He watched the woman with interest as she looked into the tree. He had not, of course, created it but he took care of it, maintained it so it would keep its power and be healthy. But there were many secrets to the circus and the Wishing Tree was just one of many. The corner of his mouth perked up into a small smile.
It was of even more interest that she waited for his permission, it seemed, before accepting a cookie and so he gave it with a slight motion of his head. "Papa calls them guests. The others call them... cus-o-mers?"
"Customers," Cassander corrected softly as Brighid rose up on her knees, whispering in the blond man's ear. He listened with interest and then couldn't help laughing, leaning back to tap his daughter on the end of her nose, "That is not how that works. A single, tiny cookie does not mean she owes you a favor, naughty girl. And on this day, we give without expectation of receiving to show kindness to others." Brighid sat back down, pouting. Cass shrugged his shoulder, smiling at the woman. Never would he apologize for a failed trick.
As she worked her magic to bring herself a little cloud, nothing he'd not seen before, his fingers worked to braid the remaining flowers. "Still, it could be worse. At least they still speak of our kind. Too many courts have been dying, so I've heard." The Mound had, ages ago.