The magician held his grin. He had long ago mastered the art of manipulating unspoken desires. And he had witnessed many between Peter and his so-called brother when he had first spotted the remarkable pair, as boys, in Jerusalem. Within the space between such desires, he knew, lay fertile soil for treachery. For in magic, as in life, it was not what people saw, but what they were led to see.

The man’s question propelled an angry fist inside Peter, but when he looked up to refute him, he was gone.

As he carried his load of dead fish back to Jesus, Peter’s mind spun with ugly thoughts. He had never questioned Jesus’s love for him. Nor had he ever allowed himself to imagine Jesus choosing anyone above him. But now he could see that the possibility existed. And this simple fact pricked his dreams and soured his mood.

The notes from Peter’s flute hovered like mist. The flames of a large fire flitted to the music. Jesus lay in a heavy sleep. He had spent most of the day wandering the riverside with Peter and ignoring the needs of those around him. When Tabitha had approached to ask for help, Peter had told her to go find Ruth. Jesus, for his part, had turned quickly so as not to see Tabitha’s look of hurt. He knew he was being selfish, but he did not want anything, not even feelings of guilt, to blemish his time with Peter. Part of him wanted nothing more than to ignore his duties and walk for hours, side by side, with the handsome green-eyed fisherman.

But the other part of him, the part he silenced, did not know what he wanted.

Ruth approached the fire to let its warmth relieve the strain in her back. She swayed under a wave of exhaustion. She had spent a hard day demonstrating the mixing of various remedies to the next round of keepers. But had worked mostly alone as Jesus had become less attentive to his duties.

Rubbing her spine, she watched Jesus sleeping. They had not spoken in several days. His leg lay crooked on the ground. It had been too long since they had treated the encroaching stiffness. She knew that he would have difficulty walking in the morning if the balm were not worked into his bones. She asked Tabitha to bring the remedy and apply it.

As Tabitha approached, she nodded to Peter. He ignored her and continued to play his flute. Tabitha knelt alongside Jesus and lifted the indigo hem of his tunic, gingerly, so as not to wake him. Her hands froze when Peter’s flute squealed.

“What are you doing?” he roared. “Get away from him!” Peter leapt up and swung the back of his hand across Tabitha’s face. Ruth jumped to catch her. Anger darkening her eyes. Tabitha held a hand to her face.