The Thief of Skystead

Epilogue

Azazel is really good at stealing. Really, really good, and he enjoys it, too. But he's a month clean and counting, and the itch to steal hasn't made itself known yet. Who would've thought quitting one passion would be so much easier when there was a better one to take its place?

"How's Alistair?" Felicia asks, packing his arms full of cookie boxes. She's been giving him twice the normal amount, lately.

"He's great," Azazel replies, setting the broom down to take the cookies. "You know, you don't have to give us all these."

"It's a special thank you for working so hard and helping at the inn."

"It's my job. It's what you pay me for."

"Just take the cookies," she laughs, ushering them into his hands.

Since taking a job at the inn, Azazel's gotten a lot more cookies. His house is practically bursting with cookie boxes. He's got no idea what to do with them. He throws some of them at people who pass by sometimes, just for fun. But never at Pepin, who delivers the mail every morning. He already threw a cookie at him as a servant, he doesn't need to throw one at him as a mail carrier.

Waving Felicia goodbye, he steps out of the inn and looks out on the town. It looks the same as it always has, and yet, it feel so different.

When Azazel steps onto the porch, he sees Fulk sweeping. Fulk looks up, sees him, and waves as if they're strangers. Fulk's kept himself at a careful, respectful distance from Azazel since he revealed what he'd been a part of. There isn't really a need for it; Azazel doesn't hold it against him and he doesn't need to adjust. But maybe Fulk does, so Azazel leaves it be. He's not worried about it. He knows they'll be fine.

He steps down off the porch, making his way to the street. The wedding decorations have long since been ripped down—since the very day of the wedding, in fact. After the town mobbed Savaric and Grimald and practically booted them across the ocean back home, they ran through the town and tore everything down and burned it. Azazel would've liked to have seen it. Gunnora says it was like the whole town was ablaze.

Speaking of Gunnora, she's around town a lot more instead of at the fort. She's been busy promoting a revision of the soldier's code of arms, to replace their utmost duty to the state with an utmost duty to the people. She wants to show how one soldier in the right place can make a difference. So, she's been home, helping wherever she can. Right now, she hops off a ladder leaned against a building, where she's been helping an elderly couple fix a roof on their house. As he walks by, she waves enthusiastically at him. There's paint on her nose.

He waves back, tossing a box of cookies to her. On second thought, he tosses one to the elderly couple, too. The old man fumbles with it, then drops it gracelessly. Gunnora tries to stifle her laughter, but a chorus of snickers and snorts escape her. She's been a lot happier, he's noticed, since she stopped trying to be the General 2.0.

He passes a dozen or so more friendly faces on his way home. Muriel gives him a curt nod, and Adallinda tosses him a bedazzling smile. Pepin flutters by, a satchel stuffed with mail along his side, and waves a wing at Azazel before taking off. Officer Nigel tips his hat to him but still squints at him with the slightest suspicion, and Azazel returns his look with a pleasant smile. It does give him a little bit of antagonistic glee to know that Nigel will never catch him. In fact, no one will. Because from here on out, he's no longer the thief of Skystead. He's just Azazel.

As he travels along the road, he grows further and further from the center of town. He's going home. He passes the underside. He passes the General's old estate, now vacated and torn to the ground. All the other buildings and homes begin to disappear as he walks down the slope, the high cliffside gently settling towards the sea. And there, in a private, magical little realm of its own, stands a quaint seaside cottage. He walks up the stone steps, fishes out his keys, and opens the door.

A small fire is crackling in the fireplace. It warms the room like a heartbeat and melts down to his core. A soft sigh is drawn out of him, a content, peaceful sigh, and he sets his bag on a hook by the door. On the loveseat, in front of the fire, Alistair sits and writes. He's finally starting publishing his writing, and as Azazel suspected, he's become an incredible hit. One of his plays is even going to be put on at the theater. It's the only stuffy rich play he'll ever be excited to see.

Whenever he comes home to see Alistair like this, he can't help but stop in the doorway and breathe it all in. The flickering fire cascades warmth across his satin skin, and Azazel imagines kissing him would be like kissing the moon, with all the sun's rays soaked up in its beautiful, porcelain skin. He steps closer, silently, so that he won't have to imagine any longer.

Stooping down, he bends over the back of the loveseat to press a quick kiss to Alistair's cheek. Alistair perks up, turning to face him just as Azazel floats through the couch on the other side. Alistair looks around for a long, confused moment, and Azazel sits beside him and waits for him to figure it out. When he finally turns to Azazel, he blinks in surprise. Then, he smiles.

"There you are," he says, leaning forward to kiss him. Azazel gladly accepts, cupping his face between his hands. They break away, and Alistair asks, "How was work?"

"Good," he replies, "But it'd be better if you were there, doll."

"I cannot spend all my time at the inn. Besides, you are rather distracted from your duty when I am there."

"You're no fun," he grins, wrapping his arms around Alistair. Alistair huffs, but returns the embrace. "Come on and kiss me."

He does. And it's splendid, and blissful, and wholly wonderful.

"You know," he begins, stroking Alistair's cheek. "I think you must be the thief, because you've stolen my heart."

Alistair frowns. "I am... no such thing. I resent the insinuation that I would ever unlawfully seize anyone's property—"

Azazel laughs, kissing him. And that's how they remain for the night, curled up on the loveseat, snuggling by the fire, kissing each other. And this is how they will remain for the rest of their days.

THE END!