Truth is pricier than gold and silver.

3rd day 2nd month 150th Year of the 8th era

The king sat at the head of the table, a long piece that sat the whole family. The table had been grown out of the ground and crafted for just this purpose, then carved into a perfect shape. Aife sat looking at the table, her fingers tracing the lines of complicated wood grains. Beside her sat her younger brother, still a child, even at one hundred years old. His chest, legs, and nose were crisscrossed with small white scars. A large wart pushed his nose out of joint.

Flanking the king were his two favorite consorts, both fawning over him, painted in the red stars and stripes that indicated their position.

He plays with those women but neglects his children.

“Father,” Aife called.

The king looked up. The two consorts give her a quick dirty look.

“Yes daughter?” he replied.

“What happened to me when I came to you two days ago?”

“You slapped me and then stormed out,” explained the king. “What is wrong with that?”

The two consorts giggled into their hands. The king smiled at the one on his left fondly. The one on his right placed a hand on his arm.

“You slapped Dad?” exclaimed her brother. “Why are you not in more trouble?”

“You told me to do that,” continued Aife. “It was not something that I wanted to do.”

The consorts looked at anything except Aife, hiding their eyes behind their hands and looking elsewhere in the room.

“Yes, that is true.” The king looked at Aife, his eyes going sorrowful. “Did anything else happen to you that day?”

“Yes, when I got outside, your herald told me to go to a bathhouse,” Aife continued, “and I went to one of the local baths.”

The king frowned. “Which one did you go to?”

“I went to the one in the Violet Quarter,” Aife answered.

“Can I go to the baths in the Violet Quarter?” her brother asked.

“That is good,” commented the king.

“Why is that?”

“It is really close, and you would have met very few people along the way to take advantage of the white paint you were wearing.”

“What do you mean?” Aife demanded.

The king looked at her and then frowned. “You were unaware of the effect of the white paint on your mind?”

“What about it?”

“Leave us,” demanded the king.

The two consorts stood, gathered up the young prince, and left via a nearby door.

“Let’s go to the baths in the Violet Quarter,” suggested the young prince. The consorts giggled.

“The paint that people wear allows people to be controlled by the master of that house,” explained the king.

“What do you mean?”

“You know that the pattern determines their allegiance to a noble house?”

“Yeah, that much is taught in school.”

“Good, that is all I want the young to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you notice that the red colour is not used at all on anyone except my consorts?”

“I did, I thought it was meant to make them stand out for you.”

“That is the least of it,” said the king, “the rest of it is that each colour has a certain attribute that is accentuated by wearing it. Did you notice that some children born into the nobility don’t follow their parents’ house?”

“I did not,” answered Aife. She got out of her chair and moved to one next to her father.

They leaned into each other, heads resting together.

“That is because the houses are arranged according to abilities, each house has a certain function in our society. I know I am parroting to you what your teachers told you, but it runs deeper than what you were told.”

“How so?”

“When a child is born, they normally serve their family’s business; however, in a few cases, they are adopted into another family if they show skill in a certain area, or if one family doesn’t have enough people to fulfill their responsibility.”

“So, the dark blues are for kingliness, light blue brings out wisdom, yellow loyalty, and red passion.” Aife recited the lesson from school.

“Green is common and is generally reserved for soldiers as it stirs up obedience and zeal. Useful but very common; however, purple is a hard one to find and to be treasured above all others. Purple is reserved for generals and great advisors.”

“So, when I was painted in white I was highly susceptible to any suggestions?”

“That’s right,” agreed the king, leaning back, smiling. “It’s not commonly known that the white makes people susceptible to suggestion. As you know, to become a chosen warrior you must spend a whole week painted white doing any, and all tasks that are put to you.”

“If I was painted in white at the time would I be compelled to do anything anyone suggested to me?”

“For a woman, that can leave some serious scars that even the most hardened warrior would tremble at. Not all our people are honest and decent.”

With that final word the king got up and left the room. A cold chill sent a shiver up Aife’s spine. That was most certainly a dodged arrow.

From another door came two serving girls. Their young faces flushed when they saw her, and they froze in place.

Aife leaned back in her chair and waved them to continue.

They glanced at each other and began to clear the table, taking great pains to avoid looking at her.

Aife watched them through her half-closed eyes. They were young, barely old enough to work. Their curse scars crisscrossed their back and sides like a grotesque whipping victim. Several small warts were beginning to show on their chests and bellies. They were painted in red stripes and yellow stars. These girls would not be old enough for the passion that would interest my father; they would be passionate about serving him as cleaners and maids. How much of our culture has been subverted by the curse and our desire to hide our imperfections? Are we a vain people with no hope for salvation? Aife arose after the table had been fully cleared and walked out the same door she had come in.