I shrug, going for nonchalant but the approval in his eyes makes me feel ten inches taller. Like I put on a pair of really high stilettos. The kind I’ve seen the sisters wear when they’re going to a party.
“There’s more though,” Carrson explains, “Once a man receives a son his name changes and loses the -son. So If I have a son I’ll become Carr and that child will be Carrson.”
“Receives?” I repeat.
Carrson’s expression shutters slightly. “That’s the language they use.”
I think about that for a minute, my mind flying to the computer in his office. The long lists of Carr’s repeating. It makes a lot more sense now.
While I’ve been silent, Carrson has already moved on to the next article. He points to the part labeled assuccession. “Men in The Order can bond up to three women.”
“Like Lou and her boyfriend at Ashford House?” I ask, picturing that scar on Lou’s hand. How deep it was.
“Exactly. It’s…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “More serious than dating. Even more permanent than marriage.”
“You just made it more confusing.”
His mouth twitches. “When an heir is approved to continue his line,” he taps the page, “That’s when they’re ready to become parents. The manchooses one of his bonded women to elevate to “mother” status. She receives one to three daughters.”
“Receives?” I repeat.
Carrson’s expression shutters slightly. “That’s the language they use.”
He goes on, “The Mother raises daughters, but the father only raises one son. Three to one. It keeps the numbers balanced for the next generation of bonds. The kids aren’t siblings. The boys and the girls. They aren’t related biologically. The Mother moves to a separate house to raise the daughters and the Father raises his son.”
“Separately?” I confirm, still confused by that part of it.
“That’s the tradition.”
I stare at him. “Why?”
Carrson shrugs lightly, but there’s tension beneath it now. “Control,” he says simply. “They want the kids raised in certain ways, especially the boys. A mother nurtures,” he says quietly. “The Order doesn’t want boys nurtured. They want them hardened. For us boys to grow up strong, brutal, lethal when we need to be.”
His mouth turns down at the corners, resentful.
“What happens to the other women?” I ask. “Aren’t there two more bonded to the man who don’t ever become Mothers?”
“They stay bonded. Live with the man for the rest of their lives,” He huffs a laugh that’s more bitter than humorous. “Can’t have the men sleeping alone, you know. Not that they would be anyway. There’s always the whorehouses here in town. God knows the men goes there all the time. My father spent more time with the prostitutes than he did at home.”
I look back down at the paper, processing.
Bonded females. Mother status. Approved offspring allocation.
The language is so cold and clinical. Like someone took the idea of love and carved all the humanity out of it.
“What happens if someone breaks the rules?”
Carrson stares at me for a long minute, silent. Finally, he reaches forward and plucks the paper from my hands, folding it once. “You ask a lot of questions, Becky.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
A faint smile touches his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he agrees quietly. “It wasn’t. What else do you want to know?”
I narrow my eyes at him, making it clear I think his answer is bullshit. But Carrson doesn’t budge. He just leans back in the chair like he can outwait me forever.
Which, annoyingly, he probably can.
I think, trying to come up with something important before he decides he’s done entertaining my interrogation.
