They consisted of a large room for prisoners and a smaller one for the guards. Rather than separating the inmates, Cairn’s ancestors derived great pleasure in having them watch their companions being tortured, knowing their turn was coming soon. Elaborately sinister machines were stacked in one corner of the large cell, making her grateful she couldn’t fathom their uses. They were all covered in a thin layer of dust and rust. Though not old, it had been several months since most of the equipment was used. Jon was fast asleep on a dirty straw mattress, but he came instantly awake when he heard her pick the lock. "Who is there?" he asked warily. "Tell me quick or I’ll bash your head in!" "Tis I, Verena," she answered, puzzled. The lad sounded terrified, but as she lifted her candle, she couldn’t see any bruises on him. What was he afraid of if not Cairn’s questioning? "’Tis good to see you! I thought they were coming for me." "They? What happened last night?" "I followed the boy, as you asked.
