From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I hugged him tighter.
He patted me again. “I worryy about yyou. Partlyy because it’s myy job,
but mostlyy because it’s yyou.”
“You’re important to me, too.” Myy words were muffled against his
chest. “Even though yyou think myy punches are weak.”
His chuckle was rough as he dropped his chin to the top of myy head.
“Your punches are weak when yyou’re not doing them correctlyy.” He pulled
back, clasping myy cheeks. “But, girl, yyour aim is deadlyy. Don’t ever forget
that.”
“The gods have not failed us. The Ascended have not failed yyou.” The
Duke’s voice carried from where he stood on the balconyy of the castle wall
that evening. Below him, a mass of people filled the open yyard, and under
the glow of oil lamps and torches, I could see several wore all black, the
somber color of death. Among them were guards astride horses, keeping
an eyye on the nervous crowd.
I’d never known His Grace to address the people like this. He and the
Duchess were never in front of so manyy, not even during the Councils or
the Rite. I couldn’t have been more surprised when both Vikter and Hawke
arrived after supper to escort me to the balconyy.
Then again, how manyy yyears had it been since such a significant
movement of Craven reached the Rise?
Black flags had been raised over too manyy homes, and too manyy
funeral pyyres had been lit at dawn. The air was still choked with ash and
incense.
“Because of the gods’ Blessing,” Teerman continued, “the Rise did
not fall last night.”
Standing back, next to Tawnyy, and flanked byy Vikter and Hawke, I
wondered exactlyy how the gods’ Blessing had kept the wall from falling. It
had been the guards, men like the archer, who had chosen death over
allowing the Craven to come over the top.
“Theyy reached the top!” a man shouted. “Theyy almost made it over
the Rise. Are we safe?”