Sparks on the field

Win a game. Normally Artus would find the goal silly—tennis was won by matches, not games or even sets. But Rita's enthusiasm was infectious, and who wouldn't agree that Frederic and Philippa were in a completely different tier?

The other two rejoined them to start the next match. With Rita, the court felt bigger, and the ball found all sorts of places that were impossibly out of reach. Sometimes when he missed a ball, Rita would just shrug at him as if to say, If you couldn't do it, I guess it was impossible. Their mutual incompetence was strangely liberating.

After the first game ended in inevitable loss, Artus waved Rita to him. "I have a plan," he said in a low voice. "We can't take them on in our current states, so we need to bring them down more to our level. Our best bet is to tire them out while preserving our strength, and then take them out at the end. Frederic likes to volley up at the net, but doesn't make an effort to aim it when he does so, so we'll use that to make him hit easier balls to us. Philippa aims every ball, but we can force her to expend more energy doing so as long as we return to position before she hits. It's fine if we lose eyes on the ball. Therefore, we'll first..." Artus continued to lay out his plan, making diagrams in the air with his hands when needed. Rita appeared to be following along with all the correct nods, but when Artus looked at her at the end, she was just smiling at him. "What is it?"

"You were so sour about playing in the beginning, but you look like you're having fun again. Also you're such a nerd."

Artus didn't know what a nerd was, but she said it with cheer, even affection. "I enjoy strategy. Did you follow?"

"Um, you said a lot of things. I got the first half at least. No, don't tell me the rest now. Remind me later."

The sun still burned, Artus was still sticky with sweat, and his lungs were still half the size they needed to be. But since he and Rita were just aiming for a single game, they should let a lot of unneeded points slide. Which they did—several games finished without a single point on their side.

After Frederic ended yet another game by smashing the ball so fast it left marks on the court, Rita wiped sweat from her brow. "Wow, you can still hit that hard? Your stamina is amazing, Your Highness."

Frederic grinned. "I like to keep moving in my spare time."

"My liege is stronger than any soldier I know." Artus then added, with just the right amount of smugness, "Or bodyguard."

Philippa's eyes narrowed, just a fraction.

The jibe had the intended effect. Philippa's balls didn't fly so much as launch across the net. It had the additional effect of the balls increasingly going out of bounds. Far into the fifth game, Artus realized they were tied at 45. Their opponents didn't show many signs of fatigue, but if they let this chance go, there would be no margin for error in the next game. Now was the time to show their hand.

"Lady Rita, it's time. Do you know what to do?"

Rita's brow knit in determination. It was sort of nice to see her serious about the game now, when she had started today with Frederic's same disregard of who won or lost. "Got it."

Artus's serve. He took a deep breath. Only these two points mattered, so he could give them his all.

Frederic cocked his head, clearly sensing the mood had changed. Philippa didn't, so Artus spun the ball hard at Philippa. Surprised, Philippa jerked back and just managed to get her racket where the ball was, but the ball ricocheted at almost 90 degrees off the side.

Artus grinned. "Game point."

Philippa arched an eyebrow. "So you can still hit like that."

Now only this point mattered, if he did it right. Artus tossed the ball in his hand, feeling the grooves of its leather. Both Frederic and Philippa were paying extra attention. Artus wound up for his next serve, and smashed it towards Frederic.

Artus gave that one a nice spin too, but Frederic returned it well, hitting it into a corner. Rita dove to save it--the first time she'd done so during the match--but Philippa stole the win with her next hit. All right then, back to two points. But it was just two points.

The points racked up on both sides, chasing each other. Advantage came and went: 5-4. 6-6. 7-8. By 10-9, Artus's shirt was soaked with sweat, and he had to pull it off.

"All right Rita, let's make this count. Rita?"

"Uhh yeah?"

"Are you still paying attention?"

"Uh, yep. Yes, I think I just need some water, let me get a drink first."

From the opposite side, sunlight reflected off Frederic's toothy grin. "Goodness, you're really getting your head into the game, Tutu! See, you do like tennis, after all."

"I like winning," Artus retorted.

Frederic laughed at that.

The game resumed when Rita returned. Artus served into Philippa. Philippa was getting better at returning Artus's serve, but only by so much. She managed to hit it back but without strength. Rita was already in position at the net, her racket wound back.

"Hraaagh!"

It wasn't a ladylike sound, but it was accompanied with a loud and satisfying thwack as she slammed the ball into the corner. Frederic, caught off guard by Rita's quick volley, dove to return the ball, landing belly-first on the court. Anticipating the return, Artus also hit at the net, and so did Philippa, the speed of the game suddenly doubled from the entirety of the match before. Artus swung to hit Philippa's return and missed, but miraculously Rita was behind him, and she practically hit the ball through him. It landed on the other side, Frederic too far to the side and Philippa too far in front to reach it.

Rita was jumping up and down before Artus even registered the impossible feat they'd accomplished. "That's game!!" she shrieked.

"Whoa, it is!" Frederic exclaimed.

A strange and heady thrill rushed through Artus and he laughed. "Saints, we did it! Rita, we've won!"

He turned to her just as she turned to him. The instant they made eye contact, she jumped into his open arms, and they kept laughing like idiots for a whole second before realizing what they'd done.

"Oh, ah." Artus set her down.

"Um, ahem," Rita coughed.

The next person to speak was a faintly annoyed Philippa. "Next game."

Frederic and Philippa soundly won the match. Artus couldn't even lift his racket anymore, and the second it was over he folded onto the ground, stars in his eyes and an iron taste in his throat. Frederic jogged to him.

"Wow, I've never seen you try that hard before!"

With difficulty, Artus lifted his gaze to Frederic. He wished profoundly that Frederic had brought him some water, as Philippa had for Rita.

"This is the last time," he warned between gasps.

"If you say so!" Frederic said cheerfully. "Lady Rita's incredible, huh? Let's invite her next time, too!"

Was all this working, after all? "Nice try, but I said this was the last time. You two should play." Artus should have been pleased with the result, so he couldn't place the strange tightness in his chest.