Arya's wrist was slender.
Holding it, Lynn could clearly feel her pulse racing beneath that thin layer of skin.
She made two halfhearted attempts to pull free, without success.
It felt less like resistance than a petulant gesture born of embarrassment.
"Let go!"
Arya lowered her voice. The blush had yet to fade from her cheeks, but her gray eyes dared not meet Lynn's. She stared fixedly at where his hand held hers.
"No."
Lynn's answer was blunt. Ignoring the curious looks around them, he pulled her straight toward the Tower of the Hand.
"You... how are you still so strong?"
Arya gave up struggling and muttered under her breath, her feet following him despite herself.
"You're the one who's gotten weaker, Arya."
Lynn teased her without looking back.
"Spending all day in dresses, fussing with frills and lace. Where's Needle? Did you throw it into Blackwater Bay to feed the fish?"
"I did not!"
Arya bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"I practice every day!"
She was eager to prove herself.
"Really?"
Lynn's voice was full of doubt.
"Then I'll have to check for myself. Let's hope you haven't turned the water dance Syrio taught you into a little girl's circle dance."
At the mention of Syrio Forel, Arya's eyes lit up, and her tone grew solemn.
"I'll never forget what he taught me."
They bickered all the way through the bustling streets and soon reached the foot of the Tower of the Hand.
The soaring tower stood head and shoulders above the low buildings of King's Landing, overlooking that filthy city teeming with desire.
The House Stark guards at the entrance immediately bowed when they saw Arya.
When their eyes fell on Lynn beside her, they froze for a moment, then their faces filled