‘I didn’t. They brought me weeks ago, told me your name. It had to be you. The region, name, occupation. I thought I’d never see you again.’

He knelt on his haunches next to the hole. She was balancing in the water on the palms of her hands, watching her toes. Ignoring him. Or trying to.

‘Fellucia. Listen to me. You’re going to get us killed.’

‘Only if they find out.’

Those eyes. Earth sky, snatched from the very air. They held him. He remembered the first time.

‘I have a family.’

‘I know. Which is why we have to do this. You must take Paar-Ull.’

Ula nodded, standing. Shrugged off his clothes, threw them onto the bed. He slid into the water much as Fellucia had, and it was hot but he didn’t make a sound or register discomfort. The bubbles were soft against him. Her skin met his. The rich spice of blue liquid made his limbs tingle like blood rushing through his veins, but after the initial surprise, it was pleasant. Ula hadn’t taken Paar-Ull since the night he married T’Shawn, five Earth years and seven-and-a-half Mon’dra years ago.

They washed each other as was the custom. Rubbing soft cloth against her body, using traditional herb soaps. Ula was scared by what he remembered, what was the same. Her skin, much softened by previous baths taken since she’d reached maturity. The tiny dots and blemishes, the birthmark on her left shoulder blade, which fascinated him before. What scared him most was the anticipation he felt as he drew the cloth towards the places she liked most; the knob of bone at the base of her spine, the crevice between her breasts; the round curve of her hips, and of course the flesh between her legs. He was trembling when he finished, almost too much to recognise that she was washing him in much the same way, with full knowledge of what would please him, and when she asked him to turn and face her he couldn’t help touching her, and she dropped the cloth into the water and held him, and they kissed and it was everything he remembered, nothing unknown.

He dreamt and woke to see Fellucia hadn’t slept. She was staring, caressing his arm, eyes far away. She spoke as though she was continuing a conversation they’d shared hours ago.

‘Your skin,’ she said. ‘I’ve never forgotten. It’s like the land that grows cane. It’s beautiful.’

He couldn’t help thinking of the past. With Fellucia there had always been danger.

‘In the world we’re from, that land is everywhere, like us. It gave our world its name.’

‘And here?’

‘Here, that land is a rarity. A commodity. There it’s taken for granted; here it is worshipped.’

‘Don’t you mean exploited? Tended by slaves?’