The Tower, Or The Wicked Stepbrother, Part 2We were betrayed by a salad. No, not even a salad. We were betrayed by the salad dressing.
We were at the Litha evening feast, and a salad is always served. A traditional flowering salad.
Aidan and I had never gone to the evening feast on the longest day of the year, not once in the eight years we lived in Torag. The pre-dawn service with the usual rituals and prayers at the standing stones, had been enough, that and the mid-day rites at the temple, where we always left a traditional offering of honey cakes, buttermilk bread, and a bouquet of sunflowers and oak leaves.
At the pre-dawn and mid-day services, we always hid in the crowds, if we went at all.
Aidan insisted we go to the evening feast. “It’s been eight years, Cal. Eight years since
