The Raven's Tower

The carriage left Miss Wren at the base of the cliff path and departed with a haste that she found, in retrospect, instructive. The driver had not spoken a word during the four-hour journey from the village, except once, when she had asked about the tower and he had crossed himself and muttered something about birds. She watched the carriage disappear around the headland, adjusted her traveling case, and began the climb.

Ravenscar Tower rose from the cliff edge like a black finger pointed at the sky, surrounded by a parliament of ravens so numerous that their collective movement gave the building the appearance of breathing. The stones were dark with age and salt spray, the windows narrow and deep-set, and from somewhere inside, a child was singing in a language that Miss Wren did not recognize but that the ravens seemed to understand, because they fell silent when the voice rose and resumed their calling when it paused.

The door opened before she knocked. A housekeeper — grey-haired, unsmiling, efficient — led her through a hallway lit by candles despite it being midafternoon. "Lord Blackwood does not receive visitors during the day," she said, in a tone that precluded questions. "You will meet your charge at supper. Her name is Corvina. She is eight years old. She is..." The housekeeper paused, selecting her next word with visible care. "Unusual. You are the ninth governesswe have employed. The previous eight did not stay. I trust you are made of sterner material."