...The apprentice's fingers were stained so deep a blue that she'd stopped trying to wash it out. She mixed another vat in the dyer's guild, following the rhythm her grandmother had taught her thirty years ago. When the armor arrived from the smith, still bright metal and sharp edges, she knew it would look proper in blue. The City Guard captain was particular. His new recruits needed to look uniform, trustworthy. Blue was the color of the wall. It was the color that said someone is watching. She carried the dyed cloth to the tailor next door, thinking of the copper pennies she'd earn, enough for bread tomorrow.

A merchant counting his inventory three streets over had picked blue for his caravan guards. Twenty suits of leather, all the same tone, all finished within a fortnight. It was the practical choice. Indigo cost twice as much and took three times as long. Blue worked. Blue had worked for a hundred years. He sealed the order with his seal and didn't think about it again.