-iron skillet, using the spatula to spread the oil, and crank it up to medium-high heat. When the pan just starts to smoke, it’s ready.
4 At this point, and not before, season both sides of the patties with a liberal amount of salt (and pepper, if desired). Salting too early will bind the muscle fibers together and make the burgers tough (not good).
5 Place the patties in the hot skillet—they should sizzle loudly when they hit the pan—and cook for 5 minutes without disturbing them. The goal here is to sear the burgers, sealing in the juices. When you see red liquid start to form on the uncooked surface of the burgers, it’s time to flip them.
6 Reduce the heat to medium and cook the second side for an additional 5 minutes (do not disturb them while cooking). With about 1 minute to go, add two slices of the cheese to each patty and cover with a large domed lid or small metal bowl.
7 Remove the burgers from the heat and allow to rest for 1½ minutes. The internal temperature of the burgers should be about 143°F (62°C) for medium-rare. Transfer to the toasted buns and serve with mayo, lettuce, sliced tomato, onions, bacon (if using), and pickles on the side.
Note: This burger will create a good amount of smoke. Be sure you have a good vent/hood over your stovetop or be ready with some open windows.
THE PATTY MELT
If I am planning to make burgers, I go buy buns. If I spontaneously decide to make burgers, or I just happen to have some fresh ground beef lying around (which is often), I make patty melts. I always seem to have a good loaf of crusty bread in the house and that is one of the key elements to a great patty melt.
The traditional patty melt is a beautiful thing. I love it because it combines two of my favorite foods—the hamburger and the grilled cheese sandwich. Add some sautéed onions and I am in heaven. The classic patty melt calls for seeded rye bread, which is of course great, but I find the rye seeds are a dominant flavor that interrupts the beefy-cheesy profile. So I recommend a crusty white country bread. When prepared just right, the crunchy, buttery toast adds a velvety element to the hot mess of cheese, beef, and onion. It’s a tactile gustatory sensation that you cannot achieve with a burger bun.
THE PATTY MELT
MAKES 5 PATTY MELTS
EQUIPMENT
2 seasoned cast-iron skillets
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
A stiff spatula
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
1½ pounds (about 750 g) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
Butter
10 slices crusty bakery bread or seeded rye, if you want to make a traditional patty melt
THE TOPPINGS
American cheese, sliced
Caramelized Onions (recipe follows)
1 Start by caramelizing the onions. If you love onions, double the recipe.
2 Preheat one of the cast-iron skillets over medium heat and add a drop or two of oil to coat the surface.
3 Put the meat in the mixing bowl and use the salad scoop to form 5 balls of beef (they should be heaping).
4 Preheat the second skillet over medium heat.
5 Once the first skillet is hot, drop the balls of beef into the pan, one or two at a time. Season with salt and smash them flat. Cook the patties without touching them for 2½ to 3 minutes, then flip them. Cook for about 1 minute more.
6 Butter one side of each slice of bread and place one slice in the second pan, butter side down.
7 Add a slice of cheese on top of the bread, followed by a cooked patty, a forkful of caramelized onions, followed by another slice of cheese, and the top piece of bread, butter side up.
8 Cover and let cook for 2½ minutes, keeping an eye on the sandwich so the bread doesn’t burn. Then flip the whole thing.
9 Cook for 1 minute without a cover, remove from the pan, and consume immediately.
10 Repeat with the remaining patties, buttered bread, cheese, and caramelized onions.
CARAMELIZED ONIONS
Makes enough to top 5 patty melts
3 tablespoons (45 ml) olive oil
2 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onions
3 pinches salt
¼ cup (60 ml) white wine
1 tablespoon salted butter
1 Preheat a skillet over medium heat and add the olive oil.
2 Slice the onions into fairly thin rings or strings and add to the skillet, stirring to coat with oil and continuing to stir and poke and pat and move around until onions become limp, about 6 minutes.
3 Add salt and stir to incorporate.
4 Add the wine and raise heat to high for 1 minute or so, stirring constantly until liquid evaporates, then return to medium and add butter, stirring until melted.
5 Cook, turning the onions in the pan frequently for another 10 minutes or until they are nicely golden brown and caramelized (i.e., they look awesome). Remove from the heat and set aside.
TEXAS
THE SMOKED BURGER
When most people think of smoked meats, brisket, pork ribs, and bacon come to mind. It’s the tougher cuts of meat that get the slow-and-low treatment, simply because cooking at lower temperatures with smoke helps to render fat, add flavor, and break down their muscle fibers. The beef that goes into your burger comes from a part of the cow that needs very little cooking—so good that it can be eaten raw (speak to your butcher before attempting this stunt). So why would you take a good cut of meat and smoke it? For the flavor.
There’s no denying the irresistible quality of smoke when applied to food. There’s something truly primordial about smoking meat that unlocks an ancient instinct in our brains. Most people who know how to cook with smoke would scoff at the idea of a burger being cooked for longer than 5 minutes or by any other method other than over a direct heat source. It’s time to put aside preconceived notions of what should and should not be smoked and go smoke yourself a burger.
The first time I came across a smoked burger was, not surprisingly, in Texas. Good friend and food scribe Robb Walsh told me about a butcher in Houston who was selling a limited number of burgers a day that he was tossing in a Southern Pride electric rotisserie smoker designed to hold racks of ribs. The idea sounded absurd to me, but these guys would sell out of all two hundred burgers by the end of lunch. Robb explained to me that most people were getting the toppings all wrong by asking for a standard lettuce, tomato, onion combination. The key was to ask for barbecue sauce, pickles, and onion. This, of course, turned out to be the right move. The tangy barbecue sauce perfectly complements the deeply infused smoke essence. Barbecue is a place where lettuce does not belong.
I will smoke anything, literally. My menu at the smoker is never limited to brisket alone. Chicken, salmon, and oysters do well in my smoker, even olives are amazing smoked if you have the room (recipe follows, this page). And if you call yourself a competent pit master, it’s only natural that you should find a place in your smoker for a few burger patties.
THE SMOKED BURGER
MAKES 5 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A kettle grill with a built-in lid thermometer and a hinged smoking grate
A bag of hardwood smoking chips (hickory, cherry, etc.), presoaked in water for up to 2 hours
Natural lump charcoal
A charcoal chimney for igniting the charcoal
Long tongs (skip the plastic tips!)
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
5 soft white buns or potato rolls, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Dill pickle chips
Homemade BBQ Sauce (recipe follows)
1 or 2 Vidalia or Walla Walla onions, sliced and served raw or sautéed
1 Divide the meat into 5 portions and hand-form each portion into a 6-ounce (170-g) patty that’s ¾ inch (2 cm) thick. Place in a covered container and refrigerate.
2 Prepare a smoker in the kettle grill, pushing the hot coals to one side of the grill. Position the hinged grate so you have access to the coals.
3 When the smoker is hot (around 225°F/110°C), salt both sides of the patties just before you place them inside the smoker (if you salt too early your burgers will stiffen).
4 Place the seasoned patties on the side of the grill rack opposite the coals (but not beyond the center of the grilling surface). Add a handful of the wet hickory chips to the hot coals and cover the grill immediately. Close down both the top and bottom vents slightly. Use these vents to control the temperature and limit airflow inside the kettle grill. You’ll want to maintain a temperature near 225°F (110°C). If your smoke is running hotter than this, close the air louvers further to help find the proper temperature. Check the coals and condition of the chips every 15 minutes or so, but resist the temptation to open the grill lid too often—precious smoke will escape. If no smoke is present after 15 minutes, crack the vents, add more soaked wood chips, and put the lid back on.
5 Flip the patties after 25 minutes in the smoker, and smoke for an additional 25 to 30 minutes.
6 Place the smoked patties on toasted buns, and top with pickle chips, sliced or sautéed onion, and barbecue sauce. Serve immediately.
HOMEMADE BBQ SAUCE
Makes enough to top 5 smoked burgers
2 tablespoons canola oil, or other neutral oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup (240 ml) ketchup
½ cup (120 ml) apple cider vinegar
¼ cup (60 ml) Worcestershire sauce
¼ cup (50 g) raw sugar or turbinado
3 tablespoons (45 ml) Steen’s pure cane syrup or good-quality molasses
3 tablespoons (45 ml) bottled yellow mustard
1 Heat the oil in a saucepan and then add the garlic. Cook for about 2 minutes or until the garlic has just started to turn golden brown (do not burn).
2 Add the ketchup, vinegar, Worcestershire, sugar, cane syrup, and mustard. Stir to combine, cover, and let simmer for 30 minutes, stirring often. Store leftovers in a sealed container in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.
SMOKED OLIVES
Makes as many olives as you have on hand
Every time I set up my Weber to smoke burgers I feel guilty about wasting all of that unused smoke (smoked burgers take only about an hour). I thought of all the things I could smoke after the burgers are off the grill, and then I had an epiphany.
This method for smoking olives is ridiculously easy, especially if your smoker is already cranking. Make a bunch to wow your barbecue guests, or for a snack later on.
EQUIPMENT
A kettle grill set up for smoking (indirect heat with wet wood chips), or a smoker
Aluminum foil
Long tongs (skip the plastic tips!)
INGREDIENTS
A handful of good green olives with pits (Spanish or Colossal)
1 On a clean, flat surface, lay out a double layer of aluminum foil large enough to wrap up the amount of olives you intend to smoke.
2 Drain the olives and place them in the center of the foil. Fold the foil up and around the olives to create a basket shape with a folded seam on top.
3 Use a fork to poke several holes on all sides of the foil package.
4 Put the foil package in the smoker and smoke for about an hour. Use a grill mitt or long tongs to remove. These taste great hot off the grill but even better after they’ve cooled in the fridge for an hour. Will stay tasty up to a week refrigerated.
IOWA
THE LOOSE MEAT SANDWICH
If you find yourself rambling through Central Iowa, you will discover that traditional burgers are not the ground-beef sandwich of choice. Throughout much of the state, and even in a few pockets of Kansas and Ohio, the loose meat sandwich is what you are looking for. Sometimes it’s referred to as a Tavern, or a Maid-Rite (which is also a regional chain), or in Kansas as a Nu-Way (a local Wichita chain). Whatever you call this sandwich, it’s technically not a burger, but it shares so many burger-like characteristics, and is so damned satisfying, that I include it here.
True to its name, the loose meat sandwich is basically an unformed hamburger. It’s served on a bun with mustard and pickles, but the difference lies in the preparation of the beef. Instead of a standard patty, ground beef is crumbled and steamed with nothing but salt added. Much of the fat drains off and you are left with a lean pile of pebbled beef. Once married to a bun that has been doped with condiments, it becomes a sort of Sloppy Joe without the slop. It is a very straightforward sandwich—one where the flavor of beef shines.
The most popular loose meat sandwich in Iowa is the Maid-Rite. And one of the original purveyors of the sandwich, going all the way back to 1928, is Taylor’s Maid-Rite in Marshalltown, Iowa (do not confuse this Maid-Rite location with the chain of the same name). Since the crumbled beef sits in a huge steaming trough behind the counter, service is lightning fast. No joke, when you order at Taylor’s, your loose meat sandwich arrives at your spot on the counter in a matter of seconds. It’s served with a spoon to scoop up the beef that has spilled out of the sides.
Taylor’s Maid-Rite, Marshalltown, Iowa
I’m pretty sure the Taylor family uses nothing but a little water to steam their beef. I’ve done some experimenting, though, and mine calls for beer.
THE LOOSE MEAT SANDWICH
MAKES 6 SANDWICHES
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A wooden spoon
A perforated serving spoon
THE BURGER
1 pound (about 500 g) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
1 cup (240 ml) beer (use a Pilsner or other light beer; save the remainder to wash down the burger)
3 squirts of yellow mustard
Salt, for seasoning
THE TOPPINGS
6 classic soft white hamburger buns
Yellow mustard
Dill pickle chips
1 Preheat the seasoned cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Add the beef and, using the wooden spoon, crumble the beef as it cooks, as if you were preparing ground beef for tacos.
2 Once the meat is pebbly, kick the heat up to medium-high and cook for about 4½ minutes, until lightly browned.
3 Pour in the beer and continue to stir and crumble the meat frequently as the beer cooks off, another 9 to 10 minutes.
4 While the meat is steaming, prepare the hamburger buns with a slather of mustard and 2 or 3 pickle chips on the bottom half of each bun. Set aside.
5 Just before all the beer has evaporated from the skillet, mix in the mustard and salt to taste. Continue to cook until all of the liquid has evaporated. Remove from the heat.
6 Use the perforated spoon to scoop up a pile of meat, draining off any remaining fat, and press onto a prepared bun. Repeat with the remaining meat and buns.
7 Enjoy with the remaining beer, and maybe one or two more.
CONNECTICUT
THE STEAMED CHEESEBURG
In all of my research and rambling around America, I have yet to find a burger-cooking method as unusual as the steamed cheeseburger. Sometimes affectionately referred to as a “cheeseburg” in its birthplace of central Connecticut, this burger is exactly what it sounds like—a patty of ground beef that has been steamed throughout and draped with molten hot steamed cheese. I know what you’re thinking—no griddle char? Not here. The preparation of some of the best steamed cheeseburgs in Connecticut involves a custom-made midcentury stainless-steel steaming contraption; a boxy stovetop chamber that generates a substantial amount of steam and renders each patty a color that some have said resembles a wet, gray woolen sock. An unfortunate but accurate description. But this method creates a super-moist burger that has a pronounced beefy profile like no other. And when this moist patty is paired with hot cheddar cheese, you may just forgive the lack of sear from an open flame.
At one point in its long history, Connecticut was the center of industrial America. Factories produced much of the silverware, firearms, and clocks that Americans used, and the machines that made these things were invented and perfected in Connecticut as well. These included the milling machines, lathes, forge drop hammers, and gear shapers that became the backbone of the state’s identity and the foundation of America’s nineteenth-century manufacturing growth and expansion. It makes perfect sense that the metal box created to steam burgers was conceived here, too.
Jack’s Lunch, Middletown, Connecticut
In the 1930s, a young man set up a homemade steaming box outside a diner named Jack’s Lunch in Middletown. Its proximity to the factories of central Connecticut made the steamed cheeseburg a favorite of shift workers. Eventually, the cheeseburg production moved into Jack’s Lunch and the rest was history.
Today, one of the greatest examples of this truly unique cheeseburger tradition can be found at Ted’s Restaurant in Meriden, Connecticut. They no longer feed shift workers at three A.M. (just about every aspect of factory life has vanished in this part of America due to business moving overseas), but generations of steamed cheeseburg devotees still line up outside at lunchtime.
You’ve probably guessed already: I am the proud owner of an official steam box for cheeseburgs, courtesy of Ted’s Restaurant. Although this is the best and most authentic way to produce a steamed cheeseburg, you do not have to own one to make them at home.
THE STEAMED CHEESEBURG
MAKES 6 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A large multistage steaming stockpot with two steaming colander inserts and a cover (glass is best)
2 small heatproof ramekins for melting the cheese
Long tongs (skip the plastic tips!)
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck (ask your butcher for a loose grind)
Salt, for seasoning
½ pound (225 g) sharp white cheddar cheese, cut into 1-ounce (30-g) cubes
6 small Kaiser rolls (you’ll want something substantial here—that hot cheese needs support)
THE TOPPINGS
Green-leaf lettuce
1 or 2 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onions, sliced
Yellow mustard
Ketchup and mayo (to be fully authentic)
1 Place ¾ inch (2 cm) of water in the bottom of the stockpot and bring to a gentle boil.
2 Divide the ground beef into 6 equal portions and hand-form each into roughly ½-inch (12-mm) thick patties.
3 When the water is boiling, it’s time to cook the burgers. I recommend cooking two at a time. After each batch add a bit more water to the pot. An audible clue to little or no water in the pot is that you’ll hear rendered fats sizzling. Nothing should be sizzling in there.
4 Salt both sides of the patties just before placing them into the first steamer insert. Lower the insert into the stockpot, cover, and let cook for 8 minutes. Resist the temptation to remove the lid during steaming. Keeping the steam robust is key.
5 While the burger patties are steaming, add a 1-ounce (30-g) cube of cheese to each ramekin.
6 When 8 minutes are up, lift the lid (it’s okay, you have my permission now), and add the second steaming insert to your stockpot, placing the two cheese-filled ramekins inside. Cover and let cook for 6 minutes more.
7 While everything is steaming, prepare the Kaiser rolls. Cut the rolls in half and put some lettuce on each bottom bun followed by a slice of onion. Smear some mustard (and ketchup and mayo, if desired) on each top bun. Set aside.
8 When 6 minutes are up, uncover the stockpot, lift out the insert with the cheese ramekins (be careful—these will be hot), and set aside.
9 Test the doneness of the burgers by gently pressing the top of a patty with the tongs. If the surface gives just a little, it’s perfect. If the surface gives a lot, it’s undercooked. If it feels like a rock, they’re overcooked. But don’t worry! You have 4 more patties to get it just right.
10 Once they’re fully cooked, use the tongs to transfer the steamed burgers to the prepared Kaiser rolls; pour the hot, molten cheddar over the patties; and close with the top buns. Eat immediately and enjoy, though be careful—the beef will be steaming hot.
WISCONSIN
THE POACHED BURGER
This is unquestionably one of the most peculiar burgers I’ve come across in America, and also one of my favorites. When journalists ask me questions like, “What’s the craziest topping you’ve ever had on a burger?,” I always feel like they’re missing the point. In my burger universe, crazy comes in the form of method, not added stuff. I’ve seen burgers deep-fried, smoked, steamed, and beyond—all with fantastic results. And then I met the poached burger.
As far as I know, there’s only one place to get this burger: Pete’s Hamburgers in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. It’s nowhere near a major city and is a destination burger stand if ever there was one. Pete’s is really far away from anything, has a relatively short season (open weekends only, April to October), but show up on a beautiful sunny summer day and there will be a line down the block (which moves very quickly).
The burgers at Pete’s are cooked in a way I’ve never seen before: They’re boiled, or basically poached, in a large, low-lipped tank of water. Pete’s, which started serving burgers over a hundred years ago, does not refer to their burgers as poached: It’s just the way they’ve been doing it all these years. Pete Gokey had a small lunch cart and would cook burgers on a griddle at fairs and circuses in town. “He noticed the patties that sat too long would dry out,” Pete’s grandson Paul Gokey told me once. “So he started pouring water on them to keep them moist.” From then on Pete found that the best way to cook burgers was in shallow, hot water. And you know the saying, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
Just as with the Steamed Cheeseburg (see recipe, this page), moisture and beefiness become pronounced when hot water is introduced. And unlike burgers cooked in a skillet, poaching doesn’t make a grease-splattered mess of your kitchen. As a taste enhancer, the Gokey family keeps an enormous mound of sliced onions in the center of the water pan, which naturally flavors the liquid and, in turn, the burgers. When an order comes in, a Gokey grabs a patty—along with a scoop of the limp, hot onions—and slips it onto a fresh bakery roll. To complete the flavor profile, the Gokeys offer a squirt of horseradish mustard. Another strange thing about Pete’s is that cheese is nowhere to be found there. Strange, of course, because Wisconsin is the Dairy State. My guess is that there’s really no way to melt cheese on this burger, and you’ll be fine without it. The lack of cheese forces you to focus on the simplicity of the elements at play: beef and onion.
Pete’s Hamburgers, Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin
If the idea of poaching burgers sounds unappetizing and silly, your instincts are clearly functioning properly. Fortunately, though, your instincts are wrong. There would not be a line down West Blackhawk Avenue in Prairie du Chien if the poached burger were anything but amazing.
THE POACHED BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A mandoline slicer
A large (3-quart/3-L) frying or sauté pan
A stiff spatula
A large baking dish
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
2 large Vidalia, Walla Walla, or Spanish onions, sliced paper thin on a mandoline slicer
1 tablespoon salt
8 sturdy bakery hamburger buns, sliced
THE TOPPINGS
Horseradish or spicy mustard (optional)
1 Preheat the oven to 250°F (120°C).
2 Divide the beef into 8 portions (4 ounces/125 g each) and roll into balls. Place in a container in the fridge until ready to cook.
3 In a large frying pan, bring about 1 inch (2.5 cm) of water to a boil.
4 Reduce the heat to medium and add half of the thin-sliced onions and the salt. Cover and cook for 5 minutes or until the onions are translucent.
5 Add 4 beef balls to the onion water, evenly spaced. Using the stiff spatula, press the balls into ¾-inch (2-cm) thick patties and cook for 5 minutes, then flip them and cook for another 5 minutes.
6 Meanwhile, place the sliced bakery buns in an oven-ready dish or pan, cover with foil, and heat in the oven for about 7 minutes or until soft and warm.
7 When the burgers are cooked through, serve on the warmed buns with a scoop of the onions from the cooking water and a dollop of the horseradish or spicy mustard, to be completely true to Pete’s.
8 Repeat steps 4 through 7 to cook the rest of the burgers. You may need to add a little more water to the pan before adding the rest of the onions. Let them cook for a few minutes more before adding the rest of the raw beef balls, so the water gets hot again. Also, note that your second batch is going to taste better than your first, because the water is now seasoned with the rendered beef fat from the first batch.
OKLAHOMA
THE FRIED-ONION BURGER
Oklahoma is one of my favorite places to immerse myself in burger culture. It sits in the center of what I like to call the American Burger Belt, an invisible line that can be drawn from Texas north to Wisconsin. This is where the majority of America’s primary-source hamburgers can be found; the burgers that are unaffected by time or trend. The ones that have been made the same way for, in some cases, a hundred years. One of those burgers is the fried-onion burger of Oklahoma.
El Reno, Oklahoma is the epicenter of the fried-onion burger universe. At one point there were more than nine joints in town that served this regional treat. Today only a handful of places remain, but they are preserving an important piece of American food history.
An entrepreneurial burger man in the 1920s, at the long-gone Hamburger Inn, used a handful of thin-sliced onions in his burger and a legend was born. Sid’s Diner in El Reno, one of the greatest guardians of this unique hamburger tradition, continues that legacy by taking a gob of onions and smashing it into a ball of beef on the flat top. The contents fuse, creating a beautiful, caramelized, onion-beef mess that tastes incredible. The griddle masters that smash hundreds of these burgers daily at lunch are not shy about the amount of sliced onion they use, and the onion-to-beef ratio at Sid’s is close to 50/50.
Similar to the Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburger (this page) this method goes against everything you’ve been taught about how to treat a burger on a cooking surface. Pressing the life out of a burger seems wrong until you try it. And there’s no other way to make this burger.
The trick to retain the juiciness here is to press the patty only once at the beginning and allow the burger to cook in its own grease, a sort of burger confit, if you will.
Hamburger Inn, El Reno, Oklahoma
THE FRIED-ONION BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A large seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A stiff spatula
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
A mandoline slicer, set to its thinnest setting (you can use a sharp knife, but it will be very hard to get the onions thin enough without a mandoline)
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
2 large Vidalia onions, sliced super-thin (they should be translucent and thinner than paper)
American cheese, deli-sliced
8 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Where we’re going, we don’t need toppings.
1 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of oil. Spread the oil with the flat side of your spatula to coat the surface.
2 Place the ground beef in the mixing bowl. Using the salad scoop, form balls of beef, gently releasing them into the hot pan with 2 to 3 inches (5 to 7 cm) of space surrounding each. (You may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
3 Season each beef ball with salt. Grab a golf ball–size pile of the thin-sliced onion and push it onto the center of each ball of beef so it sticks, for the most part.
4 Smash each ball to make a patty. This requires more force than you’d think. Don’t worry about smashing the patties too thin—they’ll shrink up to the size of your buns as they cook. The onions should fuse nicely with the raw beef. Once they’re smashed, don’t touch again until ready to flip—5 minutes or until red moisture begins to form on the top of the patties.
5 Flip the glorious beef-and-onion-fused patties and slide a slice of American cheese on top of each. Cook for an additional 2 to 2½ minutes, then transfer to the toasted buns. Serve immediately.
MONTANA
THE NUTBURGER
When I first got wind of this burger, I planned a trip out West to Matt’s Place in Butte, Montana, almost immediately. Burgers with nuts (like the Guberburger of Missouri and the Cashew Burger at Anchor Bar in Superior, Wisconsin) have always piqued my interest, and the Nutburger was no exception. And much like the Guber and Cashew burgers, this one is hard to get to, leaving me with the impression that burgers involving nuts are only for those with a serious case of wanderlust. In other words, unless you are a local, the Nutburger is a destination burger.
In the late 1930s, Matt Korn traveled to Southern California and ate a burger with peanuts and mayonnaise. Matt was so taken by the burger that he returned to Butte, opened Matt’s Place Drive-In, and featured the Nutburger on the menu. Today, the original structure still stands and is one of the only burger joints on the National Register of Historic Places (Louis’ Lunch, the possible birthplace of the hamburger, is another). And as far as I know, Matt’s is one of the only places that still serves a Nutburger.
Nuts work so well on a burger because they are salty and contain tasty oils. What nuts add, in addition, is a texture that is unlike any other food out there. Bacon and crisp lettuce can contribute a nice crunchy texture to a hamburger, but it’s hard to find anything to match the mouthfeel of nuts.
The concept is simple and there are no secrets here. When an order for a Nutburger comes in at Matt’s, the counterperson takes a spoonful of crushed peanuts out of the ice cream sundae bar and deposits them in a coffee mug. To that, a dollop of sweet Miracle Whip is stirred in, and the concoction is immediately applied to one of Matt’s tasty smashed classic patties. The Nutburger must be experienced to be appreciated.
Matt’s Place Drive-In, Butte, Montana
If you aren’t planning to be in Butte, Montana, anytime soon, use the following recipe as the next best option. But be sure to add Matt’s Place to your bucket list—a life well-lived should include an authentic Nutburger.
THE NUTBURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A clean kitchen cloth
Amallet or meat tenderizer or a rolling pin for crushing the peanuts
A small- and a medium-size mixing bowl
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
A #12 salad scoop
THE TOPPINGS
1 cup (150 g) roasted, salted peanuts (without shells or skins)
½ cup (120 ml) Miracle Whip (see Note)
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
8 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
1 Shortly before you cook the burgers, crush the peanuts by laying them out on a cutting board or butcher block and covering them with a clean kitchen cloth. Smash with a mallet or rolling pin until the peanuts are crumbled (if you’ve made a powder, you’ve gone too far).
2 Mix the crushed peanuts with the Miracle Whip (or substitute) in the small mixing bowl until combined. The topping should have a relatively thick consistency. Set aside.
3 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat and add a drop or two of peanut oil to coat the surface.
4 Place the ground chuck in the medium mixing bowl and use the salad scoop to make balls of beef, placing them in the skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (You may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time).
5 Add a generous pinch of salt to each ball of beef and, using the stiff spatula, press them down hard. Once flat, don’t touch them again. Let cook for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patties.
6 Flip them once, and resist the temptation to press them again. Cook for another 2 minutes or until cooked through.
7 Transfer the patties to the toasted buns and top with a heaping spoonful of the peanut condiment followed by the top bun. Serve immediately.
Note: The flavor of Miracle Whip can be achieved with ½ cup (120 ml) of mayonnaise mixed with 2 teaspoons sugar.
MISSISSIPPI
THE SLUG BURGER
It’s difficult to imagine that there was a time or place in modern American history when ground beef was not readily available. But hard times in the Deep South in the years leading up to the Great Depression took a toll on the all-beef patty that had grown in popularity only a decade earlier. It was not uncommon for burger joints to mix ground bread crumbs from day-old bread into their burger meat to extend the ground beef supply. The result was the oddly named “Slug Burger,” so called, apparently, because you could pick one up for only a “slug,” which was slang for a nickel at the time.
What happened next was magic.
As fate would have it, the breading mixed into the ground beef had a profound gastronomic effect—it acted as a sponge that soaked up grease from the griddle the burger was being fried upon. It would also crisp up the exterior of the patty faster, producing a scientific result that chefs know as the Maillard reaction. Of course, locals and regulars responded only to one thing—the great taste. So great that today, in many parts of rural Mississippi and in some remote pockets of the Deep South, the Slug Burger is alive and well.
The origins of the Slug Burger are murky, but its birthplace seems to be pinned to Corinth, Mississippi. Those who serve actual Slug Burgers today refuse to admit it or give up decades-old recipes. Almost a century ago, as the popularity of the Slug Burger flourished, short-order cooks would put their spin on the Slug using potato flour, soy grits, soy flour, and stale bread. Today there are meatpackers in northern Mississippi supplying many joints with what has become an even more widely accepted Slug, a mixture of ground pork and soy flour (no beef).
Bill’s Hamburgers, Armory, Mississippi
You can still find great beef Slugs at places like Bill’s Hamburgers and Phillips Grocery in northern Mississippi, though none of the owners will admit to adding anything to their ground beef and refuse to call them Slugs. And at Snappy Lunch in Mount Airy, North Carolina, ask for a hamburger and you’ll get a pale patty that looks more bready than beefy. Snappy Lunch uses crumbled, cooked biscuits in their burgers. If you are looking for the non-Slug version at Snappy, you’ll need to ask for the “hamburger with meat.”
Now that I’ve piqued your interest, let’s make some Slug Burgers. Since every Slug I’ve eaten contains super-secret ingredients, the recipe that follows is my approximation of what you might find on a road trip through northern Mississippi today.
THE SLUG BURGER
MAKES 6 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A medium-size mixing bowl
A stiff spatula
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
1 pound (about 500 g) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
1 cup bread crumbs made by hand-crumbling day-old bread or fresh bread toasted until just dried out
Salt, for seasoning
6 soft white buns
THE TOPPINGS
Yellow mustard
Dill pickle chips
1 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or the flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of oil.
2 Place the ground beef and bread crumbs in the mixing bowl and, using your hands, mix until fully blended. Divide the meat mixture into 6 equal portions (about 3 ounces/90 g each) and roll them into balls.
3 Place the balls of beef on the heated skillet. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (Depending on the size of your cooking surface, you may only be able to cook 2 or 3 at a time.)
4 Use the stiff spatula to give each of the balls a good press until it takes the shape of a patty (not quite as thin as the Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburger on this page, but close) and sprinkle each with a pinch of salt. Let cook, without disturbing them, for 3 minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the patty surface.
5 While the patties are cooking, prep the buns by slathering the cut-side of each bottom bun with a swipe of mustard and topping with 2 or 3 pickle chips—the traditional condiments for a classic slug burger.
6 Flip the burgers once and let them cook for another 1½ minutes without touching them. They will appear sizzling and crispy on their cooked sides when they’re done. Transfer to the prepared buns and serve.
FLORIDA
THE CUBAN FRITA
The principle industry in Miami is tourism. Most people find their way to the warm weather during the winter months and don’t give much thought to life in Miami beyond the beaches. For those smart enough to get off the sand and into the diverse and vibrant culture of Miami, one reward comes in the form of the Cuban frita.
In 1959, Cubans began to flee their country following the Cuban Revolution, and many settled in Miami, only about two hundred miles away. The frita was one of the culinary survivors of the exodus. Sharing the same DNA as the American hamburger, the frita was served from street carts in Havana before Fidel Castro seized control of the country. Chorizo spices such as paprika and garlic were mixed into the patty, and it was served on a soft roll with sautéed onions and a nest of fried potatoes on top.
Today many fritas can be found along Calle Ocho, the Miami street that runs directly through the proudly Cuban neighborhood of Little Havana. Some of the best can be found at El Mago de las Fritas and El Rey de las Fritas. Every frita joint has its own take on the tasty Cuban burger, but all share a few key ingredients, like the fried potatoes and the chorizo-spiced beef. The classic Cuban bread roll is also key, similar in taste and texture to the pillowy-soft, thin-crunch exterior of po’-boy bread in New Orleans. Most importantly, the patty itself is cooked in a special sauce directly on the flat top—the secret ingredient that gives this burger a pronounced, caramelized kick.
Now here’s the sad and crazy part; as far as we know, the frita no longer exists in Cuba. Mercedes Gonzalez, owner of El Rey, told me once, “There’s no way for them to find all of those ingredients!” It’s almost as if a few smart Cubans stored the frita in a safe place (Miami) until the cloud of oppression blew over. Mercedes plans one day to open the first frita drive-thru in Cuba and reintroduce this salvaged tradition to the local population.
THE CUBAN FRITA
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A medium-size mixing bowl
A saucepan or aluminum skillet with a heavy lid
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
THE TOPPINGS
Motz’s Kinda-Secret Frita Sauce (recipe follows)
Thin-Cut Fried Potatoes (recipe follows)
Ketchup
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon paprika
¾ teaspoon ground cumin
¾ cup (95 g) grated onion (reserve ¼ cup/35 g for topping)
1 loaf Cuban bread or 8 Cuban rolls (any sturdy yet soft bakery rolls will work if you can’t find Cuban bread)
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
Salt, for seasoning
1 Prepare the frita sauce and fried potatoes according to the recipes opposite. I recommend starting with the sauce because it can simmer while the potatoes are frying. Set both aside.
2 In a mixing bowl, mix the ground beef, garlic, paprika, cumin, and grated onion, using your hands to blend until well combined.
3 Hand-form the mixture into 8 fairly thin (¼-inch/6-mm), loose, flat balls and set aside.
4 Slice the bread or rolls in half, then reassemble and place them, three at a time, in a dry saucepan with a heavy lid. Heat over low heat, covered, for approximately 10 minutes, flipping the bread once halfway through. If you’re using rolls, they should be soft and steamy in the middle, but stiff and toasted on the outside.
5 Meanwhile, preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium or medium-low heat with a small dab of peanut oil, spreading it evenly over the surface with the spatula. Once the skillet is hot, add the patties, leaving 2 inches (5 cm) around them (you may only be able to fit two or three at a time), and press them flat like the Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburger (recipe on this page). Add a pinch of salt to each patty and let them cook for about 3 minutes, then flip.
6 Spoon a generous amount of the frita sauce over the burgers while they’re sizzling in the skillet and let them cook for 2 minutes. Flip again and cook for 1 minute more.
7 Transfer the patties to the toasted bread or rolls. Top each patty with a heaping handful of fried potatoes, followed by a pinch of the reserved grated onion and a dollop of ketchup. Sandwich with the top piece of bread or roll and serve immediately.
Note: This recipe will make a mess of your cast-iron. You’ll want to scrape it clean (no soap!) once you’re done cooking, or it could rust your skillet.
MOTZ’S KINDA-SECRET FRITA SAUCE
Makes more than enough for 8 Cuban fritas
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, crushed with a garlic press
2 ounces (55 g) tomato paste
½ teaspoon paprika
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons Frank’s RedHot cayenne pepper sauce or similar hot sauce
1 Heat the olive oil in a saucepan over medium heat. Once the pan is hot, add the garlic and cook for about 1 minute, until it just begins to turn golden brown (do not burn).
2 Stir in the tomato paste and 1 cup (240 ml) water. Increase the heat to high and bring the liquid to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and add the paprika, sugar, vinegar, and hot sauce. Stir to combine, cover, and simmer for 15 to 20 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.
3 Once cool to the touch, transfer the sauce to a blender and blend on low speed until smooth.
THIN-CUT FRIED POTATOES
Makes enough to top 8 Cuban fritas
EQUIPMENT
A deep frying pan
A mandoline slicer (optional)
A large mixing bowl or stockpot
Long tongs (skip the plastic tips!) or a metal slotted spoon
INGREDIENTS
1 quart (1 L) peanut or grapeseed oil (or enough to fill the frying pan with ½ inch/12 mm oil)
3 large russet (baking) potatoes
Ice water
Salt, for seasoning
1 Preheat the oil in the frying pan over medium-high heat until the top of the oil appears to be shimmering. It’s hot enough if you add a piece of potato to the oil and it bubbles.
2 While the oil is heating, peel the potatoes and chop them into matchstick-size strips (or julienne them with a mandoline).
3 Place the matchstick potatoes in a large bowl or stockpot filled with enough ice water to cover them. Soak them for 15 minutes, then drain in a colander and pat dry with paper towels.
WARNING: Make sure the potatoes are fairly dry before placing them in the oil (water + hot oil = horrible explosions).
4 Just a handful at a time, add the dry julienned potatoes to the hot oil in your frying pan. The oil should bubble up immediately upon contact.
5 Cook each batch for about 3 minutes or until golden brown, stirring occasionally. Using the tongs or a slotted spoon, remove the potatoes from the oil and place on a plate lined with paper towels.
6 Continue to fry handfuls of potatoes until they’re all cooked, then transfer them to the mixing bowl (make sure it’s dry first) and toss with salt to taste.
WISCONSIN
THE BUTTER BURGER
Before I made the film Hamburger America, very few people had heard of the butter burger of Wisconsin. Even in the nearby city of Chicago it was perceived as a sort of burger mythology, a thing that “may” exist. That’s because the concept of the butter burger sounds absurd. Who uses butter as a hamburger condiment? Why some clever folks in the great dairy state of Wisconsin, of course!
What many in the state refer to as a butter burger simply involves swiping the inside of a toasted bun with a thin coat of pure, creamy Wisconsin butter. But to truly experience this unique American burger you’ll need to visit the place where it was invented: Solly’s Grille in Glendale, Wisconsin. Solly’s, which is near Milwaukee, started adding butter to their burgers in the 1930s and the idea caught on.
If you make the pilgrimage to the small, yellow, double-horseshoe-shaped Formica counter you can indulge in a few butter burgers—but they’re not for the lactose intolerant. That’s because Solly’s still uses 2 to 3 tablespoons of soft local butter per burger. That’s right, and if you are lucky enough to have that hot burger delivered to your spot at the counter fast enough, you will get to experience biting into butter that is still in a semisolid state. And you may also catch yourself doing what I did on my first visit to Solly’s—dipping the last bite of your burger back into the pool of butter on your plate. You will quickly discover that whatever guilt you harbored on your first bite has dissipated by your last.
Anything can be added to a butter burger—the standard lettuce and tomato are sometimes included—but by far the best way to enjoy a butter burger is the simple way, with butter and stewed onions only.
Solly’s, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Onions are always great on a burger, whether they are fried, raw, stewed, or sautéed. There’s something about the combination of beef, grease, salt, and onion that is hard to beat. Glenn Fieber, my butter burger hero at Solly’s Grille, has a recipe for stewed onions so secret that only a handful of family members have been entrusted with its details. I think I may have gotten close with the following recipe, but for the real thing you’ll have to plan a trip to Milwaukee. Glenn’s version has the consistency and flavor of the onions you might find in French onion soup, and that’s a good thing.
The butter burger is one of the most difficult burgers to make at home, simply because you’ll have a hard time trying to convince your brain to put that much butter on a burger. It’s kind of like trying to cut your own hair, or self-surgery—always better when someone else does it. Find a friend and make some butter burgers!
THE BUTTER BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
THE TOPPINGS
Glenn’s Stewed Onions, My Way (recipe follows)
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) high-quality salted butter, softened to room temperature (try to source authentic Wisconsin butter for best results)
8 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
1 Make the stewed onions according to the recipe directions.
2 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat and add a drop or two of peanut oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the surface.
3 Put the ground beef in the mixing bowl and use the salad scoop to make balls of beef, placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it.
4 Sprinkle a generous pinch of salt on each ball of beef, then using the stiff spatula press them down hard. Once they are flat, don’t touch them again. Let them cook for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patties.
5 Flip them once and let cook another 2 minutes without touching.
6. Remove the pan from the heat and place the patties on the toasted buns, with a heaping spoonful of stewed onions on top.
7 Using a wide spreading knife or a spoon, spread what seems like far too much (nearly 2 tablespoons) of the soft butter directly onto the inside of the bun top—not directly on the burger. If you apply the butter to the hot patty directly, it will immediately slide off and onto your foot.
8 Carefully marry the buttered bun to the burger, consume immediately, and stop thinking. Just enjoy it.
GLENN’S STEWED ONIONS, MY WAY
Makes enough to top 8 butter burgers
I love that Glenn has secrets. But I also love his stewed onions and wish he’d give me the recipe. Alas, he won’t (cue Glenn’s infectious chuckle). So here is an approximation of what I think Glenn does when he’s sequestered back there in the kitchen at Solly’s.
3 tablespoons (45 ml) olive oil
2 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onions, diced
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup (120 ml) dry white wine
1 cup (240 ml) beef broth
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
Salt, to taste
1 Heat the oil in a saucepan over medium heat.
2 Add the onions and butter to the pan, stirring until the butter is melted.
3 Add the wine, stir, cover, and cook for about 10 minutes or until the onion is translucent.
4 Add the beef broth and pepper, cover, and reduce the heat and simmer. Cook for 20 minutes.
5 Uncover and bring to a boil, evaporating the remaining liquid. Stir until the onions are soft and liquid-free, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside until you’re ready to top some butter burgers.
NEW MEXICO
THE GREEN CHILE CHEESEBURGER
The New Mexican chile graces nearly every single menu in the state and is rarely found elsewhere. It is a defining aspect of New Mexican cooking and is served either green or red. Green chile has a subtle, earthy flavor, whereas red chile (left on the vine to ripen after the initial fall harvest) has a deep, smoky essence. Both can be found hot or mild, but the best New Mexican chile falls right in the middle, where you can feel some heat and still taste that chile. It’s one of the most distinctive natural flavors in America.
But green chile is not native to New Mexico. The story of how the pepper found its way to the region is fascinating, and begins with Christopher Columbus’s second journey to the Caribbean in the late fifteenth century. He returned to Spain with seeds, introducing Europe to a spicy pepper for the first time. Fifty years later, as Spanish conquistadors colonized the Southwest, they brought their peppers along, altering the area’s generally bland diet forever.
Unless you’ve had the great fortune to taste this pepper firsthand it’s somewhat difficult to describe. Imagine a mild Anaheim pepper (a close relative) crossed with a spicy jalapeño—but even that’s not accurate. Most New Mexicans roast their chiles over an open flame to enable easy removal of the skin, leaving the flesh of the pepper soft and smoky. Add this, chopped and stewed, to a thick cheeseburger and prepare your mouth for an out-of-body experience. Every single person I have ever introduced to the Green Chile Cheeseburger has gratified me with an ear-to-ear smile following their first bite. And when my wife (a vegetarian, yep) took a break from her diet after seventeen years, her first burger upon reentry? The most famous in its class—the Green Chile Cheeseburger at the Bobcat Bite in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Hit up a touristy spot in New Mexico and, most likely, green chile will be served mild on your burger. Head to the locals’ favorite spots for real-deal heat. It’s never too hot, but usually served just spicy enough to give you a little endorphin buzz. Writer John T. Edge once described the sensation as how you might feel after shotgunning two beers in rapid succession. He’s not far off.
By design, there’s not much to a great green chile cheeseburger, except, of course, the right chile. Many suppliers near Hatch, New Mexico, will ship you fresh green chiles that you can roast, peel, and eat, but the season is brief (September). New Mexicans are big on freezing chopped chile, making it available by mail all year long. And as for condiments, they are not necessary here. Keep things simple so that you can taste the unadulterated beauty of green chile and beef. Use a good, sharp melty cheddar to glue the whole thing together.
THE GREEN CHILE CHEESEBURGER
MAKES 6 CHEESEBURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A small saucepan
A 3½-inch (9-cm) food ring or round cutter (recommended, but not required)
Parchment paper
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
2 or 3 medium-size metal bowls
THE BURGER
3 cups (450 g) roasted, peeled, and chopped New Mexican green chiles
Splash of water or beef stock
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
Salt and black pepper for seasoning
White cheddar cheese, sliced
6 seeded soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Don’t even think about it. Toppings other than chile and cheese are unnecessary.
1 Add the green chiles to the small saucepan with a splash of water or beef stock (just enough to let the chile steam slightly, but not so much it turns into soup). Cover and heat over medium heat until hot. Remove from the heat, keep covered, and set aside.
2 Divide the beef into 6 even portions (a little over 5½ ounces/155 g each).
3 Line a clean surface or cutting board with parchment paper to prevent sticking. Working with the food ring, gently press one portion of the beef into the ring to create a perfectly round patty. Don’t over press—you want it to maintain a somewhat loose grind. Repeat with the remaining beef.
4 Add a few drops of peanut oil to the cast-iron skillet, using the spatula to spread the oil, and crank it up to medium-high heat. When the pan just starts to smoke, it’s ready.
5 At this point, and not before, season both sides of the patties with a liberal amount of salt and pepper. Salting too early will bind the muscle fibers together and make the burgers tough (not good).
6 Place the patties in the hot skillet—the beef should sizzle loudly when it hits the pan—and cook for 4 minutes without disturbing them. The goal here is to sear your burgers, sealing in the juices. When you see red liquid start to form on the top of the patties, it’s time to flip them.
7 Reduce the heat to medium and cook the second side of the patties (without disturbing them) for an additional 6½ minutes. After 4 minutes, add a healthy pile of the green chiles to the top of each patty followed by a slice of cheese. To help melt the cheese, cover the burgers with a metal bowl or large pot lid for the final 2 to 3 minutes of cooking.
8 Remove the skillet from the heat and allow the burgers to rest for 1½ minutes. The internal temperature of the burgers should be about 143°F (62°C) for medium-rare. Transfer to the toasted buns with nothing else. Serve immediately.
TENNESSEE
THE DEEP-FRIED BURGER
My obsession with exploring the myriad ways burgers are cooked and served in America started with the deep-fried burger. I mentioned to my good friend Brett Turner many years ago that I was thinking about making a documentary about hamburgers, and he told me, “You have to include Dyer’s in Memphis.” (His hometown.) “They actually deep-fry their burgers!” At first, I assumed it was just a gimmick dreamed up by a chef in search of something new. But what I discovered was a tiny gem of American culinary history.
In my travels throughout the United States I have since discovered other deep-fried burger joints, stands, and carts, and they all share one very important component—rich hamburger history. The method for deep-frying burgers was actually born of laziness: an accident-turned-tradition. One day, in around 1912, Elmer Dyer was too busy to drain the skillet he was using to cook burgers. Eventually the rendered fat became a deep pool of grease. Elmer discovered that if he strained the grease and used it to cook with, the result was actually a better-tasting burger.
Now I know what you are thinking—“Yikes! I’m not eating a deep-fried burger!” But trust me, you should, and you will. The deep-fried burger cooks in just 1 minute and, if the temperature of the oil is just right, the patty deflects most of the oil. These factors allow the patty to retain a moist composition and lend it a slightly crispy exterior.
To pull off this recipe you have two options—get your hands on some beef tallow (rendered beef fat) or simply use peanut oil in its place. Most burger joints that deep-fry burgers use tallow. Try it if you like, but be forewarned; cooking with pure tallow creates an aroma that is not for everyone. It’s also difficult to purchase. Some butchers will sell you suet, which is not rendered (they use it to add fat content to a lean grind of beef). Simply heat the suet and strain it and you have tallow. Some claim cooking in beef tallow is better for you than any of the store-bought, highly refined hydrogenated oils out there. It’s the way our ancestors ate.
Dyer’s original location, Memphis, Tennessee
When tallow is not readily available I use peanut oil, one of the best oils for deep-frying. However, be careful with this science experiment. Remember that deep-frying beef can be dangerous, since the liquid present in the raw patty will splatter and make for some impressive fireworks. Please follow the directions carefully.
THE DEEP-FRIED BURGER
MAKES 8 QUARTER-POUND BURGERS OR 4 DOUBLE-CHEESEBURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A deep seasoned cast-iron skillet (don’t use a flat top)
A clean, smooth surface (a marble countertop, or a 12 x 12-inch/30 x 30-cm marble floor tile work well)
A stiff spatula
A wooden mallet or old-school wooden potato masher
A mesh strainer for cleaning the oil
THE BURGER
1 quart (about 1 L) beef tallow or enough peanut or grapeseed oil to fill a skillet with 2 inches (5 cm) of oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
8 soft white hamburger buns
THE TOPPINGS
Yellow mustard to taste
2 to 3 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onions, sliced paper-thin
Dill pickle chips
8 slices American cheese
1 Heat the tallow or oil in your skillet over medium heat.
2 While the oil is heating up, shape the ground beef into 8 portions on your clean, smooth work surface and roll them into equal-size balls (they should be slightly larger than golf balls). Chill on a plate in the refrigerator.
3 Prep the hamburger buns with a thin layer of mustard, a slice of onion, and a few pickle chips, and have them nearby. You’ll want them open and ready for your deep-fried patties. The cheese, as well, should be within arms-reach of where you are frying.
4 Test the oil to see if it’s ready: You’ll know it’s hot enough when a tiny pinch of beef bubbles immediately upon impact. Never put beef patties into a skillet of lukewarm grease or oil because the beef will just absorb it.
5 When the oil is ready, remove one of the balls of ground beef from the fridge and place it on your work surface. Dip the spatula into the oil to coat it, then squash the ball flat on the work surface (the oil will keep the meat from sticking to the spatula). Use the wooden smasher to press down on the back of the spatula to make that patty even thinner. A steady pressing and smoothing-out motion, starting in the middle of the meat and then sweeping out to the edges, works best. (If you pound the spatula down and try to lift it straight off the meat, the patty will likely break.) Try to keep your smashed patty round, but it doesn’t have to be perfect. (It takes practice to get this right). When you have a super-thin sheet of beef, approximately ⅛ inch (3 mm) thick, you are ready to fry.
6 Using the long edge of the spatula, carefully scrape the patty off of the work surface, starting with the edges. Try not to tear the meat.
7 Carefully transfer the flattened patty to the hot grease and watch the magic unfold. Within seconds the beef is reduced to a bun-size patty, and it is fully cooked after 1 minute in the oil. You can gently flip the patty in the oil after about 30 seconds; just be careful not to splash the oil. The first time I tried this, the oil was way too hot and the results were explosive. BE CAREFUL. If the oil seems too hot, lower the heat to just below medium.
8 When the patty is fully cooked, use the spatula to gently lift the it out of the grease, place a slice of American cheese on top, and briefly dip the patty back into the oil to melt the cheese. (This, too, takes practice. If your oil is too shallow, the cheese is likely to float off of the patty. If you can dip in a way that allows a quick wave of oil to wash over the cheese, you’ll achieve the perfect melt factor.)
9 Place the fried cheeseburger patty on a prepped soft white bun and serve immediately. Repeat steps 5 through 8 with the remaining balls of ground beef and slices of cheese. You tell me if you think that was worth the effort. (It was.)
NEW JERSEY
THE JERSEY BURGER
New Jersey has made many contributions to the wide world of food. Salt-water taffy, the deep-fried hotdog known as the Ripper, and late night diner snack Disco fries, which are smothered in brown gravy and cheese, to name just a few. Jersey is also known for—but not the originator of—the slider. It is perhaps New Jersey’s immense number of working diners that have helped to keep the classic slider tradition alive and well. Places like White Manna in Hackensack and White Rose in Linden still make sliders the way White Castle did in the very beginning. Corporate White Castle today has nothing on the sliders of Manna and Rose, which serves a fresh-beef version that is probably identical to the burgers of 1920s America—small, simple, and addictively tasty.
One of my favorite food items in New Jersey is the cultish Taylor pork roll. This sliceable deli meat, first created by New Jersey senator John Taylor in 1856, actually predates the invention of the burger by half a century. If you order a breakfast sandwich in some parts of Jersey, there’s a good chance your egg and cheese will be joined by a slice of cooked Taylor pork. Unctuous and garlicky, Taylor pork is a cross between Spam and bologna but better than both. When pan-fried, the fats render, creating a crazy, salty disk of wow. When added to a burger, watch out. It’s hard to put a Jersey burger down.
It was only a matter of time before someone slipped a slice of Taylor pork roll on a burger. One of the best places to experience this treat is at White Rose, the timeless, stainless-steel diner in Linden. Owner Rich Belfer created the Jersey burger in 1999 by marrying a slice of Taylor pork to his “large” slider (basically a slider with twice the meat), which has onions pressed into the patty as it cooks on the flat top. He also has a version of the burger with a fried egg on top that he calls the Jersey Girl.
Rich Belfer, White Rose, Linden, New Jersey
You could probably use just about any thick-cut, pan-fried deli meat like salami or bologna for your burger, but for the full Jersey experience get your hands on some authentic Taylor pork roll. Make a friend in New Jersey and have them start shipping the stuff. You can thank me later.
THE JERSEY BURGER
MAKES 8 CHEESEBURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A stiff spatula
A mandoline slicer (you can use a sharp knife, but it will be very hard to get the onions thin enough)
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
2 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onions, sliced into super-thin rings (translucent and thinner than paper)
Salt, for seasoning
1 (6-ounce) package Taylor pork roll (8 slices)
8 slices yellow American cheese (deli slices, not prepackaged “singles”)
8 soft white buns
THE TOPPINGS
This is neither the time nor place.
1 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium), and add a drop or two of oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface.
2 Place the ground beef in the mixing bowl. Using the salad scoop, make balls of beef and gently release them onto the hot pan with 2 to 3 inches (5 to 7 cm) of space surrounding each. Grab a golf ball–size pile of the thin-sliced onion and push it into the center of each ball of beef. Season each ball with salt.
3 Use the stiff spatula to press directly down onto the balls, smashing them into thin, wide patties. Don’t worry if you think you’ve smashed the patties too thin—they’ll shrink up to the size of your bun as they cook. The onions should fuse nicely with the raw beef. Once the patties are smashed, don’t touch them again until they’re ready to flip—5 minutes or until red moisture begins to form on the surface of the patties.
4 Meanwhile, in another part of the pan, heat the Taylor pork roll slices until they’re just browned on both sides. You’ll need to cut four evenly spaced slits in each slice to prevent them from curling up in the pan (see photo, this page).
5 Flip the beef-and-onion patties and slide a slice of American cheese on top of each. Cook an additional 2 to 2½ minutes and transfer to the squishy buns.
6 Top with a slice of Taylor ham followed by the top buns and serve immediately.
MASSACHUSETTS
THE HAMBURGER PARM
Although variations of this burger can be found throughout America, it has solid roots in the small Massachusetts town of Fitchburg at a great little lunch counter aptly named The Italian Burger. It’s a full-service diner with an extensive menu of home-cooked meals like meatloaf, and fried haddock on Fridays. But of course for me the standout item is their namesake burger.
At Italian Burger a standard griddle-smashed patty of fresh beef is served on a classic loaf of Italian bread (crunchy exterior, pillow-soft interior), slathered in homemade red sauce, and topped with melted provolone cheese. The cheeseburger and meatball hero collide and the result is pretty spectacular.
Meatballs, which I love as much as the next guy, are not hamburgers. Loaded up with breading, eggs, spices, and often pork instead of beef, meatballs are second cousins to meatloaf. Using a burger patty, pure and simple, allows the beefiness to burst through. Add a simple tomato sauce, great bread, and a slice of melted sharp provolone, and you have yourself one unique American (er, Italian) burger.
It’s important to get the right bread and make the tomato sauce at home. My recipe for red sauce (this page), has evolved over the years. I started eliminating different spices each time I made it; today my pared-down version only includes four ingredients. Easy and delicious.
THE HAMBURGER PARM
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A baking sheet
A stiff spatula
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
THE TOPPINGS
My Red Sauce (recipe follows)
8 slices sharp provolone
THE BURGER
1 to 2 loaves fresh Italian bread, cut into 8 squares (4 inches/10 cm each) and sliced in half, lengthwise
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
1 Make the red sauce and set it aside, covered, to keep it warm. Preheat the broiler to 500°F (260°C).
2 Place the bread slices, soft side up, on a baking sheet and toast in the broiler (keep an eye on these—they will burn to a crisp if you look away). When they are just golden brown, remove from the oven and set aside.
3 Use the ground chuck to prepare Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburgers (this page) or Thick Pub Classic Burgers (this page)—your choice, depending on your mood. Slightly condensed directions for making smashed burgers are repeated here.
4 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat, add a drop or two of peanut oil, and spread the oil with the spatula to coat the cooking surface.
5 Put the ground chuck in your mixing bowl and use the salad scoop to make slightly heaping balls of beef, placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (You may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
6 Sprinkle a generous pinch of salt on each ball of beef and then, using your stiff spatula, press them down, hard, until you have wide patties just a bit larger than the bread. Let them cook, undisturbed, for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patties.
7. Flip them once, don’t press them again, and let them cook for another 2 minutes. Meanwhile, prep the bottom half of each piece of toasted bread with a thin layer of red sauce.
8 When the burgers are cooked through, place them on the prepared bread, and add more sauce on top. Top with a slice of provolone and return the baking sheet to the broiler, removing the top buns from the sheet pan before you do so. When the cheese is melted and gooey, remove the burgers from the broiler, add the top buns, and enjoy.
MY RED SAUCE
Makes enough to top 8 Hamburger Parms
This is a very basic and utilitarian red sauce that has taken me years to perfect. I use it on pizza, for meat sauces, and in any recipe that asks for a red sauce. One cool trick I picked up from an Italian chef friend was to use a blender to fully mix the flavors. It partially emulsifies the oil with the liquid content of the tomatoes, making for a damn tasty sauce.
3 tablespoons (45 ml) olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 (28 ounce/790 g) can organic whole peeled or diced tomatoes
Sea salt, to taste
1 Heat the oil in a saucepan over medium heat. Add the garlic and stir, cooking until just golden. (Don’t burn the garlic, or it will impart a bitter flavor to your sauce.)
2 Add the tomatoes, with their juices, cover, reduce the heat to low, and cook for 10 minutes.
3 Remove from the heat and transfer to a blender. Blend for 3 to 5 seconds (the sauce will become slightly lighter in color) and return to the saucepan. Alternately, puree using an immersion (stick) blender in the saucepan if you have one.
4 Cover the pot and simmer the sauce for another 20 minutes to allow the flavors to incorporate.
MINNESOTA
THE JUCY LUCY
In 1953, a man walked into Matt’s Bar, a neighborhood watering hole in the south side of Minneapolis, and asked the bartender, Matt Bristol, to make him “something special.” Back then many corner taverns were outfitted with tiny flat top grills just behind the bar, alongside the cash register and bottles of booze. Bartenders were expected to mix drinks and flip burgers, and food was offered as a way to nourish the regulars and keep them from heading home for dinner. In some cases the food that bars offered back then was free, used as an incentive for customers to stick around and keep drinking.
That day in 1953, Matt produced a burger that was truly special. He took two of the bar’s thin, preformed burger patties, placed a slice of American cheese between them, and tossed it on the flat top. When the man bit into the concoction he allegedly exclaimed, “That’s one juicy Lucy!,” and a legend was born. It was such a hit that Matt put his new invention on the menu (incorrectly spelling it “Jucy,” a quirk that is still reflected on the old menu board today). Versions of the Jucy Lucy can be found in most major American cities, and a handful of other establishments in and around the Twin Cities have created their own versions. Matt’s Bar still serves well over five hundred of the cheese-stuffed beauties on a busy day.
The method by which a Jucy Lucy is constructed should not be taken lightly. This burger is more ambitious than your usual casual tavern fare and its preparation has more in common with a science experiment. All of the elements have to be precisely handled. Get one aspect wrong and pay dearly. A chef friend of mine once offered the Jucy Lucy at his New York City restaurant as a special, only to appear in the dining room in a panic looking for me. Turns out his first batch of untested Jucy Lucys were exploding on the grill, spewing hot cheese everywhere. With the Jucy Lucy, success is in the details.
Matt’s Bar, Minneapolis, Minnesota
If you are lucky enough to get to Matt’s for a Jucy Lucy, you’ll find that it may be one of the only burgers in America that comes with a warning. That’s because if you bite into your burger too quickly you will suffer second-degree burns from the molten cheese exploding in your face (I’ve been a victim). You will frequently overhear the waitstaff ask, “Have you had one before? Let it cool down before you take a bite.” And if these warnings are not enough, staff shirts have the phrase “Fear the Cheese” printed on the back.
If I haven’t completely scared you out of trying this recipe, let’s do some weird science. Let’s make a Jucy Lucy at home. The traditional recipe calls for good-old American cheese, but you should experiment with any cheese you desire. Pepper Jack, cheddar, and blue cheese all work well. But in my opinion, there’s really nothing quite like a Jucy Lucy with hot, dripping, yellow American cheese.
THE JUCY LUCY
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #16 salad scoop
A hand patty press, set to make ¼ inch (just under 1 cm) thick patties
Parchment paper cut into 6-inch (15-cm) squares
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A stiff spatula
A toothpick
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
8 slices yellow American cheese
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
8 classic soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
Salt, for seasoning
THE TOPPINGS:
2 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onions, diced
Butter
Dill pickle chips
1 Place the ground beef in the mixing bowl and, using the salad scoop, shape the meat into balls. These should be level scoops (about 2-ounce/60-g balls) to create 16 balls total. Set aside.
2 Line the hand patty press with a square of parchment, place a ball of beef in center, place another square of parchment paper on top, and press the lid of the patty press down hard until you’ve made a patty. Leave the formed patty in the parchment paper for now. Each Jucy Lucy requires two patties so repeat this step until all the balls of meat have been pressed.
3 Once you have 16 patties between parchment squares, it’s time to start building Jucy Lucys: Take two patties and remove one sheet of parchment paper from each. Take a slice of American cheese and fold it in half, then in half again so you have 4 quarter-slices of cheese in a stack. Place this stack in the center of one of the patties. Line up the second patty on top of the first, parchment paper side up. You should now have a parchment “sandwich” with meat and cheese in the center. Using your fingers, pinch the edges of the two patties together through the parchment paper, making sure to seal the entire perimeter of the burger. This seal is very important. The patty will look more like a clam than a hamburger patty at this stage.
4 Repeat this process until all the patties are cheese-filled clam-shaped patties.
5 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface. Once hot, add the onions to the pan and a pat of butter. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are golden brown. Transfer to a bowl.
6 Place 2 or 3 pickle chips on each of the toasted bottom buns and set aside.
7 Remove the remaining parchment paper from two or three of the cheese-filled patties and place them in the same skillet used for the onions. Add a dash of salt to each patty and cook for 4 minutes before flipping.
8 The next step involves a bit of science: Flip the burgers gently, taking care not to break the meat or let the cheese escape. Using the toothpick, poke a tiny hole in the center of each burger. Don’t poke all the way through—only through to the cheese layer. This will allow the steam that has built up inside the patty to escape without draining the burger of its precious cheesy contents. If you skip this step, the burgers will explode and ruin your day. I’m not kidding.
9 Cook the patties for another 4 minutes. Spoon some cooked onions on the bottom halves of the buns and place a cooked patty on top of each. Serve immediately but be sure to warn your guests to let the burgers cool for a few minutes before taking a bite.
Note: The Jucy Lucy may require practice. It wasn’t until my third attempt that I was successful. If at first you don’t succeed, get back in there and show that Jucy Lucy who is boss. And remember: Fear the Cheese.
HAWAII
THE LOCO MOCO
The next time you’re in Hawaii, make a point of getting away from the mega-hotels and tourist traps to indulge in some true local fare. The cuisine of Hawaii is varied but heavily influenced by Japanese cooking and mainland American cuisine. You may be surprised to learn that Spam is a menu staple in most local cafes. As the story goes, Spam was the only meat product available to U.S. troops stationed in Hawaii during World War II. After the war the troops left and Spam remained.
Two unique variations on the burger in Hawaii are the Loco Moco and the teriyaki burger, both available at many cafes, counters, and restaurants throughout the Islands. Sure, you can visit a burger shop and get a ring of pineapple on a burger, but that’s actually not authentically Hawaiian. In fact, the idea of ham and pineapple on a burger was created in Ontario, Canada, in the early 1960s, not in the Hawaiian Islands.
The Loco Moco has its roots in Hilo, Hawaii, specifically at the now-defunct Lincoln Grill. It was created in 1949 at the request of local high school football players, which makes sense looking at the ingredients. I lived on Maui for a while and had my share of local meals, mostly consisting of oxtail or Spam soup and beef chili over rice. I always marveled at the way Hawaiians put everything on rice, including burgers. The classic Loco Moco consists of a bed of white rice under a burger patty smothered in beef gravy all topped with a fried egg. It is a sight to behold and equally tasty. Variations exist with Spam, beef chili, and fish. You should experiment, but here is my recipe for the classic—a good place to start.
THE LOCO MOCO
MAKES 4 SERVINGS
EQUIPMENT
A mandoline slicer
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
A small nonstick skillet
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
1 pound (about 500 g) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
1 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onion, sliced into super-thin rings (translucent and thinner than paper)
Salt, for seasoning
2 cups (about 400 g) cooked white rice, prepared according to package directions
THE TOPPINGS
Super-Easy Tasty Brown Gravy (recipe follows)
4 large eggs
1 Make the brown gravy according to recipe instructions (see opposite page). Set aside.
2 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat, add a drop or two of oil, and use the spatula to coat the cooking surface.
3 Place the ground beef in your mixing bowl. Using the scoop, form heaping balls of beef, gently releasing them into the hot pan. Leave about 3 inches (7 cm) of space surrounding each. (You may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
4 Sprinkle a generous pinch of salt on each ball of beef. Then grab a golf ball–size pile of the thin-sliced onion and push it onto the center of each ball of beef so it sticks.
5 With great force, use the stiff spatula to press directly down onto the balls of beef, smashing them into thin, wide patties. The onions should fuse nicely with the raw beef. Once they’re smashed, don’t touch the patties again until they’re ready to flip—5 minutes or until red moisture begins to form on the top of the patties.
6 While the burgers cook, pile ¼ cup (50 g) of warm rice in each of four single-serving bowls or on plates.
7 When red moisture begins to form on the patties, flip them and cook an additional 2 to 2½ minutes.
8 Meanwhile, in a clean, nonstick skillet, fry the eggs, sunny-side up or over-easy. You’ll want the yolks to be runny because when the egg yolk meets the gravy, beef juice, and rice all hell will break loose on your taste buds (in a good way).
9 Place a cooked burger patty on each bed of rice, smother with the brown gravy, and top with a fried egg. Serve immediately.
SUPER-EASY TASTY BROWN GRAVY
Makes enough to smother 4 loco mocos
4 tablespoons (½ stick/55 g) butter
¼ cup (30 g) all-purpose flour
1 cup (240 ml) beef stock
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
¼ teaspoon garlic powder
½ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons whole milk
1 Start by making a roux: Melt the butter in a small saucepan over low heat. Stir in the flour and whisk constantly until the mixture is browned and smells nutty, about 3 minutes. (Do not overcook!)
2 Slowly pour in the beef stock while whisking and reduce the heat and simmer. Keep stirring.
3 Add the salt, pepper, garlic powder, and Worcestershire sauce and continue to stir with the whisk.
4 Introduce the milk slowly, a little at a time, and keep stirring until creamy. Remove the pan from the heat. If your gravy gets too thick, stir in a bit more beef stock until you’re happy with the consistency.
HAWAII
THE TERIYAKI BURGER
The teriyaki burger is as ubiquitous in Hawaii as the Loco Moco. My good friend Jennifer Binney, a Hawaii native who lives on Oahu, calls it the “old school diner burger,” and she suggests serving it, “on the whitest white bun you can find. No seeds.” Not surprisingly, the teriyaki burger has roots in Japan; it was invented by the MOS Burger chain in the early 1970s. Today in Japan it is everywhere. McDonald’s even has a version of the teriyaki burger on the menu at their Japanese locations (so I’ve heard).
Depending on the okazuya, or local Hawaiian diner, where you are eating a “teri” burger, it could be marinated in teriyaki and cooked or it may have a thicker teriyaki sauce on top as a condiment. Some are simply marinated, like the burgers at the classic sixty-year-old W&M Bar-B-Q in Honolulu. The best ones use both teriyaki marinade and sauce, and a dollop of sweet Japanese mayonnaise to push the flavors over the edge. This burger screams umami.
THE TERIYAKI BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A medium-size mixing bowl
A hand patty press set to make ⅜-inch (just over 1-cm) patties
Parchment paper, cut into 6-inch (15-cm) squares
A #12 salad scoop
A large casserole dish or baking pan
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A stiff spatula
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
Teriyaki Marinade (recipe follows)
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
8 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Japanese mayonnaise (preferably the ubiquitous Kewpie brand)
Iceberg lettuce, thinly shredded
1 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onion, chopped
Teriyaki Sauce (recipe follows)
1 Make the teriyaki marinade well in advance—it will take a while to cool adequately before it can be used.
2 Place the ground beef in the mixing bowl. Line a hand patty press with a square of parchment, and then, using the salad scoop, make a level ball of beef and place it in the center of the parchment. Place another square of parchment paper on top and press the lid of the patty press down hard.
3 Continue pressing patties until the meat is used up (you may have a little left over after pressing 8 patties).
4 Leaving the parchment paper on the patties, stack them on a plate and place them in the fridge until the marinade is cool or even chilled (if it isn’t already).
5 Remove the patties from the fridge, remove the parchment paper, and place patties in a single layer in a large casserole dish. Cover with marinade and return to the fridge for at least 5 minutes. Note: If the marinade isn’t cool enough, or if you leave the patties in the marinade for more than 30 minutes, the patties will fall apart in the sauce.
6 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium-low heat and add a drop of oil to coat the surface. The sugar content in the marinade will burn quickly at high heat, so be sure to keep the flame low.
7 Remove the marinated burgers from the fridge and lift them out of the marinade carefully with a spatula and onto the hot skillet. Let cook, untouched, for 5 to 5½ minutes or until red liquid begins to form on the surface of the patty.
8 While the burgers cook, line each toasted bottom bun with a squeeze of mayo, a pile of the shredded lettuce, and a bunch of chopped onions. Garnish each top bun with another squeeze of mayo. Set aside.
9 Flip the patties and cook for another 4 to 4½ minutes. When the patties are cooked through, transfer them to the toasted buns. Add a dollop of the teriyaki sauce followed by the top bun and serve.
Important: Clean your cast-iron skillet immediately after you’re done cooking these burgers. Leaving cooked teriyaki sauce on there will destroy the pan.
TERIYAKI MARINADE
Makes enough to marinate 8 teriyaki burgers
¼ cup (60 ml) soy sauce
¼ cup (60 ml) mirin (sweet rice wine)
2 tablespoons packed brown sugar
2 cloves garlic, minced (may substitute ½ teaspoon garlic powder)
½ teaspoon finely chopped fresh ginger (may substitute ¼ teaspoon ground ginger)
1 In a medium saucepan, combine the soy sauce, mirin, brown sugar, 3 cups (720 ml) water, garlic, and ginger, stir, and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce the heat and simmer, and cook for 10 minutes.
2 Remove from the heat and allow the marinade to cool thoroughly before pouring it over the beef patties. (You can stick the saucepan in the freezer for a few minutes to accelerate cooling.)
Note: If you don’t want chunks of garlic and ginger in your marinade, transfer the cooked sauce to a blender and then remove the solids using a mesh sieve.
TERIYAKI SAUCE
Makes more than enough to top 8 burgers
½ cup (120 ml) soy sauce
½ cup (120 ml) mirin (sweet rice wine)
¼ cup (55 g) packed brown sugar
4 cloves garlic, minced (may substitute 1 teaspoon garlic powder)
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger (may substitute ½ teaspoon ground ginger)
1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons cornstarch
1 In a small saucepan, combine the soy sauce, mirin, brown sugar, ¾ cup (180 ml) water, garlic, and ginger, stir, and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook for 10 minutes.
2 Using a mesh sieve, strain out the garlic and ginger solids.
3 Return the sauce to the saucepan over medium-low heat and whisk in the cornstarch, stirring constantly until the sauce begins to thicken. Remove the pan from the heat and continue whisking until the sauce reaches a stable consistency.
4 Cover and set aside until ready to use.
UTAH
THE PASTRAMI BURGER
It was not predestined that this burger would become a regional specialty of Utah. But like just about everything else in life, there’s a perfectly good explanation for this unlikely occurrence. It started with the Greeks, of course.
There are so many stories about Greeks in the burger business that it would take an entire book to track their remarkable achievements in American burger history. The Billy Goat in Chicago; South 21 Drive-In in Charlotte, North Carolina; Zaharakos in Columbus, Indiana; and Val’s Burgers in Hayward, California, are just a few Greek-American burger success stories. So it’s not surprising to me that the pastrami burger was the result of a Greek burgerman, namely James Katsanevas.
Katsanevas opened Minos Burgers in Anaheim, California, in the early 1970s and served a pastrami burger, but he was not the first. By the mid-twentieth century Jews who had left New York City for life in the West brought a favorite comfort food with them, and soon pastrami stands and counters dotted Los Angeles. When Southern California’s burger culture met the cured, smoked pastrami imported from the East Coast, it was a match made in burger heaven. Many of the stands that served pastrami burgers are gone, but a few remain, like Capitol Burgers in Los Angeles (Greek owned) and the Hat in Alhambra.
In the early 1980s, Katsanevas moved to Salt Lake City and brought the pastrami burger with him. He had family in the nightclub business there and by 1982 the delicacy was on the menu at the Katsanevas’ new venture, Crown Burgers. Today, many pastrami burgers can be found all over Salt Lake City, but some of the best are at Crown.
The Hat, Alhambra, California, 1950s
A cheeseburger bursting with a soft pile of glorious pastrami is a sight to behold. Add some signature Utah Fry Sauce (this page) and you have one helluva flavor bomb. Fry sauce is a very basic condiment, usually made from equal amounts of ketchup and mayonnaise. But if you’re at Crown Burger, expect something a bit different. Owner Mike Katsanevas once told me, “We make our fry sauce in house with seven ingredients; most of them secret.”
THE PASTRAMI BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
A stiff spatula
THE BURGER
8 seeded soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
8 slices American cheese
THE TOPPINGS
Fry Sauce (recipe follows)
1 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onion, sliced
Iceberg lettuce, shredded
1 pound (about 500 g) of the best deli pastrami you can find, sliced super-thin
1 Make the fry sauce according to instructions. Top the bottoms of each toasted bun with a dollop of fry sauce followed by onion slices and shredded lettuce. Set aside.
2 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium (or a flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of peanut oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the surface.
3 Place the ground chuck in the mixing bowl and use the salad scoop to make balls of beef, placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. Depending on the size of your cooking surface, you may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.
4 Sprinkle a generous pinch of salt on each ball of beef and then, using your stiff spatula, press them down, hard. Don’t be afraid, press harder! Press that ball until it’s a wide patty just a bit larger than the bun it’s about to meet. Once the burgers are flat, let them cook for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patties.
5 Flip them once, and resist the temptation to press the patties again. Add a slice of cheese to each patty and let them sit for another 2 minutes or until cooked through.
6 Now is a good time to warm up the pastrami. Place it in a covered microwave-safe dish and cook in the microwave on high for 1 minute. (Or, for best results, place the pastrami in a bowl inside a covered stovetop steamer for a few minutes until warm.)
7 Using the spatula, remove the burgers from the skillet and place them on the prepared buns, on top of the lettuce. Next add a heaping pile of the thin-sliced pastrami (bunch it up—don’t lay it flat on the patties). Add another dollop of fry sauce to the inside of the top buns, sandwich them, and enjoy. These will make a bacon cheeseburger seem downright silly.
CLASSIC UTAH FRY SAUCE
Makes enough to top 8 pastrami burgers
½ cup (120 ml) ketchup (or swap in barbecue sauce for fun)
½ cup (120 ml) mayonnaise
2 teaspoons sweet relish
Dash of onion powder
In a small bowl, mix all of the ingredients until well combined. Use on burgers and as a dip for fries, too.
MICHIGAN
THE OLIVE BURGER
Michigan has made its fair share of contributions to the gastronomic legacy of America. It gave birth to the breakfast cereal business, with both Post and Kellogg taking up residence in Battle Creek. Unquestionably some of the best Cornish pasties outside of Cornwall, England, can be found in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. And Michigan is one of the largest producers of asparagus and tart cherries in the United States. In fact, there are so many cherries grown in Michigan that local butcher Ray Pleva grinds them into all of his sausages, hot dogs, and bratwurst, for the health benefits. Apparently tart cherries lower fat content while adding moisture and antioxidants. And they make sausage taste amazing (but strangely nothing like cherries). Not surprisingly Pleva also puts them in hamburger patties with similar results.
But perhaps the strangest burger invention never to venture outside Michigan state lines (but profoundly popular within them) is the olive burger. The claims to the invention are varied depending with whom you consult. Some credit the Greek-owned Olympic Broil in Lansing with the creation of the first olive burger in the 1960s, but others say it was made much earlier at an original Kewpee Hotel Hamburgs location in Grand Rapids (which later became the flagship of a local burger chain called Mr. Fables). John Boyles, former owner of Mr. Fables, told me, “My father started putting olives on burgers in the 1930s when Mr. Fables was a Kewpee.” The restaurant sold a burger called the Deluxe Sandwich that came with a special mayonnaise and chopped olives. “Everybody called it the Olive Burger,” John explained.
Kewpee Hotel Hamburgs, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Regardless of who first put olives (and nothing else) on a burger, I’ve had several great olive burgers all over the west side of the state, where this delicacy reigns. One of my personal favorites is the classic version at the Peanut Barrel in East Lansing. Like many other restaurants in West Michigan, theirs is a simple blend of chopped salad olives and mayo placed on the burger with no other condiments, and none are needed. But when I had the ear of Smashburger founder Tom Ryan (a Michigan native) he told me, “No, no, no, the best came from Mr. Fables in Grand Rapids (now out of business). They didn’t make a mayo-olive sauce,” Tom went on, “a special mayo was on the bun and the chopped olives were on the burger.”
Tom loves the olive burger and emphasized that the best olives to use are the store-bought pimento-stuffed variety. He explained that when the olives are not premixed with the mayo the result is a very different olive burger. In the test kitchen we tried both approaches and enjoyed the Mr. Fables version just a bit more. And it’s hard to argue with Tom, who has a Ph.D. in food science and flavor chemistry.
You should try both versions before you decide which you prefer. From what I’ve learned, some restaurants use a bit of the brine from the olives to add some complexity and tang to the sauce. Both versions place major emphasis on the olive. Keep it simple and avoid cheese or any other toppings. You’ll want that briny flavor to radiate, just as it does in Michigan.
THE OLIVE BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A small- and a medium-size mixing bowl
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
A #12 salad scoop
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
8 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Olive-Mayo Mix
¼ cup (60 ml) mayonnaise
1 cup (155 g) pitted green olives, chopped until coarse but not minced
or
Mr. Fables-Style Mix
¾ cup (180 ml) mayonnaise
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon brine from jar of olives
1 tablespoon distilled white vinegar
1 cup (155 g) pitted, pimento-stuffed, green olives, coarsely chopped (do not mince)
1 If you’re making the Olive-Mayo Mix, do so now by combining the mayo and chopped olives in the small mixing bowl. Set aside. If you’re making burgers the Mr. Fables way, combine the mayonnaise, sugar, olive brine, and vinegar in the small mixing bowl (alternately, use 1 tablespoon of rice wine vinegar in place of the sugar, olive brine, and vinegar).
2 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat and add a drop or two of oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface.
3 Place the ground beef in the medium-size mixing bowl and, using the salad scoop, form balls of beef, placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (You may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
4 Add a generous pinch of salt to each ball of beef and, using the stiff spatula, press them down hard to create wide patties. Once the patties are flat, don’t touch them again. Let them cook for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patties.
5 Flip the patties once and don’t press them again. Cook for another 2 minutes or so.
6 Transfer the cooked burgers to the toasted bottom buns and top with either a heaping scoop of the Olive-Mayo Mix or the Mr. Fables–Style topping from step 1. Add the top buns and serve immediately.
NEBRASKA/KANSAS
THE BIEROCK
Unless you’re from Kansas or Nebraska, you’ve probably never heard of a bierock (a small pastry filled with cooked ground beef). Nebraska has a restaurant chain devoted to the bierock called Runza, and variations on this meat-filled treat are ubiquitous around the world. In Louisiana they are kolaches, in Michigan and Cornwall, England, they are the Cornish pasty, in Poland and Ukraine they are pierogies, and Argentina has a version we know as the empanada. The most mainstream of all descendants of the bierock is the Hot Pocket, the microwavable portable meal found in many gas stations, 7-Elevens, and grocery store freezer aisles throughout America. The list goes on, and similarities abound, but they all descend from the same basic Volga German recipe brought to the Heartland in the late 1800s.
Today’s best examples of the bierock can be found in tiny cafes throughout rural Kansas and Nebraska, and in the homes of Midwestern families of German descent who have kept this tradition alive. The bierock usually makes appearances at family gatherings, on the potluck table, or at church fundraisers.
Sometimes also referred to as the cabbage burger the bierock is one of my favorite interpretations of the hot-beef-pocket-as-burger. It actually predates the American hamburger by many decades. A traditional bierock has only three ingredients: crumbled beef, cabbage, and onion, but I’ve had a few excellent versions that included American cheese. It’s a simple combination of ingredients wrapped in a basic dough and baked. And much like a hamburger, it was designed to be handheld and eaten on the go. A bierock is small enough to fit in your pocket and was most likely the perfect lunch for field and farm workers in a time long ago.
The bierocks I make are the simple, traditional version, but with cheese added as a sort of glue to the loose, crumbling contents. When you take your first bite of a bierock you will be transported to a hardscrabble time in America, when the best comfort food came from the mother country.
THE BIEROCK
MAKES 9 PALM-SIZED BIEROCKS
EQUIPMENT
A large mixing bowl or standing mixer with a dough hook or paddle attachment
A small saucepan
A clean kitchen towel
A clean, smooth surface for kneading and rolling out the dough
A sharp knife or pizza cutter
A large seasoned cast-iron skillet
A wooden spoon or spatula
A slotted spoon
Parchment paper
A baking sheet
THE DOUGH
4 cups (500 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 package (¼ oz/7 g) active dry yeast
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) butter
1 cup (240 ml) whole milk
⅓ cup (65 g) sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
Olive oil for greasing
THE BURGER
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
4 cups (scant 1 L) white cabbage, shredded
1 pound (about 500 g) 80/20 ground chuck
Salt and ground black pepper, for seasoning
8 slices American cheese
1 Make the dough first and leave enough time for it to rise (1 hour or until doubled in size). In a large bowl or standing mixer add 2 cups (250 g) of the flour and the yeast.
2 In a small saucepan, heat the butter, milk, sugar, and salt over low heat until warm (120°F or 50°C). Add the mixture to the bowl with the flour and yeast, and then add the eggs. Beat on low speed until the contents are combined, about 1 minute, then raise the speed to medium-high for 3 minutes.
3 Reduce the speed again, or mixing by hand, slowly add the remaining 2 cups (250 g) flour until a stiff dough forms.
4 Dust the work surface with flour, transfer the dough to the work surface, and knead for about 8 minutes. When the dough is smooth and elastic, transfer it to an oiled mixing bowl, lightly oil the top of the dough, cover with the clean kitchen towel and set in a warm spot to rise (about 1 hour or until doubled in size).
5 Meanwhile, preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat and add the olive oil and butter. Once hot, add the onions to the skillet, stir, and cook until translucent.
6 Add the cabbage to the skillet with the onions, stir to combine, and cook until wilted but not brown.
7 Crumble the ground beef into the skillet over the cabbage and onion mix. Stir continuously, breaking up the meat as you go, and cook until the beef is brown and pebbly (about 7 minutes). Add salt and pepper to taste. Remove from the heat and set aside. Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).
8 When the dough has risen, transfer it to the floured work surface, punch flat, and roll out to ⅛ inch (3 mm) thick. Using a knife or pizza cutter, cut the dough into 4-inch (10-cm) squares. You may have scraps that you can knead back together and roll out again to make more squares.
9 Using the slotted spoon to drain the fat, scoop the beef-and-vegetable mixture into a bowl.
10 Scoop about 2 tablespoons of the beef mixture onto the center of each square of dough. Next, top each pile of meat with a single square of American cheese, folded into quarters and placed on top in a stack.
11 Pull all four corners of each dough-square together, pinching them shut, then bring the folded edges together and pinch those into the center around the filling to seal it closed like a dumpling.
12 Place them, pinched side down, on a parchment paper–lined baking sheet and bake for 25 minutes or until the tops are just brown.
Note: If making dough isn’t your thing, a great “cheat” here is to go to your local pizzeria and buy some of their dough. Or pick up fresh-made pizza dough at the supermarket.
CALIFORNIA
THE BACON-AVOCADO TOAST BURGER
Although they are both savory, bacon and avocado are diametrically opposed ingredients. Avocados are a fruit (yep, not a vegetable) with extraordinary health benefits. They are loaded with vitamins and are said to help lower bad (LDL) cholesterol levels and raise good cholesterol (HDL). Bacon is, well, bacon. Its only health advantage is that consuming it makes you happy (and happiness is good for your health). The two together make for atypical bedfellows, but when combined on a burger, the result is magical.
The California connection to the avocado makes sense. The fruit has roots in Puebla, Mexico, but today California grows nearly every American avocado consumed. Also, the large Mexican population of Southern California most likely helped to put the avocado on menus throughout Los Angeles. It was only natural that slices of the buttery fruit would eventually find their way onto a burger patty. Places like Howard’s Famous Bacon & Avocado Burgers and Astro Burgers in West Hollywood and many others have been selling the burger for decades, and recently, the avocado-bacon combination has found its way onto menus at the Whataburger chain in Texas and as far away as fast-food menus in Japan.
I’ve recently discovered avocado toast thanks to my health-conscious vegetarian wife. It’s one of the simplest healthy snacks you can whip up, and it involves only four ingredients: toast, avocado, salt, and paprika. I tried combining this treat with bacon and a burger patty and the outcome was as predicted—incredible.
Howard’s Famous, Los Angeles, California
One of the biggest mistakes people make when constructing a burger that involves avocado is to add standard ingredients, such as lettuce, tomato, and pickle. And some of the most unnecessary ingredients to include are cheese and special sauces. Avocado is naturally creamy, so adding cheese becomes excessive. Embrace the integrity of these sparse ingredients and you’ll agree that less is definitely more.
THE BACON-AVOCADO TOAST BURGER
MAKES 4 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A sharp paring knife
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
THE TOPPINGS
3 ripe avocados
Smoked paprika
Sea salt, to taste
8 slices cooked bacon (instructions on this page)
THE BURGER
8 slices crusty bakery bread
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
1 First, prepare the avocado toast. Lightly toast the bread slices in a toaster. Cut the avocados in half and remove the pits. Using a sharp paring knife, slice the flesh directly in the avocado shell and spoon out the contents.
2 Using a fork, mash the avocado a bit and press some onto each piece of toast, dividing it evenly. Sprinkle with paprika and salt to taste. Set aside.
3 Next, make the burgers according to the instructions for the Thick Pub Classic Burger on this page. Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat and add a drop or two of oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface.
4 Add the cooked patties to the waiting avocado toasts and place the bacon on top.
5 Consume immediately, knowing that between the avocado and the bacon the healthy attributes are a wash (sort of).
MISSOURI
THE GUBERBURGER
As far as I can tell, the Guberburger was not invented in Sedalia, Missouri, in 1947. It certainly became popular there, thanks to Lyman Keuper, owner of the Wheel Inn Drive-In, who supposedly traded his curly fry recipe to a traveling salesman in exchange for the Guberburger recipe (which is funny because it’s not much of a recipe at all). The Wheel Inn used to sell a smashed classic burger with a dollop of hot peanut butter, or “goober” as it was affectionately known.
But all of this came to a screeching halt when the Wheel Inn closed its doors in 2007. The classic drive-in, with carhop service until the end, met its demise for the very reason it existed—cars. The Wheel Inn was torn down, a victim of road widening at the busy corner on which it sat. Judy Clark, a longtime waitress (of forty-seven years!) bought the business and managed to reopen, only to close again for good a few years later.
The Wheel Inn was one of the original eight burger joints featured in my documentary film Hamburger America. When the audience saw peanut butter going on a burger for the first time they let out a collective moan—the condiment seemed implausible. The Guberburger wins converts though, usually the ones with an open mind who are unafraid of complex flavors. Anyone who has eaten Thai food and other tasty treats from Southeast Asia knows that the peanut plays a vital role in the cuisine. Beef satay, grilled beef on skewers accompanied by a peanut dipping sauce, is not far from the experience of the Guberburger.
Wheel Inn Drive-In, Sedalia, Missouri, 1947
For sixty years at the Wheel Inn the burger to order came standard with lettuce, tomato, and a smear of warmed peanut butter. I had a hard time cozying up to this burger at first, though it wasn’t the peanut butter that turned me off. It was the strange addition of the salad items, and I took issue with the textures at play. From that point on I only ever ate Guberburgers minus the lettuce and tomato. At most of the Hamburger America screenings we would serve Guberburgers, without lettuce and tomato. Then one day a friend (and a photographer for this book), Kris Brearton, told me he likes to put pickles on his version of the Guberburger. We tested it, and now I can’t eat a Guberburger any other way.
THE GUBERBURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A cast-iron skillet or flat top
A large mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
A stiff spatula
A small saucepan
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
1 cup (240 ml) creamy peanut butter
8 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Dill pickle chips
1 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of peanut oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface.
2 Place the ground beef in a mixing bowl and, using the salad scoop, form balls of beef, placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (You may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
3 Add a generous pinch of salt to each ball of beef and then, using the stiff spatula, press them down hard until they become wide patties just a bit larger than the buns. Let them cook, undisturbed, for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patties.
4 As soon as the patties are smashed, heat the peanut butter in the small saucepan over low heat.
5 When they’re ready, flip each patty once and don’t press them again. Spoon some of the warm peanut butter over the patties and cook for another 2 minutes or so.
6 Meanwhile, add 2 or 3 pickle chips to each bottom bun and set aside.
7 When the patties are cooked though, remove them from the heat and place them on the prepared toasted buns. Serve with pride.
MISSOURI
THE PROVEL BURGER
Outside the city limits of St. Louis, Missouri, the word “Provel” is rarely spoken. But inside the city the word is a source of intense pride. The local pizza of choice is covered with the stuff; it’s a white, creamy, and slightly smoky processed cheese that was apparently invented by a grocer on the Hill, St. Louis’s Italian neighborhood, in the 1940s. The packaging claims that Provel is a combination of American, provolone, and Swiss cheeses, but in truth it tastes like a slightly more complex, tangy American cheese. Besides pizza, St. Louisans put shredded Provel on salads and another local cheese-topped favorite, the Gerber sandwich: French bread pizza with ham and melted Provel. Some, but not many, also put Provel on burgers. This stuff on a burger is both unique and amazing.
Chef Justin Bazdarich at Speedy Romeo in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn is unquestionably the progenitor of the New York–style Provel burger and partly responsible for the cult status the cheese has gained recently outside of St. Louis. He also makes a St. Louis–style pizza (aptly named the St. Louie) and has more than a hundred pounds of Provel shipped into Brooklyn each week just for this pizza. Bazdarich, whose dad introduced him to Provel, describes the cheese as “almost Velveeta-esque, and it creates the ultimate umami on a burger.” And he helps that umami along by cooking the cheeseburger over a wood-burning fire in the restaurant and serving it with a special sauce. The result is a woodsy flavor bomb with gooey, melted Provel.
Tom Ryan, the founder of Smashburger, has a thing for Provel, too. “The melt properties on a burger are just amazing,” Tom told me. His fast-casual restaurant chain likes to include a “local” burger on their menus across America (such as an olive burger at their Michigan locations and a version with remoulade in Louisiana). A Provel burger for the local tastes of St. Louis made perfect sense, and it’s now a huge seller, outselling most Provel burgers in town. This is probably because before Tom and Smash-burger there really was not a well-known Provel burger in St. Louis, a city that mostly reserves their beloved cheese for pizzas.
Provel will melt exactly the way you want, evenly and smooth. But place Provel under a broiler and watch the magic unfold—the exterior of the cheese gets crispy while the interior stays perfectly hot and gooey. So get your hands on some Provel next time you’re in St. Louis and make your own Provel burgers.
THE PROVEL BURGER
MAKES 8 CHEESEBURGERS
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Thinly sliced Provel cheese
8 seeded soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
1 medium red onion, sliced
Green-leaf lettuce
Fry Sauce (this page)
1 Make Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburger patties following the recipe on this page, but when it comes time to add the cheese, add a thick slice of Provel instead. Meanwhile, preheat the broiler to 500°F (260°C).
2 Place cooked burgers on a baking sheet, each with a slice of Provel. Broil for about 1 minute. You’ll need to watch the crisping of the Provel closely. Look for the cheese to turn golden brown, then quickly remove the burgers from the broiler.
3 Transfer the perfectly crispy, gooey Provel burgers to toasted buns. This burger works well with Utah’s fry sauce. Coat the buns with the fry sauce and serve with sliced red onion and green-leaf lettuce.
TEXAS
THE SAN ANTONIO BEANBURGER
No, this is not the veggie burger you’re thinking of. This is a beef burger, and a historically significant one at that. The beanburger is a true classic; indigenous to San Antonio, Texas, where it was born. In the 1950s the long-gone Sill’s Snack Shack served the first Beanburger, and soon many local burger joints were copying them.
Good luck trying to find a beanburger outside of San Antonio. It never seemed to get past the city limits, and old-timers in the city of the Alamo are proud of their beanburger heritage. The original version from Sill’s was a nod to Tex-Mex cooking, with a dollop of refried beans on top. Add to that a pile of Fritos and a swipe of Cheez Whiz and you can just imagine the flavors and textures going on.
One of the greatest interpretations of the beanburger in San Antonio is unquestionably the Macho Tostada at Chris Madrid’s. A sight to behold, Madrid’s version replaces the Fritos with house-made corn chips and cascading melted cheddar. The late, great, Chris Madrid once explained to me that the beanburger was like “a burger and enchilada plate in one!” And it is. The hot refried beans soften the salty corn chips and work really well with the beefiness of the burger. The cheese acts as a sort of adhesive, keeping everything together.
My version of the beanburger walks the line between Madrid’s and the classic at Sill’s. Homemade refried beans is the right call, but how do you replace Fritos? Ideally, you don’t because the Frito has no equal. In a pinch, substitute other salty store-bought corn chips, or better, pick up fresh tortilla chips from your local Mexican restaurant. For cheese my recipe again falls in the middle. Cheddar is great, but to get closer to the original make your own cheddar spread. If that’s not your thing, simply drape your beanburger with a slice of cheddar and toss it under the broiler to melt before adding the top bun.
Sill’s Snack Shack, San Antonio, Texas
THE SAN ANTONIO BEANBURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or a flat top
A stiff spatula
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
8 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Frijoles Refritos de Jorge (refried beans, recipe follows)
Motz’s Whiz Cheese Spread (recipe follows)
1 large bag (9¾ ounces/275 g) Fritos
1 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onion, chopped
1 Make the frijoles refritos and cheese spread and set both aside.
2 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of peanut oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface.
3 Place the ground chuck in the mixing bowl. Using the salad scoop, form balls of beef (they should be heaping scoops), placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (Depending on the size of your cooking surface, you may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
4 Sprinkle a generous pinch of salt on each ball of beef and then, using the stiff spatula, press them down hard until they’re wide patties, just a bit larger than the bun. Once they’re flat, don’t touch them again. Let cook for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patty.
5 Flip the patties once and let them cook for another 2 minutes, undisturbed.
6 Spread a dollop of cheese spread on the toasted side of each bun (tops and bottoms) and add a handful of Fritos to each bottom bun.
7 When the burgers are cooked through, add them to the bottom buns followed by a healthy scoop of refried beans. Sprinkle with the chopped onion and top with the other half of the bun. Raise to lips, eat, and be transported to Southwest Texas.
FRIJOLES REFRITOS DE JORGE
Makes enough for 8 beanburgers
Refried beans are very easy to make, and if you like freshly made refried beans then you owe it to yourself to give this recipe a try. Unfortunately for the non-carnivores out there, the only way to elevate refried beans is by selling your soul to the pig—you’ll need to use lard or bacon grease. Lard basically does two things to refried beans: It makes starchy, pasty beans luscious, and, of course, it adds tremendous flavor. Without bacon grease you’re just trying to achieve that consistency and flavor by using oil and salt. Use lard for truly delicious refried beans.
1 (15-ounce/425-g) can pinto beans
¼ cup (60 ml) chicken broth, plus more if your beans become too thick
3 tablespoons (40 g) lard or bacon fat (if you don’t want to buy lard, get a pack of bacon, cook the bacon, eat the bacon, and save the grease)
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 tablespoon jalapeño (optional), seeded and diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
Sea salt, to taste
1 Drain the beans in a mesh sieve, transfer to a small mixing bowl, and mash with a potato masher until smooth. Add the chicken stock and continue to mash until a lumpy paste forms.
2 In a large saucepan, heat the lard over medium heat and add the diced onion. Cook until the onion is just translucent, about 5 minutes.
3 Add the jalapeño, if using, to the onions and cook for 2 minutes.
4 Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute.
5 Add the bean mixture, stir to incorporate, and cook for about 1 minute. Transfer to a food processor and pulse until fully blended and smooth. Return contents to the saucepan over low heat. Keep warm until ready to eat.
MOTZ’S WHIZ CHEESE SPREAD
Makes enough for 8 beanburgers
To construct a true San Antonio Beanburger you’ll need to pick up some good-old processed Cheez Whiz. But for those who would prefer to avoid heavily processed foodstuffs, make your own Whiz with the recipe below, a variation on one of my favorite foods ever: cheese spread.
3 tablespoons (40 g) good, salted butter
3 tablespoons (25 g) all-purpose flour
1 cup (240 ml) half-and-half or light cream
1 teaspoon salt
8 ounces (225 g) extra-sharp cheddar, shredded
1 Start by making a roux: Melt the butter in a small saucepan over low heat. Stir in the flour and whisk constantly until the mixture becomes brown and smells nutty, about 3 minutes. (Do not overcook!)
2 Slowly stir in the half-and-half and salt, whisking continuously. When the cream has thickened slightly, add the shredded cheddar, one handful at a time, while continuously whisking. Yes, keep whisking.
3 Once the cheese is completely melted and the sauce is thick, remove it from the heat. Use it on your beanburgers immediately or store it in the fridge. It will last for a few days. It’s also great on nachos, other burgers, or your finger.
NEW MEXICO
THE TORTILLA BURGER
Red or green? It’s the state question of New Mexico. If someone asks you this, you are probably placing an order for something very tasty.
The New Mexican chile, a staple of the state’s diet, is available in red or green (see this page). The red color is the result after a green chile has stayed on the vine for an additional four to five weeks to ripen. But unlike green chile (which is generally found fresh-roasted and diced) red chile is normally found in powdered form and used for seasoning and sauces. Many take great pride in making the best possible red chile sauce.
Like chile colorado sauce, the red sauce found on just about all Tex-Mex food throughout the Southwest, red chile sauce is made from grinding oven- or sun-dried red chile pods and mixing them with a few very basic ingredients. Chile colorado tends to be more complex and spicy, whereas red chile sauce is all about the simple, smoky flavor of the pepper, with less emphasis on the heat (though red chile sauce can be super hot). The sauce is not something you dip food into—in New Mexico foods like breakfast burritos, enchiladas, and tacos are literally swimming in a deep pool of the stuff. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to take a burger for a swim in it, too.
In New Mexico there are a few great examples of the tortilla burger, which was said to have been invented at Maria’s Restaurant in Santa Fe in the 1950s. One of my favorites can be found at the beloved, decades-old Santa Fe diner The Pantry (just down the street from Maria’s). Its basic construction is almost a rule-breaker to me as it’s more of a hamburger “dish” than a sandwich. And like the Loco Moco of Hawaii (this page), it’s one of the only burgers in America I will eat with a fork. There’s just no other way to consume this beautiful expression of New Mexican ingenuity.
The Pantry Restaurant, Santa Fe, New Mexico
A griddle-cooked patty is added to a soft flour tortilla that has been prepped with refried beans and shredded cheddar cheese. The tortilla is then wrapped or folded and smothered with red chile sauce, covered with more shredded cheddar, and placed under a broiler to melt. I love this burger experience.
THE TORTILLA BURGER
MAKES 4 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
Parchment paper
A 4½-inch (12-cm) food ring or round cutter
A large seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
Ovenproof plates
THE BURGER
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
Salt and black pepper
4 large flour tortillas (the ones used for sandwich wraps and burritos)
Frijoles Refritos de Jorge (refried beans; this page)
8 ounces (225 kg) sharp cheddar, shredded (reserve half for topping)
THE TOPPINGS
Basic Red Chile Sauce (recipe follows)
Shredded cheddar (reserved from above)
1 Divide the ground beef into 4 even portions (8 ounces/250 g each).
2 Line a clean work surface or cutting board with parchment paper to prevent sticking. Working with your food ring, gently press a portion of beef into the ring to create a perfectly round patty. Don’t over press the meat—you want it to maintain a somewhat loose grind. Repeat with the remaining beef.
3 Add a few drops of peanut oil to the cast-iron skillet, using the spatula to spread the oil, and crank it up to medium-high heat. When the pan just starts to smoke, it’s ready.
4 At this point, and not before, season both sides of the patties with a liberal amount of salt (and pepper, if desired). Salting too early will bind the muscle fibers together and make your burgers tough (not good).
5 Place the patties in the hot skillet—the beef should sizzle loudly when it hits the pan—and cook for 5 minutes without disturbing them. The goal here is to sear the burgers, sealing in the juices. When you see red liquid start to form on the uncooked surface of the burger, it’s time to flip them.
6 Reduce the heat to medium and cook the second side, without disturbing them, for an additional 5 minutes.
7 Remove the burgers from heat and allow them to rest for 1½ minutes. The internal temperature of the burgers should be about 143°F (62°C) for medium-rare.
8 While the burgers are resting, add a smear of the refried beans to the center of each warm tortilla. Top the beans with a handful of the shredded cheese, followed by the cooked patty. Fold the edges of the tortilla up around the burger and flip it over, placing the folded side down on the plate. Repeat with the rest of the tortillas, beans, half of the cheese, and the burgers.
9 Ladle enough chile sauce over each tortilla-wrapped burger to smother it, and add another handful of the reserved shredded cheese to each.
10 Place each plate under a broiler until the cheese melts. Remove, and serve immediately. You are welcome.
BASIC RED CHILE SAUCE
Makes enough to smother 4 tortilla burgers
To make this sauce you will need to get your hands on some good dried red chile powder from New Mexico. It’s available everywhere in the state, can be mail-ordered, and is not expensive. You can substitute other ground red chile, but for the real-deal go New Mexican. I use mild red chile because sometimes New Mexican red chile can be very hot. You can always add heat later (with hot sauce).
A glug of olive oil
2 cloves garlic
2 cups (480 ml) chicken stock or water
½ cup (48 g) mild dried red chile powder, preferably from New Mexico
1 teaspoon ground cumin
Sea salt, to taste
1 In a large saucepan, heat the oil over medium heat and add the garlic. Cook for about a minute or until just golden brown.
2 Add the chicken stock and red chile, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes.
3 Transfer to a blender and blend until smooth.
4 Return the red chile sauce to the saucepan and season with the cumin and salt. Cover and simmer the sauce for an additional 30 minutes. Keep covered and warm while you make the burgers.
SOUTH CAROLINA
THE PIMENTO CHEESEBURGER
Unless you are from, or somehow connected to, the American South you probably have zero appreciation for pimento cheese, and that is sad. I have many Southern relatives who are somewhat baffled that the great taste of pimento cheese has never made its way into common culinary vernacular north of the Mason-Dixon line, or beyond, for that matter. And I feel for them because pimento cheese is awesome.
Southerners make sandwiches of a smear of pimento cheese on snow-white bread. They use it as a dip, or put it on crackers. You’d be hard-pressed to find yourself at a party in the South where pimento cheese was not within snacking distance. But naturally, my favorite application for pimento cheese is on a burger.
When pimento cheese meets heat, all hell breaks loose. The properties of hot cheese and mayo do very well when applied to beef. Many Southern burger joints enthusiastically offer their take on this burger, and some of the best can be found in South Carolina at places like The Fillin’ Station in Hollywood, The Northgate Soda Shop in Greenville, and Rockaway Athletic Club in Columbia. Head to these places for the real deal, however, I’ve learned that a pimento cheeseburger is also a very gratifying thing to make at home.
There’s not much to pimento cheese, but the glorious combination of mayonnaise, diced pimentos, and sharp cheddar is pure dairy alchemy. It’s one of my favorite burgers to make and has a slight twist.
If you are fortunate enough to live in the South, then you have access to the great store-bought Palmetto Cheese from Pawleys Island, South Carolina. It really is about as good as it gets, but if you need to make your own “Pimena Cheese” (as it’s correctly pronounced down South), I’ve included my mother’s recipe on this page.
THE PIMENTO CHEESEBURGER
MAKES 4 CHEESEBURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
1 pound (about 500 g) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
4 soft white buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
1 beefsteak tomato, sliced
Iceberg lettuce, shredded
Mama’s Pimena Cheese (recipe follows)
1 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat and add a drop or two of peanut oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the surface of the pan.
2 Place the ground beef in a mixing bowl and, using the salad scoop, make heaping balls of beef, placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it. (Depending on the size of your cooking surface, you may only be able to cook 2 or 3 burgers at a time.)
3 Add a generous pinch of salt to each ball of beef and, using the stiff spatula, press them down hard until they’re wide patties just a bit larger than the buns. Let them cook, without disturbing them, for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface of the patty.
4 Prep the toasted buns with a slice of tomato on each bottom bun followed by a handful of shredded lettuce. Set aside.
5 Flip the burgers once and don’t press them again. Add a healthy dollop of Mama’s pimena cheese to each patty and let them cook for another 2 minutes.
6 Transfer the cheesy patties to the prepared buns and serve immediately.
MAMA’S PIMENA CHEESE
Makes enough to make you happy
1 (8-ounce/225-g) block of sharp cheddar cheese, shredded (don’t use preshredded cheese)
4 ounces (115 g) cream cheese, softened
½ cup (120 ml) mayonnaise
1 (4-ounce/115-g) jar pimentos, finely chopped
2 tablespoons sriracha chili sauce
In a large mixing bowl, mix the cheddar, cream cheese, mayonnaise, chopped pimentos, and sriracha with a spatula until everything is combined and chunky—not smooth. Best used fresh.
NORTH CAROLINA
THE CAROLINA SLAW BURGER
When I think of the great road food of North Carolina, pulled pork sandwiches immediately come to mind. Served on soft untoasted buns, the pulled pork sandwich of the celebrated out-of-the-way pig joints usually comes standard with a big dollop of creamy coleslaw. That coleslaw is not served as a side, however, it’s presented on the sandwich. In my mind, this equals borderline healthy eating—at least I’m getting some veggies. It probably didn’t take long for someone to apply the same treatment to a burger, specifically a chili cheeseburger, giving birth to a Southern legend.
Depending on where you’re eating there are two basic ways the Carolina slaw burger is prepared. Some are made with a red slaw, in which the mayonnaise component is swapped out for ketchup. But for the most part, a mayo-based slaw is the predominant choice. Then there’s the chili, which is usually a thin, beanless beef stew. But wait, there’s more. To be a fully realized slaw burger it must also have mustard, cheese, and chopped onion. You are probably thinking this sounds like a ridiculous mess (which it is), but the Carolina slaw burger goes down with ease.
One of my favorite places to get a true Carolina Slaw Burger is at Duke’s Grill in Monroe, North Carolina. Duke’s has been making the slaw burger since 1951, and not much has changed since Duke served his first one. His nephew Dennis started working at Duke’s when he was nine years old, eventually bought the place, and changed very little. “I made the chili better, that’s about it,” he told me once, “by adding beef.” Apparently the original “chili” sauce his uncle used was nothing more than ketchup, mustard, and hot sauce. Dennis’s chili is far better.
Duke’s Grill, Monroe, North Carolina
To me tradition trumps all, so embrace the chaos you are about to create. But if a hot creamy mess is not your thing, I would recommend toasting the buns to keep the burger from becoming a knife-and-fork affair past the second bite.
THE CAROLINA SLAW BURGER
MAKES 8 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet or flat top
A stiff spatula
A medium-size mixing bowl
A #12 salad scoop
THE BURGER
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
2 pounds (about 1 kg) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
Salt, for seasoning
8 slices American cheese (preferably deli-sliced, not prepackaged “singles”)
8 soft white buns or potato buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Stupid-Easy Cole Slaw (this page)
Beanless Beef Chili Sauce (this page)
½ cup (65 g) finely chopped Vidalia or yellow onion
Yellow mustard
1 Make the coleslaw and chili sauce according to recipe instructions and set aside.
2 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or a flat top to medium) and add a drop or two of oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the cooking surface.
3 Put the ground beef in the mixing bowl and, using the salad scoop, make heaping balls of beef, placing them on the heated skillet as you go. Each ball should have about 3 inches (7 cm) of space around it.
3 Add a generous pinch of salt to each ball of beef and, using the stiff spatula, press them down hard until they’re wide patties just a bit larger than the buns. Let them cook, without disturbing them, for 2½ minutes or until reddish liquid begins to form on the surface.
4 Flip the patties once and don’t press them again. Add a slice of cheese to each patty and let them cook for another 2 minutes.
5 Add a swipe of mustard to the toasted side of each top bun. Set aside.
6 When the burgers are cooked through, it’s time to put all the pieces together. (Pay attention: The success of your slaw burger is dependent upon its construction.) Start by placing a heaping scoop of coleslaw on the bottom half of each toasted bun. Top the slaw with a cheeseburger patty, a healthy scoop of chili sauce, the chopped onion, and the top half of the bun. Consume immediately.
TEXAS
THE SWINE AND CHEESE
John T. Edge, friend and Southern food scribe, was the first to point me in the direction of the Squealer. “There’s this place South of Houston,” he told me years ago. “It’s just a roadhouse, but they make great burgers. You should check it out, and they grind bacon right into the patty!” Indeed they did, and I wasted no time getting to that roadhouse. When I arrived at Tookie’s Hamburgers I met my first bacon burger. My burger universe had been turned upside down.
Back then (more than a decade ago) grinding bacon into a hamburger patty was unheard of. These days it seems everyone is trying their hand at bacon burgers like the Squealer. I’ve recently seen them at restaurants in most major cities with names like the Piggie and the 50/50; even celebrated chef Sean Brock has his own very popular version.
The bacon burger embodies some of the greatest primordial flavors known to man: smoke, salt, beef, and bacon. It’s rare that I would ever suggest mixing anything into good, fresh ground beef, but I will make an exception with bacon (which is great with anything, duh). When ground bacon and beef meet, something very special happens. It’s a match made in heaven.
Tookie’s suffered a tremendous blow and failed to reopen after Hurricane Ike devastated the Galveston, Texas, area in 2008. But it was sold and managed to reopen three years later, based on the tremendous popularity of the Squealer alone. I’ve been back since and am happy to report that the burger rode out the storm, and actually grew in size and quality under new ownership.
The recipe for the Squealer is so secret that only a handful of people are aware of its contents. I’ve heard that competing restaurants have sent busboys down to Tookie’s for jobs with the sole purpose of stealing the recipe. Apparently they never get the job. That said, this is not the Squealer recipe and I didn’t try to get a job at Tookie’s. It’s a version we dubbed the Swine and Cheese. After much trial and error we created a version in the Hamburger America Test Kitchen that turned out dreamy. The greatest thing about this recipe is that you’ll need to pull out your grinder and really get personal with your beef.
THE SWINE AND CHEESE
MAKES 4 LARGE BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
A meat grinder or KitchenAid stand mixer with grinding attachment
Two medium-size mixing bowls
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A stiff spatula
A baking sheet
Parchment paper
A 4½-inch (12-cm) food ring or round cutter
Small metal bowls
THE BURGER
½ pound (225 g) slab bacon
1½ pounds (about 750 g) boneless chuck steak, marbled and close to 80/20
4 seeded white squishy buns, toasted (see instructions, this page)
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil
Salt and black pepper, for seasoning
4 thick slices yellow cheddar cheese
THE TOPPINGS
Yellow mustard
Mayonnaise
1 medium Vidalia or Walla Walla onion, sliced
1 red beefsteak or heirloom tomato, sliced
Iceberg lettuce, shredded
1 Place the meat grinder or meat-grinding attachment in the freezer to chill for at least 30 minutes before using (or in your fridge overnight). This will help prevent the fat content in the bacon from melting and gumming up the grinder.
2 Take the fresh beef and bacon you’ve acquired from your good friend, the butcher, and chop them into roughly ½-inch or 1-inch (12-mm or 2.5-cm) chunks.
3 With the grinder running on low speed, add 4 to 5 chunks of beef to the grinder, followed by the same amount of bacon, alternating between the two until all the meat is ground. Be sure to have a medium mixing bowl in position to catch the ground meat.
4 Once all the meat is ground, swap the bowl of ground meat out for a clean bowl and put the meat through the grinder once more at the same speed. This will ensure that the bacon and beef are thoroughly combined. But never grind more than twice.
5 Transfer the bowl of twice-ground meat to the fridge to chill.
6 Meanwhile, prep each of the toasted bottom buns with a swipe of mustard, followed by a smear of mayonnaise, a few sliced onions, a slice of tomato, and a handful of shredded lettuce.
7 Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat (or the flat top to medium-high) and add a few drops of peanut oil. Use the spatula to spread the oil, coating the surface.
8 Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper. Take the meat out of the fridge and divide it into 4 equal portions weighing approximately 8 ounces (250 g) each. On the lined sheet pan, lightly press each portion into the food ring, making sure each patty is equal in size and thickness. Be sure not to over press the meat—you’ll want to maintain a somewhat loose grind to your patties.
9 When the skillet is hot, season the patties liberally with salt and pepper, place them in the pan, and let them cook for 5 minutes without disturbing them.
10 Flip the patties and cook for another 5 minutes. With about 1 minute to go, add a slice of cheese to each patty. Cover the skillet to accelerate the melt factor. When the patties are cooked through and the cheese is melty, transfer the patties to the prepared buns, add the top bun, and serve immediately.
STEVE’S COUNTRY-FRIED BACON
MAKES ABOUT 10 PIECES
It is well known that Texans do not shy away from a deep fryer. At the State Fair of Texas every fall, vendors compete for the next great deep-fried treat, and the sky’s the limit. One year, deep-fried butter won the prize (butter!), and another it was the year of the deep-fried buffalo chicken in a flapjack. Hundreds have competed, and the ideas continue to amaze. In 2008, though, the top honors at Big Tex went to the somewhat tame chicken-fried bacon—a simple yet brilliant idea for sure.
A few years ago, while I was making the rounds in the Houston area for burgers featured in my state-by-state guidebook Hamburger America, I stopped in to visit good friend Steve Christian, owner of Christian’s Tailgate Bar & Grill, a roadhouse on the west side of Houston. Steve is as much a third-generation burger man as a top-notch salesman and innovator. “You need to try my latest creation,” he told me excitedly, and that’s when I had my first country-fried bacon cheeseburger.
Steve noticed once that a big seller at the Houston rodeo was the country-fried bacon on a stick. “I immediately thought, why not on a hamburger?!” And the rest you can figure out. Like everything in Steve’s world, there always has to be a “best” way to make it. So, after much experimenting he settled on a successful formula. The following recipe is directly from Steve.
After you’ve deep-fried bacon you come to the realization that you really can deep-fry just about anything. Channel your inner State Fair of Texas and get creative.
EQUIPMENT
A deep skillet for frying
Two small or medium mixing bowls
Long tongs (skip the plastic tips!)
INGREDIENTS
Enough peanut oil (or other neutral oil) to fill the skillet with about 2 inches (5 cm) of oil
1 quart (about 1 L) buttermilk
1½ cups (290 g) all-purpose flour
A few shakes of coarse-ground black pepper
¼ cup plus 1 tablespoon (75 g) Lawry’s seasoned salt (or make your own version! see recipe below)
1 (16-ounce/455-g) package high-quality, store-bought, thin-sliced bacon
1 Heat the oil in a deep skillet over medium heat.
2 In one mixing bowl, add enough buttermilk to submerge a slice of bacon, about 2 cups (480 ml).
3 In a separate bowl, combine the flour, black pepper, and seasoned salt and whisk until blended.
4 When the oil is hot, coat a slice of bacon in the flour mixture, submerge it in the buttermilk, then dredge it through the flour mixture again. Gently drop the battered bacon into the hot oil and cook until golden brown, about 2 minutes. Steve says, “Remember to flip it at least once!” Do not crowd the pan—fry the bacon in 2- or 3-slice shifts.
5 When the bacon is golden and crispy, remove it from the oil, drain briefly on paper towels, and serve on a burger immediately.
Note: The country-fried bacon cheeseburger is a classic Texas two-fister with cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, jalapeño, and 1 or 2 slices of fried bacon on top. Country-fried bacon also makes a crazy-good snack, and if you have some pickle chips on hand, I highly recommend frying them, too, while you’re at it.
SEASONED SALT SUBSTITUTE
Makes ¼ cup plus 1 tablespoon/75 g
2 teaspoons ground turmeric
2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons onion powder
2 teaspoons garlic powder
2 teaspoons paprika
2 teaspoons sugar
Whisk all the ingredients together and use instead of Lawry’s in your dredging flour.
BEANLESS BEEF CHILI SAUCE
MAKES ENOUGH TO TOP 8 BURGERS
Beef chili sauce as a condiment was created out of frugality. Burger joints that use fresh ground beef are often left with a daily dilemma: what to do with unused beef at the end of the day. Beef chili is the perfect solution because it can be refrigerated for up to a week or kept in the freezer for six months. And it tastes great on a cheeseburger.
The history of the chili-topped burger is not well documented, but all roads seem to lead to Los Angeles, California, where arguably it was invented. It was there in the 1920s at the twenty-four-hour chili parlor Ptomaine Tommy’s that Thomas DeForest first ladled chili on a burger. His chili burger was imitated by others all over Los Angeles, and one of the best known is the popular chili burger chain Original Tommy’s (no relation to Ptomaine Tommy). Today the chili cheeseburger is ubiquitous. Some of the best can be found at Washington, D.C.’s Ben’s Chili Bowl, Brook’s Sandwich House in Charlotte, North Carolina, and Marty’s Hamburger Stand in Los Angeles.
The chili you’ll find at most burger joints is a beanless chili con carne. It’s similar to Coney sauce (the sweet chili sauce that adorns many hot dogs in America) but spicier and more tomatoey. If you’ve never made a chili sauce (or chili for that matter), this recipe is a great place to start. It’s a beanless version of my mother’s award-winning Mama’s Kiss-Ass Chili, the jumping-off point for the great chili cooks my brothers and sisters have become. All of our chilis are different from Mom’s in some respect. Mine is no exception.
EQUIPMENT
A large saucepan with a lid
A wooden spoon or spatula
INGREDIENTS
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 pound (about 500 g) fresh-ground 80/20 chuck
2 pinches salt
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon chili powder
½ teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 cup (240 ml) canned crushed tomatoes
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 tablespoon Frank’s RedHot cayenne pepper sauce or similar hot sauce
1 Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat.
2 Cook the onion, stirring frequently, until translucent. Add the garlic, cook for 1 minute or until golden, then add the ground beef. Crumble, chop, and stir the beef until browned and pebbly. Scoop off any visible fat with a spoon.
3 Reduce the heat to medium-low and mix in the salt, brown sugar, chili powder, cumin, and Worcestershire.
4 Add the crushed tomatoes, tomato paste, and hot sauce to the pan. Stir to combine.
5 Add ½ cup (120 ml) water, cover the pan, and simmer for 15 minutes. The chili sauce should be thick but not clumpy. Add more water to thin if needed.
GOOP SAUCE
MAKES ENOUGH FOR 12 QUARTER-POUND BURGERS
Goop is a sauce that has made its way onto many burgers in the Pacific Northwest, especially the older-style classic burgers. All of the Goop I’ve had tastes pretty much the same, and all of the recipes are protected by their respective burger institutions and contain highly secret ingredients. But to legitimately call your sauce Goop, you need to be Chuck Fritsch at Eastside Big Tom in Olympia, Washington. That’s because Chuck has trademarked the name and arguably makes some of the best Goop in the area.
I can see why he keeps his recipe under wraps—Goop is addictive. It adorns not only the burgers at Big Tom but the fries and tater tots as well (tots + Goop = heaven). I once asked Chuck for the recipe, and he said, “What’s the saying? If I told you I’d have to kill you?” So he didn’t give me the recipe. But I’ve done some testing and I think I’ve come pretty close. When I wrote this up years ago I read it back to myself and imagined Chuck laughing.
INGREDIENTS
½ cup (120 ml) mayonnaise
¼ cup (60 ml) sour cream
2 tablespoons sweet relish
3 tablespoons (45 ml) yellow mustard
1 Whisk the mayonnaise, sour cream, relish, and mustard in a bowl and serve on your favorite burgers. The color should resemble a 1971 Curious Yellow Plymouth Barracuda.
2 Tell your friends it’s not the real thing but pretty damn close.
HARRY’S SCHNÄCK SAUCE
MAKES ENOUGH FOR 8 QUARTER-POUND BURGERS
Just about every burger joint in America proudly boasts that their signature burger comes with a “special” or “secret” sauce. Most of us who care to investigate cooking secrets have easily picked the lock on the standard special sauce—the Thousand Island knockoff, a ketchup/mustard/mayo combo with a few other uncomplicated ingredients in there for uniqueness. But there’s a reason why “special” sauce is actually ubiquitous—this simple combination of flavors can perfectly enhance a beefy burger, so long as the chef goes easy on the ketchup.
Then one day I came across Schnäck Sauce. This is not your typical special sauce. It is robust and spicy without taking away from the flavor profile of beef. It is about as sophisticated a topping as you will find on one of my burgers, and if you like spicy, hot, creamy things, this sauce is for you.
It was developed by my friend Harry Hawk for his burger joint Schnäck, which served sliders he called “schnäckies” in Brooklyn from 2001 to 2007. It really could be one of the best burger sauces out there.
INGREDIENTS
⅓ cup (75 ml) mayonnaise
2 tablespoons grainy mustard
2 small canned Mexican chipotle chiles (I use La Morena or La Costeña chipotles in adobo), or more to taste
Salt, for seasoning
1 Combine the mayonnaise, mustard, chiles, and salt to taste in a food processor and pulse until the chiles are blended, about 45 seconds. If it’s not spicy enough, add more chiles. If it’s too spicy, start over with fewer chiles.
2 Serve on a burger with nothing else. Your taste buds will explode.
PICKLED JALAPEÑOS
MAKES ENOUGH TO FILL A 1-QUART (1-L) JAR
My friend Steve Christian, at Christian’s Tailgate Bar & Grill in Houston, Texas, makes one of the best jalapeño cheeseburgers in the land. That’s because his sliced, pickled jalapeños are incredible, and this makes all the difference. Steve buys them cold-packed from Cajun Chef. He told me once, “This is the only brand that has any crunch,” which is true, so you’ll need to buy them in large quantities from Steve’s supplier, or make your own.
The versatile pickled jalapeño is a staple on just about any roadhouse menu in the great state of Texas. When pickled, jalapeños impart a mellow heat (especially if you remove the seeds) that is not hot enough to damage your taste buds. Fear not, you’ll still get a buzz, a sort of mini-high that will naturally elevate your Texas two-fisted burger experience.
EQUIPMENT
A medium saucepan
1-quart (1-L) Mason jar with airtight lid
INGREDIENTS
2 cups (480 ml) distilled white vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons salt
8 to 10 cloves garlic, halved lengthwise
12 to 14 medium-size green jalapeños
1 Add 1½ cups (360 ml) water, the vinegar, sugar, and salt to a saucepan and bring to a gentle boil for 1 minute, then remove from the heat and let cool. (I usually put the saucepan in the freezer or fridge for a few minutes, or outside if it’s cold, to speed things up.)
2 Place a third of the garlic pieces in the bottom of the Mason jar.
3 Slice the jalapeños into thin rings (don’t remove the seeds) and add them to the jar as well, alternating with handfuls of the remaining garlic. Jalapeños can be very hot. Avoid the dreaded capsaicin burn by wearing rubber gloves, and avoid touching your eyes (ouch).
4 Pour the cooled vinegar mixture over the jalapeños, seal the jar tightly, and place in the fridge at least overnight before using them. The best flavor comes out at about day three, and hits its stride by day seven, but the pickles will last in the fridge for months.
5 Remove the seeded centers from the jalapeños before serving to temper the heat. Apply to burgers, deviled eggs (this page), or just about anything that needs a kick in the flavor.
BURGER-PERFECT FRIED EGGS
MAKES ENOUGH FOR 4 BURGERS
If you like burgers as much as I like burgers then you already understand that the clearest path to hamburger satisfaction is finding a harmony of elements. In considering burger architecture (see this page) the synthesis that will occur in your mouth upon your first bite should be your only concern. And if that first bite contains a beef patty, cheese, and a fried egg, you may have achieved perfect burger harmony.
The marriage of egg to burger is not something you see all over America, but recently many high-end restaurants are elevating their gourmet burgers by topping them with a fried egg. In Australia, order a burger with “the lot” and you’ll get, among other things, a burger with bacon, pickled beetroot, a fried egg, and sometimes pineapple (clearly the creation of late-night drunks). In parts of Southeast Asia the egg is also a prominent burger topping. Street vendors in Kuala Lumpur take things to the next level by wrapping burger patties in big, wide fried eggs for a treat known as the Sloppy (or Ramly) Burger.
How you prepare an egg for a burger depends on your preference. A scrambled egg has very different taste properties than a fried egg. But, in my mind, nothing says “I don’t like you” more than an overcooked egg. The perfectly cooked egg, sunny-side up with a runny yolk, creates nature’s perfect burger sauce. The combination of egg yolk and burger grease is a protein-rich sensory explosion.
And the circular shape of a fried egg fits perfectly on a burger. It’s as if the partnership were meant to be.
EQUIPMENT
A nonstick skillet for frying eggs
A spatula
INGREDIENTS
2 tablespoons butter (at least ½ tablespoon per egg)
4 large eggs
1 Make classic pub burgers with American or cheddar cheese following the recipe on this page. While the burger patties are resting, heat butter in a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Use enough butter for the number of eggs you’re cooking—depending on the size of your skillet, you may be able to cook 2 or 3 at a time.
2 When the butter is hot and just starting to brown, crack the eggs in the pan. Leave enough space between them for the whites to spread out.
3 Cook, untouched, until the whites are just opaque and the yolk is still runny.
4 Angling the pan, gently slide each egg out of the skillet and onto each cooked patty. Serve immediately on toasted buns.
BACON IN THE ROUND
MAKES 1 POUND OF BACON, OR HOWEVER MUCH YOU NEED
On its own, bacon is heaven. It’s the gateway meat for most vegetarians who slip and fall off their diets. And for carnivores it’s a drug with a powerful aroma that is virtually impossible to resist. No matter what you are doing, or how full you are, there is always room for bacon. Am I wrong?
That said, I’ll be totally honest here. Although I understand the popularity of bacon on a burger, I’m not really a fan of it as a topping. Bacon has a very strong flavor that can easily overwhelm the subtle flavors of good beef. However, used sparingly, it can work with your burger, not against it.
Bacon has three distinct flavors: salt, smoke, and fat. Any burger can benefit from the addition of these elements. Cheese also contains salt, and often so does your burger when you add it during the cooking process. That adds up to a lot of salt. Use cheddar instead of American where bacon is involved (cheddar contains half the sodium) and a bit less salt when you season your patties. Generally speaking, the more bacon you use the less you will be able to taste the beef. For best results I recommend using good bacon, but avoid thick-cut bacon from your butcher or slabs of pork belly.
One day during a cooking session in the Hamburger America Test Kitchen we accidentally stumbled upon a new method for preparing bacon as a burger topping. For years I had simply cooked bacon in a pan and placed the cooked planks across the top of a burger, complete with long bits sticking out from under the bun. It never looked right and always seemed clumsy. Then it struck me: What if we cooked the bacon in a circle to match the shape of the burger? The result was genius, the method everlasting.
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
Long tongs (skip the plastic tips!)
INGREDIENTS
1 (16-ounce/455 g) package good-quality store-bought bacon, preferably uncured and standard thickness
1 Preheat a cast-iron skillet over medium heat.
2 Using tongs, twirl a strip of raw bacon into a tight, more-or-less flat spiral making sure the edges are overlapping slightly. Add as many of these bacon spirals as you can fit in the pan with space between them. Cook them slowly. If the pan starts to smoke, lower the heat.
3 When your bacon discs are browned on one side, flip gently and cook the other side until they’ve reached your desired crispiness.
4 Save the rendered pork fat (lard) for other recipes like the San Antonio Beanburger (this page). It will keep in the freezer for months.
DEPRESSION-ERA COLE SLAW
MAKES 8 TO 10 SIDE-DISH SERVINGS
If you’ve ever had the pleasure of eating one of the greatest green chile cheeseburgers in America (at the Santa Fe Bite in New Mexico), then you’ve probably also had Bonnie Eckre’s addictive coleslaw as a side. The recipe she has used for decades is actually adapted from a government-issued pamphlet to help homemakers stretch their grocery dollars during the Great Depression. It was designed to be made with readily available and inexpensive ingredients (in this case, no cream).
INGREDIENTS
1 head white cabbage, shredded
1 green bell pepper, seeded and finely chopped
½ cup (100 g) sugar
⅔ cup (165 ml) distilled white vinegar
¼ cup (60 ml) canola oil
¼ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
½ teaspoon celery seed
1 teaspoon ground mustard
1 Place the shredded cabbage and chopped pepper in a large bowl. Pour the sugar over the cabbage and pepper.
2 In a small saucepan, bring the vinegar, oil, salt, black pepper, celery seed, and mustard to a boil. The smell of this boiling concoction will probably drive you out of the kitchen—hang in there. Boil for 5 minutes and then pour the hot brew over the cabbage and peppers. Don’t stir it yet! Allow it to cool before stirring. It will appear as if there isn’t nearly enough liquid to transform all that cabbage into the saucy coleslaw of your dreams, but trust me, it’ll work.
3 When the bowl of slaw and dressing has cooled, mix the contents, cover, and refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Bonnie suggests allowing the slaw to marinate overnight for optimum flavor.
STUPID-EASY COLE SLAW
MAKES ENOUGH FOR A HUNGRY BACKYARD PARTY OF 8 TO 10
If you don’t have time for Bonnie’s Depression-Era Cole Slaw, here’s one that I came up with years ago that is easy and very tasty. It’s your classic, creamy coleslaw; the one you’ll find at any good backyard picnic, diner, or seafood shack. It’s always a crowd pleaser and, I like to think, a great replacement for a green salad if your guests are clambering for something moderately healthy. And for those who have cringed at slaw recipes that call for buckets of sugar, you’ll find none here. Zero. That’s because I reformulated the recipe so that my diabetic father-in-law could safely enjoy coleslaw.
EQUIPMENT
A large mixing bowl
A food processor with a grating/shredding attachment
INGREDIENTS
1 head white cabbage, shredded
6 medium-large carrots, grated
1 cup (240 ml) mayonnaise
¼ cup (60 ml) apple cider vinegar
2 tablespoons yellow mustard
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
1 Combine the cabbage and carrots in a bowl and set aside.
2 In the large bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, vinegar, mustard, salt, and pepper. Add the carrots and cabbage to the mixture, tossing to coat.
3 This slaw can be served immediately, but tastes best if covered and stored in the fridge for an hour before serving. (It can also be made ahead and stored in the fridge for up to 24 hours.)
MAMA’S POTATO SALAD
MAKES 8 TO 10 SIDE-DISH SERVINGS
I’ve been referring to my mother as “Mama” since I could speak. And my grandmother was her Mama. So although this comes from my mother’s enormous cache of recipes, it really belongs to my grandmother, “Granny,” the original Mama.
Granny was an incredible Southern home cook. Fried chicken and mac ’n’ cheese were her go-to meals, but where she excelled was in good old Lowcountry classics like chicken perlo, shrimp and grits, and sweet tea.
Granny has since passed, so it’s my mother who makes the potato salad for gatherings with immediate family. But when the entire Southern family is getting together it’s my aunt Brenda who takes the reins. “I’m the only one who really knows how to make it,” she’s told my mom. “I can make it taste just like Granny’s.”
It’s the boiled egg that makes it taste like Granny’s, a staple in any classic potato salad recipe. Somehow eggs have started to fall out of favor in newer potato salad recipes, and I find that puzzling. It’s the creamy, rich egg component that unquestionably ties this salad together.
As we were going over the recipe one day Aunt Brenda said, “I don’t think Mama put that much onion in there.” Balance is key, Brenda warned me. “Not too much of anything that has a flavor of its own.” You may need to experiment a bit to get it just right.
INGREDIENTS
3 to 4 pounds (about 1½ to 2 kg) white potatoes, washed, peeled, and cubed
3 large eggs
1 bunch scallions, chopped
½ medium red onion, chopped
3 to 4 stalks celery, finely chopped
½ large green bell pepper, seeded and chopped
½ large red bell pepper, seeded and chopped
½ large yellow bell pepper, seeded and chopped
¾ pint to 1 pint (430 to 480 ml) mayonnaise (I suggest Hellmann’s)
2 tablespoons chopped dill pickle or relish
Sea salt, to taste
Paprika, for sprinkling
1 Boil the potatoes in salted water until the potatoes are tender. Drain and set aside.
2 Hard-boil eggs using my Deviled Eggs With a Kick recipe on this page, cool, and peel. Or follow Granny’s method and add the eggs to the boiling water with the potatoes.
3 Transfer the potatoes to a large bowl and add the chopped scallions; celery; the green, red, and yellow peppers; and the eggs. Add half the mayonnaise to the bowl and the chopped pickle. Using a spoon, combine gently. Add the remaining mayonnaise as you stir.
4 Chill for at least an hour and serve. Give the bowl a sprinkle of paprika just before serving.
A page from Granny’s recipe book
RED CHILE POTATO CHIPS
MAKES 8 TO 10 SIDE-DISH SERVINGS
Anyone can walk into a grocery store and buy a bag of chips. The potato chip is the most popular savory snack out there, making up about 25 percent of all snacks consumed worldwide. The flavor choices beyond salt are also seemingly unlimited these days. Potato chips are really easy to make, so when you have the option to fry a batch of chips at home go for it.
If I’m deep-frying food at home, I always think about alternate uses for the fry oil before I toss it—this is a great opportunity to make your own potato chips. They’re fast, easy, tasty, and you can flavor them any way you like. Try a version with just salt or, my favorite, a sprinkle of red chile powder and salt.
EQUIPMENT
A seasoned cast-iron skillet
A mandoline slicer or a sharp knife and a steady hand
A slotted spoon or mesh straining spoon
INGREDIENTS
3 russet potatoes, washed and peeled
Peanut oil, or other neutral oil (enough to fill your deep skillet or frying pan with 2 inches/5 cm of oil)
Red chile powder (or store-bought chili powder), for seasoning
Salt, for seasoning
1 Slice the potatoes into super-thin round slices. They should be a consistent thickness, otherwise some will cook too fast.
2 Fill a large mixing bowl with ice water and soak the potato slices for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oil in the skillet over medium-high heat.
3 Transfer the potato slices to a clean, dry kitchen towel. Lay them out so they’re not clumped together and pat them dry. Make sure they’re quite dry—you don’t want to add water to hot oil! Deep-frying can be very dangerous. Please exercise caution.
4 Drop the dry potato slices into the oil and let cook for 1 minute before stirring. Then, stir gently and often, making sure to press them down so they are fully submerged in the oil. Fry until golden brown and crispy—1½ to 2 minutes.
5 Use the slotted spoon or straining spoon to lift the chips out of the oil and onto a paper towel–lined plate. Quickly transfer them to a clean mixing bowl and, while they’re still hot, dust with chile powder and salt, tossing them to coat with seasoning. Taste and add more seasoning, if desired.
Note: Homemade chips can get soft after a while. They can be re-crisped for 10 minutes in a 400°F (205°C) oven.
DEVILED EGGS WITH A KICK
MAKES 12 DEVILED EGGS
I love deviled eggs. I’ve been eating them my entire life, usually at family functions and special occasions. We seem to save this indulgence until there is something to celebrate, but deviled eggs can be made in advance of a barbeque and are a great accompaniment to burgers.
Every year I bring a plate of my spicy deviled eggs to my mother’s Easter brunch, egg hunt, and bonnet contest (everyone shows up with a handmade bonnet, and my sister, Mary Beth, regularly walks away with the top prize). The recipe that I learned way back was my mother’s, which was based on the simplest of elements: perfectly boiled eggs, good mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, and a sprinkle of paprika. She still refuses to put salt in the recipe because, she says, “the mayo has plenty of salt in it.” With my mother, nothing is measured, and the finger-in-the-batter taste test says it all.
Over the years I’ve slightly corrupted my mother’s basic recipe (with her blessing, of course). In mine, the combination of Dijon, sriracha, and pickled jalapeño creates a fairly complex heat profile, one that makes you reach for a second deviled egg … and a third.
EQUIPMENT
A medium-size stockpot
A strainer
A medium-size mixing bowl
A plastic zip-top bag
INGREDIENTS
6 large eggs
¼ cup (60 ml) mayonnaise
2 tablespoons mustard
1 tablespoon sriracha chili sauce
Pinch of salt
Paprika, for garnishing
Pickled Jalapeños (recipe on this page)
1 Place the eggs in the stockpot and cover with lukewarm water. Bring to a gentle boil and cook for 1 minute. Cover, turn off the heat, and let sit for 10 minutes.
2 Prepare a bowl of ice water. Drain the eggs and transfer them to the ice water to prevent them from cooking further.
3 Once cool, peel the eggs and cut them in half lengthwise. Gently remove the yolks and add them to the mixing bowl. Place the egg whites on a serving plate.
4 Crumble the yolks with a fork, then add the mayo, mustard, and sriracha and stir or whisk until combined. It’s okay if the filling is a little lumpy.
5 Add the filling to a plastic zip-top bag, seal the bag, cut the tip off of one of the corners of the bag, and squirt the mixture into the egg-white halves.
6 Dust each deviled egg with a pinch of salt and a dash of paprika and top with a pickled jalapeño slice just before serving.
POSTSCRIPT
THE BEET BURGER
(FROM KORZO OF BROOKLYN, NEW YORK)
Let me make one thing perfectly clear—I do not like veggie burgers. I don’t like the idea of them. I don’t like the taste of them, and I consider them to be an insult to the word “burger.” I actually love veggies in all forms: cooked, steamed, smoked, grilled, roasted, even in a cold-pressed juice. I’m a fairly healthy guy who loves cheeseburgers, and I have a great relationship with veggies. I fully understand that some people can’t eat beef, or choose not to, and that’s OK. Naturally, some of these people (my vegetarian wife, for example) would still like to enjoy the hamburger “experience”: the cheese, the toasted bun, those toppings, but just because it’s on a bun does not make it a burger.
The real issue I have with veggie burgers is simply that they taste awful most of the time. They are either overprocessed, cardboard-stiff, soy-protein patties that taste like fake or frozen beef (which confuses me to no end. Why would the soy-protein people create a burger that mimics the worst burger you could eat?), or they are house-made gloppy, hot, veggie-and-bean mush pies. To add insult to injury, these mushy orbs are usually served on ridiculous, dried out, oversize, sprouted wheat buns in the name of healthy eating. Gross.
But then I met the Beet Burger.
My friends Maria and Otto Zizak, who run the celebrated Brooklyn Slovakian outpost Korzo, have a firm understanding of what it takes to make and serve great food. Everything that leaves the kitchen has been thoroughly considered, made from the best ingredients, and served with love. Korzo does not function in a trendy locally sourced, artisanal way, but in an old-world European way (with artisanal, locally sourced ingredients) because that’s the way it should be done. And if that’s not enough, when the Slovakian president shows up at the consulate in Manhattan, it’s Maria who cooks for him and his delegation.
Korzo is also home to one of my favorite (beef) burgers: a grilled burger that has been wrapped in Hungarian langos dough and tossed in the deep fryer. The result is, well, you can use your burger-magination for this one. Langos bread when fried is heavenly and almost donut-like.
Beets are a staple in the mountainous regions of Eastern Europe. In Slovakia, root vegetables like potatoes, beets, and horseradish are plentiful. Maria and Otto have incorporated beets into the Korzo menu in various forms, but the king of all is the Beet Burger. Korzo may have been the first to make a burger with beets in New York City, but today they have much company.
The Korzo Beet Burger is made with walnuts, black-eyed peas, garlic, and both raw and roasted beets. Roasting caramelizes and brings out the natural sugars in the beets. “We never boil beets at Korzo,” Otto once pointed out. “Because then it would taste like hospital food.” Add cheese and onions to the final product and you’ll have one earthy, “beefy,” damn-tasty burger, and the only one in its category that I will consume.
THE BEET BURGER
MAKES 8 TO 10 BURGERS
EQUIPMENT
Aluminum foil
A food processor
A large mixing bowl
A nonstick baking sheet (or a baking sheet plus a silicone liner)
THE BURGER
1 large beet, peeled for roasting
30 ounces (850 grams) canned black-eyed peas, drained and rinsed
4 cups (400 g) walnuts, soaked overnight in water and drained
2 medium carrots, peeled and shredded in a food processor with a shredding attachment
1 large raw beet, peeled and shredded
2 cloves fresh garlic, minced
1 tablespoon Korzo Ale Mustard (or any good, grainy mustard)
2 tablespoons Frank’s RedHot cayenne pepper sauce or similar hot sauce
1 cup (80 g) panko bread crumbs
Salt and black pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons salted butter
8 soft half-wheat or sturdy soft burger rolls, toasted (see instructions, this page)
THE TOPPINGS
Caramelized Onions (recipe on this page)
Sautéed Mushrooms (recipe follows)
8 slices of high-quality cheddar cheese
1 Preheat the oven to 400°F (205°C). Rub the beet with olive oil and wrap in two layers of aluminum foil. Roast for 1½ hours, or until a knife slides easily all the way through. Let cool, chop into cubes, and set aside. Reduce the oven temperature to 375°F (190°C).
2 In a food processor, coarsely blend the black-eyed peas and transfer to a large mixing bowl. Chop the walnuts in the food processor until coarse and add to the mixing bowl with the peas.
3 Add the carrots, both the raw and roasted beets, the garlic, mustard, hot sauce, and bread crumbs to the same bowl and mix by hand until blended. Season with salt and pepper to taste. The mixture should be a thick, pasty consistency.
4 Form patties that are roughly ¼ inch (6 mm) thick (patties can be chilled and/or frozen for later use). These burgers will not shrink during cooking, so form patties that are close to the circumference of your buns.
5 Put the patties on the nonstick baking sheet (or baking sheet with a silicone baking liner) and roast for 45 minutes.
6 While the Beet Burgers cook, prepare the sautéed mushrooms and caramelized onions.
7 When the burgers are finished baking, remove them from the oven. Preheat the cast-iron skillet over medium heat and add a pat of butter. Brown each patty on both sides, flipping the burgers carefully so they don’t fall apart. (This step is optional.)
8 Add a spoonful of sautéed mushrooms to the top of each burger followed by a slice of cheese. Cover, and continue to cook until the cheese is melted, about 2 minutes.
9 Transfer finished beet burgers to the toasted buns and top with the caramelized onions.
SAUTÉED MUSHROOMS
Makes more than enough to top 8 beet burgers
1 tablespoon butter
2 cups (120 g) sliced cremini mushrooms
½ cup (120 ml) dry white wine
Sea salt, to taste
1 Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat and add the mushrooms.
2 Cover and cook over medium heat until the mushrooms release their liquid.
3 Pour in the wine and raise the heat to high. When liquid in the pan is reduced, remove from the heat. Salt to taste and set aside until ready to use on your beet burgers.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It was only after I agreed to write my first cookbook that I discovered how much work it would be. I relish a good challenge, but I knew I could not do it alone (no way). Major kudos have to go to my trusty testing and shooting team of Sydney Rey and Kristoffer Brearton. This book would not have been possible without them, period. Sydney kept the entire book process together, kept me on task, and became our “kitchen cop”—there was no sneaking an extra pinch of salt past her, everything had to be measured twice. And Kris made magic daily, shooting more than two thousand images of burgers and ingredients. At one point, after seeing the first round of Kris’s work, Sydney remarked, “I guess it doesn’t matter what we write.” Thanks, you two. Big thanks as well to food stylist Nicole Bergman and photographer Doug Young for the portraits and “action” shots in the book, as well as a few choice burger images.
This book deal was struck at the exact moment that my wife Casey and I sold our wonderful loft apartment in Brooklyn. With that sale we lost our beautiful, fully-functioning testing and shooting kitchen. The timing could not have been more ridiculous. The book was due at Abrams while we were kitchenless, working on the renovation of our new home. A huge thanks must go to good friends Carey and Paul Reidy for the use of their home and kitchen during the production of the book. They took us in and gave us full use of their spacious, sunlit Brooklyn kitchen for shooting and testing.
Additional testing and photography was the result of kitchen surfing at: Union City Studios, New Jersey (thanks, Bruce), in the old kitchen of our new home preceding renovation (before a pipe burst and destroyed the kitchen), my mom’s house and backyard, the Surf Club Cottage, Billy Durney’s Hometown Bar-B-Que, and at good friends Nancy and Chad’s Montauk home.
We had to borrow kitchen equipment because ours was deep in storage during construction (thanks to Nick, Tracy, Jonathan Kopp, and Nancy Cohen!) and it became a movable feast that kept things fresh. I never would have chosen to do it this way, but I’m glad I was forced to do so. Now I know why bands go to different locales to record albums—when you are completely out of your element you seem to work harder and stay more focused.
The endless supply of fresh-ground 80/20 chuck for testing and shooting came from my good friends at Schweid & Sons, meatpackers who create some of the most consistently great-tasting ground beef around (and supply Five Guys and Smashburger). It was a treat to have fresh beef dropped at our roaming kitchen sites all over the New York City area for months. One day we ran out of ground chuck and picked up some 86/14 at a local supermarket. After the hundreds of pounds of quality beef from Schweid, the cheap store-bought stuff was like an awful joke. From that point on, if we ran out of beef, the test day was over. Thanks to Rev Ciancio and Jamie Schweid for making this possible.
Thanks also to Kenny and Harry at Leske’s Bakery for the massive supply of buns for shooting and testing. Grassland Dairy sent perfect Wisconsin butter, and the authentic New Mexican green chile came from Linda at NewMexicoCatalog.com. The one-of-a-kind Provel cheese was sourced from Chef Justin Bazdarich at Speedy Romeo, and the authentic frita rolls came from Marta at El Mago. Thanks also to Jason Ferguson at Big Spaceship, for naming our Swine and Cheese, Matt and Emily for napkin help, and Andrew Zimmern for penning the foreword.
I’m also grateful for the willingness of my burger heroes to share their recipes, a few secrets, methods, and photos with me. Thanks especially to Steve Christian at Christian’s Tailgate; Rich Belfer at White Rose; Glenn Fieber at Solly’s Grille; Bonnie and John Eckre at Santa Fe Bite; John Boyles from the former Mr. Fable’s and Kewpee Hamburgs; Jim Flaniken at Steak ’n Shake; the Gokey Family at Pete’s Hamburgers; Mary, Dr. Phil, and Chef Michael Ollier at Certified Angus Beef®; Dana Browning at White Castle; Maria and Otto Zizak at Korzo; and one of the biggest burger nerds of them all—my friend Tom Ryan at Smashburger.
And thanks, as well, to friends and family who have supported my burger craziness over the past decade, and to the passionate burger fans and Expert Burger Tasters who have helped point me to my next great regional burger experience. All of this help and advice has shaped a vision that I believed in from the start, a vision that could not have been realized without your continued support.
This book would not have seen publication had it not been for two very important friends—my agent Laura Dail and publisher Michael Sand at Abrams. Laura has believed in my hamburger quest since the very beginning (almost a decade now), and when everyone else said I was nuts, she knew better. Thank you, Laura. And it has been dreamy working with the even-keeled publisher and editor Michael Sand. Thank you for your seemingly effortless guidance. And a big thanks to everyone at Abrams, including design director John Gall.
My mother continues to give me the confidence to get in the kitchen, keep things simple, and attempt to make magic. She really does make it look easy. Because of her the kitchen is my comfort zone. Thanks, Mom.
Finally, thank you to my two amazing children, Ruby and Mac, who have only known a dad who is crazy about burgers. It’s for you that I make an effort to lead a semi-healthy life, with a balanced diet that includes many veggies, smoothies, and as much exercise as possible. Left to my own devices I’d probably burger my way to oblivion, which doesn’t sound half bad.
“Fear not thy onion.”
INDEX OF SEARCHABLE TERMS
A
American Angus Association
American cheese
Anchor Bar (Wisconsin)
Anderson, Walt
Andrew & Everett
Angus beef cuts
Astro Burgers (California)
avocado
B
backslider
bacon
The Bacon-Avocado Toast Burger
Bacon in the Round
Steve’s Country-Fried Bacon
The Swine and Cheese
Bartley, Bill
Basic Red Chile Sauce
Bazdarich, Justin
BBQ Sauce
Beanless Beef Chili Sauce
beef
Beanless Beef Chili Sauce
Certified Angus Beef
The Beet Burger
Belfer, Rich
Ben’s Chili Bowl (Washington, D.C.)
The Bierock
Big Green Egg
Bill’s Hamburgers (Mississippi)
The Billy Goat (Chicago)
Binney, Jennifer
Bobcat Bite (New Mexico)
Boo Koo Hamburgers (Texas)
Boyles, John
Brearton, Kris
Brenda (Aunt)
Bristol, Matt
Brock, Sean
Brook’s Sandwich House (North Carolina)
buns
Burger Cottage (Massachusetts)
Burger-Perfect Fried Eggs
burgers. See also cheeseburgers
The Bacon-Avocado Toast Burger
The Butter Burger
The Cuban Frita
The Nut Burger
The Olive Burger
The Poached Burger
The Slug Burger
The Smoked Burger
The Teriyaki Burger
The Tortilla Burger
butcher
The Butter Burger
C
California
Astro Burgers
The Bacon-Avocado Toast Burger
The Hat
Howard’s Famous
Calle Ocho (Florida)
Capitol Burgers (California)
Caramelized Onions
The Carolina Slaw Burger
cast-iron flat top
cast iron skillet
Castro, Fidel
Certified Angus Beef
cheese. See also Provel cheese
cheeseburgers
The Beet Burger
The Bierock
The Carolina Slaw Burger
The Deep-Fried Burger
The Flame-Grilled Burger
The Fried-Onion Burger
The Green Chile Cheeseburger
Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburger
The Hamburger Parm
The Jersey Burger
The Jucy Lucy
The Pastrami Burger
The Patty Melt
The Pimento Cheeseburger
The Provel Burger
The San Antonio Beanburger
The Steamed Cheeseburg
The Swine and Cheese
The Thick Pub Classic Burger
Cheez Whiz
chile
Basic Red Chile Sauce
chile colorado sauce
The Green Chile Cheeseburger
Red Chile Potato Chips
The Tortilla Burger
chili sauce
Chris Madrid’s
Christian, Steve
Christian’s Tailgate Bar & Grill (Texas)
Clark, Judy
Classic Utah Fry Sauce
cole slaw
The Carolina Slaw Burger
Depression-Era Cole Slaw
Stupid-Easy Cole Slaw
Connecticut
Jack’s Lunch
Louis’ Lunch
The Steamed Cheeseburg
cooking methods
Corinth, Mississippi
Crabill’s (Ohio)
Crown Burgers (Utah)
crusty bread
The Bacon-Avocado Toast Burger
The Patty Melt
The Cuban Frita
Cuban Revolution
cuts of beef
D
Davis, Fletch
The Deep-Fried Burger
DeForest, Thomas
Dennis (Duke’s nephew)
Depression-Era Cole Slaw
Deviled Eggs with a Kick
Donovan’s Pub (New York City)
Duke’s Grill (North Carolina)
Dyer, Elmer
Dyer’s (Tennessee)
E
Eastside Big Tom (Washington)
Eckre, Bonnie
Edge, John T.
eggs
Burger-Perfect Fried Eggs
Deviled Eggs with a Kick
The Loco Moco
empanada
F
Fieber, Glenn
The Fillin’ Station (South Carolina)
The Flame-Grilled Burger
Florida
food ring
franchising
French fries
The Fried-Onion Burger
Frijoles Refritos de Jorge
Fritos
Fritsch, Chuck
Fry Sauce
G
Glenn’s Stewed Onions, My Way
Gokey, Paul
Gokey, Pete
Gonzalez, Mercedes
Goop Sauce
Granny
gravy
Great Depression
The Green Chile Cheeseburger
Griddle-Smashed Classic Cheeseburger
grills
The Guberburger
H
Hamburg, Germany
hamburger. See also burgers; cheeseburgers
architecture
history
Hamburger America (film)
Hamburger America (Motz)
Hamburger America Test Kitchen
Hamburger Inn (Oklahoma)
The Hamburger Parm
Harry’s Schnäck Sauce
The Hat (California)
Hawaii
Loco-Moco
The Loco Moco
The Teriyaki Burger
Hawk, Harry
Homemade BBQ Sauce
Howard’s Famous (California)
I
Illinois
Indiana
Ingram, Billy
interstate system
Iowa
The Italian Burger (Massachusetts)
J
Jack’s Lunch (Connecticut)
jalapeños
The Jersey Burger
Jersey Girl
J.G. Melon, New York City
The Jucy Lucy
The Jungle (Sinclair)
K
Kaelin’s (Kentucky)
Kaiser rolls
Kansas
Katsanevas, James
Kentucky
Keuper, Lyman
Kewpee Hotel Hamburgers (Michigan)
kolaches. See The Bierock
Korn, Matt
Korzo (New York)
Kraft, James Lewis
Kuban, Adam
L
Lincoln Grill
Loco-Moco (Hawaii)
The Loco Moco
The Loose Meat Sandwich
López-Alt, J. Kenji
Louis’ Lunch (Connecticut)
M
Madrid, Chris
El Mago de las Fritas
Maid-Rite (Iowa)
Maillard reaction
Mama
Mama’s Pimena Cheese
Mama’s Potato Salad
Maria’s Restaurant (New Mexico)
marinade
Marty’s Hamburger Stand (Los Angeles)
Mary Beth (sister)
Massachusetts
Matt’s Bar (Minnesota)
Matt’s Place Drive-In (Montana)
Menches Brothers
Michigan
Minnesota
Minos Burgers (California)
Mississippi
Missouri
The Mo Club (Montana)
Montana
MOS Burger chain
Motz, George
Motz’s Kinda-Secret Frita Sauce
Motz’s Whiz Cheese Spread
Mr. Bartley’s Burger Cottage
Mr. Fables
Mr. Fables-Style Mix
My Red Sauce
N
Nagreen, Charlie
National Register of Historic Places
Nebraska
New Jersey
New Mexico
New York
North Carolina
The Northgate Soda Shop (South Carolina)
The Nut Burger
Nu-Way (Kansas)
O
Odell’s
Ohio
okazuya (Hawaiian diner)
Oklahoma
olives
The Olive Burger
Olive-Mayo Mix
Smoked Olives
Ollier, Michael
onions
Caramelized Onions
The Fried-Onion Burger
Glenn’s Stewed Onions, My Way
Original Tommy’s
outdoor grill
Ozersky, Josh
P
Palmetto Cheese
The Pantry (New Mexico)
pasteurized loaf cheese
The Pastrami Burger
The Patty Melt
Paul’s Tavern (Iowa)
Peanut Barrel (Michigan)
Pete’s Hamburgers (Wisconsin)
Phillips Grocery (Mississippi)
Pickled Jalapeños topping
pierogies. See The Bierock
Pimena Cheese
The Pimento Cheeseburger
P.J. Clarke’s (New York City)
The Plaza (Wisconsin)
Pleva, Ray
The Poached Burger
potatoes
potato chips
potato salad
Thin-Cut Fried Potatoes
The Provel Burger
Provel cheese
Ptomaine Tommy’s
R
Red Chile Potato Chips
refried beans
El Rey de las Fritas
The Rite Spot (California)
Rockaway Athletic Club (South Carolina)
Runza (Nebraska)
Ryan, Tom
S
The San Antonio Beanburger
Santa Fe Bite (New Mexico)
sauce. See also gravy
Basic Red Chile Sauce
BBQ Sauce
Beanless Beef Chili Sauce
chile colorado sauce
Classic Utah Fry Sauce
Fry Sauce
Goop Sauce
Harry’s Schnäck Sauce
Motz’s Kinda-Secret Frita Sauce
My Red Sauce
Teriyaki Sauce
Sautéed Mushrooms
Schnäck (schnäckies)
Schnäck Sauce
scoop
Seasoned Salt Substitute
SeriousEats.com
sides
Depression-Era Cole Slaw
Deviled Eggs with a Kick
Mama’s Potato Salad
Red Chile Potato Chips
Stupid-Easy Cole Slaw
Sid’s Diner (Oklahoma)
Sill’s Snack Shack (Texas)
Sinclair, Upton
sliders
The Slug Burger
Smashburger
The Smoked Burger
Smoked Olives
Snappy Lunch (North Carolina)
Solly’s Grille (Milwaukee)
South 21 Drive-In (North Carolina)
South Carolina
The Fillin’ Station
Pawleys Island
The Pimento Cheeseburger
spatula
Squealer
stands
Steak ‘n Shake
The Steamed Cheeseburg
Sternberger, Lionel
Steve’s Country-Fried Bacon
Stupid-Easy Cole Slaw
Super-Easy Tasty Brown Gravy
The Swine and Cheese
T
Tavern
Taylor pork
Taylor’s Maid-Rite (Iowa)
Ted’s Restaurant (Connecticut)
Tennessee
teriyaki
The Teriyaki Burger
Teriyaki Marinade
Teriyaki Sauce
Texas
Boo Koo Hamburgers
Christian’s Tailgate Bar & Grill
The San Antonio Beanburger
Sill’s Snack Shack
The Smoked Burger
The Swine and Cheese
Tookie’s Hamburgers
Whataburger Chain
The Thick Pub Classic Burger
Thin-Cut Fried Potatoes
tongs
Tookie’s Hamburgers (Texas)
tools
toppings
Bacon in the Round
Burger-Perfect Fried Eggs
Pickled Jalapeños
Sautéed Mushrooms
Steve’s Country-Fried Bacon
Thin-Cut Fried Potatoes
The Tortilla Burger
Turner, Brett
U
Utah
V
Val’s Burgers (California)
W
Walsh, Robb
Washington (state)
Washington, D.C.
Weber kettle grill
Wedl’s (Wisconsin)
Whataburger Chain (Texas)
Wheel Inn Drive-In (Missouri)
White Castle
White Manna (New Jersey)
White Rose (New Jersey)
Whole Foods
Wisconsin
Anchor Bar
The Butter Burger
Pete’s Hamburgers
The Plaza
The Poached Burger
Solly’s Grille
Wedl’s
W&M Bar-B-Q (Honolulu)
Z
Zaharakos (Indiana)
Zimmern, Andrew
Zizak, Maria
Zizak, Otto
PHOTO CREDITS
All photographs by Kristoffer Brearton, Douglas Young, and George Motz, with the exception of the following: this page courtesy White Castle, the White Castle images and materials and the “WHITE CASTLE®” mark are the exclusive property of White Castle Management Co. and are used under license; this page and this page American Angus Association/Certified Angus Beef Brand; this page Ruby Motz; this page Russell Lee, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, FSA/OWI Collection; this page (bottom left) courtesy Steak ’N Shake Enterprises; this page (middle right) courtesy Solly’s Grille; this page Ruby Motz (wood chips); this page courtesy Russell Library, Middletown, CT; this page Quinta Scott, Along Route 66, University of Oklahoma Press, 2000; this page courtesy Mercedes Alvarez, El Rey des las Fritas; this page courtesy Solly’s Grille; this page courtesy Dyer’s Hamburgers; this page courtesy The Hat Restaurant; this page courtesy John Boyles; this page courtesy John Boyles; this page Tim Fyke; this page courtesy John Brandkamp, Wheel Inn Drive-In; this page courtesy Mary Thames Louis; this page (bottom left + bottom middle) Sydney Rey
Kristoffer Brearton:
Cover, this page (right), this page, this page, this page, this page (top left), this page, this page, this page, (middle left + bottom right), this page, this page (bottom right), this page, this page, this page (bottom right), this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page (top right), this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page
Douglas Young:
this page, this page, this page (left), this page, this page, this page (top right, bottom left, + bottom right), this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page (top right), this page (right), this page, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page (bottom left + bottom right), this page, this page, this page, this page (bottom left + bottom right), this page, this page, this page (middle left, bottom left, + bottom middle), this page, this page, this page
George Motz:
this page (middle left), this page, this page (top left), this page (left), this page, this page, this page, this page, this page (top left + top right), this page, this page, this page, this page, this page (middle left), this page (top right + middle right) this page (bottom right), this page, this page
Published in 2016 by Stewart, Tabori & Chang
An imprint of ABRAMS
Text copyright © 2016 George Motz
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015948965
ISBN: 978-1-61769-182-9
eISBN: 978-1-61312-942-5
Editor: Michael Sand
Designer: John Gall
Production Manager: Denise LaCongo
Stewart, Tabori & Chang books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
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2016年度百大爵士專輯 Top 100 Jazz Albums of 2016JAZZ
【Jazz Taxi】程港輝精選
2016年度百大爵士專輯 Top 100 Jazz Albums of 2016
A
Ari Hoenig - The Pauper & the Magician (Lyte)
Andrew Cyrille Quartet - The Declaration of Musical Independence (ECM)
Anton Chekurov – Extraordinary (Butman)
Aziza - Aziza (Dare2)
B
Ben Wendel - What We Bring (Motéma)
Benny Golson - Horizon Ahead (HighNote)
Bill Charlap Trio - Notes from New York (Impulse!)
Bill Frisell - When You Wish Upon a Star (Okeh)
Billy Hart & the WDR Big Band - The Broader Picture (Enja-Yellowbird)
Bobby Previte & the Visitors – Gone (Fortune)
Brad Mehldau Trio - Blues and Ballads (Nonesuch)
Branford Marsalis Quartet with Kurt Elling - Upward Spiral (OKeh)
C
Charles Lloyd & the Marvels - I Long to See You (Blue Note)
Charlie Haden Liberation Music Orchestra - Time/Life: Song for the Whales and Other Beings (Impulse!)
Ches Smith - The Bell (ECM)
Conrad Herwig/Igor Butman - Reflections (Criss Cross)
Corey Christiansen - Factory Girl (Origin)
Cory Weeds Quintet - It's Easy to Remember (Cellar Live)
Cyrus Chestnut - Natural Essence (HighNote)
Cuong Vu Trio with Pat Metheny - Cuong Vu Trio Meets Pat Metheny (Nonesuch)
D
Darcy James Argue’s Secret Society - Real Enemies (New Amsterdam)
Dave Douglas & Frank Woeste - Dada People (Greenleaf)
Dewa Budjana - Zentuary (Favored Nations)
Dhafer Youssef - Diwan of Beauty and Odd (OKeh)
Dinosaur - Together, As One (Edition)
Donald Edwards - Prelude to Real Life (Criss Cross)
Donny McCaslin - Beyond Now (Motéma)
Dr. Lonnie Smith - Evolution (Blue Note)
E
E.S.T. Symphony – E.S.T. Symphony (ACT)
Elliot Galvin Trio – Punch (Edition)
Enrico Pieranunzi - European Trio (Casa Del Jazz)
Eric Alexander - Second Impression (HighNote)
Eric Revis Trio - Crowded Solitudes (Clean Feed)
F
Frank Kimbrough - Solstice (Pirouet)
Frank Woeste - Pocket Rhapsody (ACT)
Fred Hersch Trio - Sunday Night at the Vanguard (Palmetto)
G
George Cables - The George Cables Songbook (HighNote)
George Coleman - A Master Speaks (Smoke Sessions)
Gordon Goodwin's Little Phat Band - An Elusive Man (Music of Content)
H
Henry Threadgill Ensemble Double Up - Old Locks and Irregular Verbs (Pi)
Herlin Riley - New Diredtion (Mack Avenue)
Hugh Masekela - No Borders (Universal Music/South Africa)
Houston Person & Ron Carter - Chemistry (High Note)
J
JD Allen - Americana: Musings on Jazz & Blues (Savant)
Jack DeJohnette/Ravi Coltrane/Matthew Garrison - In Movement (ECM)
Jacky Terrasson and Stephane Belmondo - Mother (Impulse!)
Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra with Wynton Marsalis - The Abyssinian Mass (Blue Engine)
Jeff Parker - The New Breed (International Anthem Recording Company)
Jeremy Pelt - #jiveculture (High Note)
Joachim Kühn New Trio - Beauty & Truth (Act)
Joey Alexander – Countdown (Motéma)
John Scofield - Country for Old Men (Impulse!)
Jonathan Finlayson & Sicilian - Moving Still (Pi)
Joshua Redman & Brad Mehldau - Nearness (Nonesuch)
Julian Lage - Arclight: Live in Los Angeles (Mack Avenue)
K
Kenny Barron Trio - Book of Intuition (Impulse!)
Kenny Garrett - Do Your Dance! (Mack Avenue)
L
Larry Coryell - Barefoot Man: Sanpaku (Purple Pyramid)
Logan Richardson - Shift (Blue Note)
M
Marcus Strickland's Twi-Life - Nihil Novi (Blue Note)
Marquis Hill - The Way We Play (Concord Jazz)
Matt Wilson's Big Happy Family - Beginning of a Memory (Palmetto)
Michael Formanek Ensemble Kolossus - The Distance (ECM)
Michael Wollny Trio - Klangspuren (ACT)
Miroslav Vitous - Music of Weather Report (ECM)
Murray, Allen & Carrington Power Trio - Perfection (Motéma)
N
Nels Cline - Lovers (Blue Note)
O
Omer Avital - Abutbul Music (JazzVillage)
One for All - The Third Decade (Smoke Sessions)
Orrin Evans - #knowingishalfthebattle (Smoke Sessions)
P
Paolo Fresu, Richard Galliano & Jan Lundgren - Mare Nostrum II (ACT)
Pat Metheny - The Unity Sessions (Nonesuch)
Peter Bernstein - Let Loose! (Smoke Sessions)
R
Robert Glasper/Miles Davis - Everything's Beautiful (Columbia/Legacy)
Russell Malone - All about Melody (High Note)
S
Seamus Blake, Chris Cheek & Reeds Ramble - Lets Call the Whole Thing off (Criss Cross)
Shabaka & the Ancestors - Wisdom of Elders (Brownswood)
Shai Maestro Trio - The Stone Skipper (Sound Surveyor)
Snarky Puppy - Culcha Vulcha (Decca)
Sonny Rollins - Holding the Stage: Road Shows, Vol. 4 (Doxy)
Steve Lehman & Sélébéyone - Sélébéyone (Pi)
Steve Turre - Colors for the Masters (Smoke Sessions)
T
Takuya Kuroda - Zigzagger (Concord Jazz)
The Bad Plus - It's Hard (Sony Masterworks)
The Claudia Quintet - Super Petite (Cuneiform)
The Cookers - The Call of the Wild and Peaceful Heart (Smoke Sessions)
The Robert Glasper Experiment - ArtScience (Blue Note)
Theo Croker - Escape Velocity (O’Keh)
Till Brönner - The Good Life (Sony Master Work)
Tim Garland - One (Edition)
Tom Harrell - Something Gold, Something Blue (High Note)
Tyshawn Sorey - Inner Spectrum of Variables (Pi)
V
Victor Gould - Clockwork (Fresh Sound New Talent)
Vijay Iyer & Wadada Leo Smith - A Cosmic Rhythm with Each Stroke (ECM)
W
Wadada Leo Smith - America's National Parks (Cuneiform)
Warren Wolf - Convergence (Mack Avenue)
Will Bernard - Out & About (Posi-Tone)
Will Calhoun - Celebrating Elvin Jones (Motéma)
Wolfgang Muthspiel - Rising Grace (ECM)
Y
Yussef Kamaal – Black Focus (Brownswood)
- Jan 20 Fri 2023 08:15
洗手台水管不通怎麼辦
1.先旋開落水頭
2.底下十字形處有垢,用工具夾出或撬出清除
3.更深處使用「水管毛髮疏通棒」
是PE製塑膠條,五金行小百貨都有賣,
有彈性、有倒鉤可以深入水管
將髒污或毛髮勾出清除
4.倒入一公升熱水,觀察入水情形
5.不建議到入市售洗劑,建議以物理方式清除為佳
- May 12 Thu 2022 15:42
德式煎馬鈴薯食譜和製作方法
德式煎馬鈴薯食譜和製作方法
這是對德國製造的食譜的介紹。這是一種推薦的菜餚,可以很容易地作為日常膳食的配菜或啤酒的小吃。
香脆的香腸和培根增添了香氣,與芥末味相得益彰。
烹飪時間:15分鐘
預計費用:300日元左右
配料(2份)
土豆三個
香腸4根
培根60克
橄欖油1茶匙
大蒜1顆
(A) 鹽適量
(A) 胡椒適量
(A) 芥末醬2茶匙
香菜適量
怎麼做
1.將香腸切成 3 等份,將塊狀培根切成 1 厘米寬的塊。
2.從土豆中取出芽,切成 2 厘米見方,帶皮。
3.將水放入鍋中,將土豆煮至變軟並瀝乾。
4.將大蒜切碎。
5.將橄欖油放入加熱至中火的煎鍋中,加入大蒜,等香味出來時加入香腸和培根,然後煎炸。
6.香腸煮熟後加入土豆,等油完全熟了再加入(A)。當整個味道都熟悉時,將其從火上移開。
7.盛入碗中,撒上歐芹即可完成。
烹飪技巧和要點
您可以單獨製作美味的香腸和培根。如果添加土豆時感覺乾燥,請添加少量橄欖油。
如果你有帶皮的土豆,你可以享受它的質地,享受它的美味。在德國,德國土豆被稱為“ Bratkartoffeln ”。
ドイツ人直伝のジャーマンポテト レシピ・作り方
「ドイツ人直伝のジャーマンポテト」の作り方を簡単で分かりやすいレシピ動画で紹介しています。
本場ドイツで作られているレシピのご紹介です。普段のお食事のおかずとしてやビールのおつまみにでも簡単にできてお勧めの一品です。ソーセージとベーコンをカリッと焼くことで香ばしさが増し、マスタードの風味と合います。
調理時間:15分
費用目安:300円前後
カロリー:
クラシルプレミアム限定
保存する
シェア
ツイート
スマホで見る
印刷する
材料(2人前)
じゃがいも3個
ソーセージ4本
ブロックベーコン60g
オリーブオイル小さじ1
ニンニク1片
(A)塩適量
(A)こしょう適量
(A)粒マスタード小さじ2
パセリ適量
料理を安全に楽しむための注意事項
作り方
1.ソーセージは3等分に切り、ブロックベーコンは1cm幅に切ります。
2.じゃがいもは芽を取り除き、皮付きのまま2cm角に切ります。
3.鍋に水を入れ、じゃがいもをやわらかくなるまでゆで、水気を切ります。
4.にんにくはみじん切りにします。
5.中火に熱したフライパンにオリーブオイルをひき4を入れ香りが立ったら1を加え炒めます。
6.ソーセージに火が通ったら、3を加え全体に油がなじんだら(A)を加えます。全体に味がなじんだら火から下ろします。
7.器に盛り付けてパセリをちらして完成です。
料理のコツ・ポイント
ソーセージやベーコンだけでもおいしく作れます。
ジャガイモを加えた時にパサついた場合は、オリーブオイルを少量加えてください。
ジャガイモは皮付きの方が食感も楽しめ、美味しくお召し上がりいただけます。
ドイツでは、ジャーマンポテトは「ブラートカトフェルン」と呼ばれています。