Oma leaped up from her cushion before even turning her head to confirm what her ears had told her. “Rabah!” she exclaimed. “Rabah, you have come to me!”
And, ignoring all her royal dignity, she raced to the side of her old friend and confidant. The two women embraced, and kissed, and wept, and kissed some more, and for the next several hours were so lost in one another’s presence that no words were necessary. Only after physical exhaustion set in did Princess Oma lie back upon her mattress and say, “Oh, Rabah, I’m so happy to see you. But how come you to be here in Ravan?”
“I am a concubine to the king of Marakh. When your father died, I became concubine to the new king, your husband, Prince Haroun. Forgive me, but I find it hard to call him king—he’s still just a little boy, and an ugly
