I find relief in that Rigel does not press on my insecurity just yet, assuring me that I had not missed rights or vows to my husband. His assurance that Antares had killed others leaves me quiet for a moment, but not for long. The strength of the Mira were part of the allure to my father, and he had wanted to use them as a buffer against the more vigorous tribes beyond them. Their strength was legendary, and lasting peace with them was vital.
Rigel makes mention of other training and my gaze rises to him in question, curious as to what else one could be trained to do as a Wife. Perhaps how to raise children? Or the herbs I should eat to ensure that I carried a Prince for my King? The star son of Mira does not hesitate to let my confusion find it's voice. Instead, he clarifies that he only meant that Antares' strength would allow him to take what was not offered if he had been that type of stallion. Of this, I was certain he was not. At least not with me. His honor had seemed far too important to him for him to ruin a strange, unwed woman.
Rigel's passion grows as he decrys my people for the way that they stifle our women and at first I am affronted, ready to rise to the defense of the things that I had been taught, but this wanes quickly with no more than a flash in my eyes. How could I defend those things that I had always hated? The oppressiveness of it all and the way it felt neverending, that the potential for love was but a flickering flame in the torrent of youthful uncertainty, and that once snuffed that flame could never be re-lit for anyone else.
His mention of tails forces my gaze to the ground again, but it is short-lived as Rigel once more offers assurances of Antares' affection. My cheeks warm with a smile of pure bliss at the thought that rather than offending my love, my jealousy had only increased his desire for me. He goes on to explain his own experience in Maghrib, which did not seem that strange to me until he pointed out the reasons that it should. I had no experience with children, but I had heard my mother and the lesser wives speak often as to how exhausting they were. My father, too, had often slipped away with one of the lesser wives between his kingly duties no matter the time of day. To think that they could have refused him was novel, but I was not so engrossed in his story to miss the way his tone changed from that of an outraged onlooker to speaking of himself. Had he cared for this mysterious mare? The regret in his voice is palpable, and I am sad for him, and bring myself to wonder, not for the first time, if Rigel had been betrothed to a first wife of his own.
Once more his mention of my cleaving to Antares leaves my eyes ducking to the ground in reprieve, although I listen closely, eager to hear of my beloved's joy at my possessiveness. I fall quiet in thought as he forcibly raises my conception of our women in my eyes. My faith had a way of painting women upon false pedestals, raising them so high as to untouchable, and lending all the power to the men, who wanted nothing more but to touch. Silently I listen to his stories of why other wives were necessary to weather the brutality of a man's affections, and that my choice may mean that I was stealing the joy of not only my Husband's first child but the lives of any others by hoarding him to me.
The thought of such a thing pains me and I lower my lips to the sand below, sick with fear that I might inadvertently be dooming any children Allah would eventually see fit to gift us. Was my tenderness Allah's way of telling me it was time to stop? It did not seem fair for my desire of him to abate so quickly while his could still run rampant across the Dunes. Anxiously I consider asking Rigel how I would know when it was time that I stop, to protect what Allah may have gifted us, but I reconsider and my eyes drop once more. It was bad enough that I discuss my love so openly with him, but I would not imagine that he would understand how a mare might know it is her time.
Rigel, given a chance to speak, does not disappoint and he continues with his stories. As they become personal, I focus, surprised to hear that his mother had lost a child. Tears, bidden by the grief in his voice and the story he weaves, fall from my lids at the thought of that being me. That I might lose a child of Antares. That I might not hear his voice or play with him among the sands in those sacred few minutes that were a mother's own. It was said that the heart of a man was made in those moments between mother in son, that she must instill in him all of the adoration he knew, so that he could share his heart with his wives when they were chosen. Her diligence in those moments would define his success in life by the very nature of her care.
A desperate sort of desire rises in me at the thought of my child, to hold them close to me as my own. It is terrifying in a way, in that the feeling is so alien that it feels a bit as though someone else had taken over my mind. It was a strange feeling, to want something so strongly and so suddenly. I had known that children would be a part of my future, for it was given that as a princess and someday wife that I would bear them, but they had seemed very far off. Almost as though I were a child, pushing off some problem to be dealt with as an adult, only to find that suddenly, I was an adult. My want of a child that I could touch with my own muzzle and cradle next to my body was near tangible and I swallowed at the thought.
Rigel concludes his story with assurances that the lesser wives that Antares would take their place at my side in devotion to not only my dear Husband, but also to myself as his equal. This, more than the rest of the words that have left Rigel's lips finally gets to me, and my brow creases in thought for a moment. Could I accept this arrangement? That my beloved's touch may rest upon mares that adored not only him but myself? Was such a thing even possible?
Much of what has happened in the past few days has been strange to me, despite the excitement. I resolve, finally, to accept this as yet another strange extension of what I had already learned and with a nod, make my decision.
"Please feel free to speak freely of both your pain and your joy, brother. You are as my family now and forever forward." A smile, tremulous though it may be, lightens my lips. "You have done me a great favor by reminding me of the things I should have listened to the first time. You will be a fine husband when it is your time, and I cannot wait to meet the woman your heart chooses."
I pause for a moment, debating whether I should ask what is on my mind. But the curiosity burns too strongly, and I look to him once more. "Has he taken of another wife? And when shall I meet her? Do... do I vow to her as I did to him?"
The questions are hard to ask, if only because the jealousy I'd held for these future wives had lasted for years could not be torn down in just moments. Had my love already taken someone beneath him? Was there already a lesser wife out there that I did not know? I had not wanted to know the night before, nor even this morning, nor, really, did I even want to now. But a part of me had to know. If this was to be my life, I wanted a full picture of it.