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It starts when he comes to Court, almost an exact copy of Alan. So much so that she isn't surprised to see him grow a beard to prove, at face value, that he is not his sister.

He does not appear to be the sort of person Cythera can win around with a bright smile, and so she doesn't bother. Instead, she contents herself with observing him when she can, secure in the knowledge that at least one Trebond twin is more trouble than she's worth.

Thom puts himself in her way, though, when he leans across her to respond to Delia. Cythera is well-used to Delia's barbs by now, and the fact that sweetness and light is a far better remedy than matching spite-with-spite, but his intervention is not unwelcome.

"Thank you," she offers, before finding he is as bad as receiving praise as his twin.

"I don't know how people can stand living at Court. Doesn't it drive you mad after a while?"

She blinks at him, having been seeking a little respite from Raoul's feet at the side of the dancefloor. "I've been at Court for three years now," she answers, letting him make of that what he will.

Thom chuckles, taking a seat next to her. "That's all right. Insanity runs in my family; I've got a good few years on you."

"Your sister says the same thing," Cythera chances, looking up at him through lowered lashes, an affectation of demurity that serves to satisfy her curiosity. His casual seat belies the alertness in his eyes. She suspects he is judging the ballroom, and finding it wanting.

"She would," he answers easily, glancing across at her. "She always steals my lines."

She meets his eyes with her own steady gaze. "Why do you stay here if you don't like it?"

Any thought that she has that he might take offence is quickly extinguished. He bestows a wide smile upon her. "I came to make a name for myself, but I stay for the company," he says dryly.

Cythera is about to ask what he thinks of his sister, but the words die on her tongue as she sees Raoul headed her way.

"Would you favour me with the next dance?"

She is scarcely able to process the fact that this is Thom who's extending his hand, amusement snapping in his violet eyes.

"I promise not to step on your feet," he says with a grin as she places her hand in his in mute acceptance.

Delia takes him over after that - spoils him like she spoils everybody else. He becomes brittle and irritable, liable to bubble over if she so much as asks him how he is.

Cythera is persistent, though, and finally, she gets a response.

"Should you do something, just to prove you can?" he asks her, his eyes searching her face. "Even though it's going to hurt somebody who means - who means more than the world to you?"

"No," she says flatly.

He smiles to himself. "I thought you'd say that."

It is not long before Cythera realises that Thom might have asked her advice, but he certainly didn't listen to it. He looks ill almost immediately, though she can't tell what is wrong with him - and this time, he won't permit her to ask.

It takes her a little longer before she finds out that he has brought his sister's nightmare back to haunt her.

"You don't come near me any more."

It's true. Cythera lets Sir Gary fill most of her days. He's eager enough to do so, and she can see his responsibilities weighing down on his young shoulders already. They amuse each other in quiet, subdued ways, befitting the mood of the capital.

"Do you despise me?"

She looks at him frankly, her heart softening at the tiredness in his face. "Do you care?"

Thom gives a half-hearted laugh. "Not really. It won't matter too much longer either way."

"Don't be so melodramatic," she reprimands quietly, but her heart isn't in it. Impulsively, she covers her hand in his, and finds him burning to the touch.

He shifts his hand out from under hers. "Tell Alanna I'm sorry," he requests, his wide eyes giving him a look of intense vulnerability. "If I - if I'm not around by the time she gets back."

She gets to her feet, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You can tell her yourself."