A riotous feast was in progress when Blake descended into the great hall of his new palace.
Not a single soul had dared to grumble about him taking the Sun Palace for his own; his captains had been far too busy drowning in the three-quarters of the royal treasury he had allowed them to divide among themselves.
He had kept only a quarter for himself, a pittance for the man who had conjured the fleet from nothing, snapped the Khairo port-chains, broke the city's garrison, and kicked in the palace doors.
Still, had any man been foolish enough to waste breath complaining, Blake would have used his axe to put more red on the floor. Instead, they used that breath to roar his name, praising his "unmatched generosity."
It was a fair trade; gold was fleeting, but the kind of glory that bought a man's soul was the bedrock of Blake's grander plans.
It wouldn't hurt to be known as a generous man. Fear may bring men not to betray you, but generosity attracted me into your service.
