Epilogue
Airship over the French Countryside, Midnight 25 December 1870
“Are you ready, Fantastique?”
Marie turned from the window of the small pantry off the airship’s ballroom and smiled.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Iris had never looked so pretty with her white-blonde hair piled atop her head and the unusual color of her eyes particularly vivid with the satin lavender gown she wore.
“Yes, we seem to be beyond the siege lines, so we can start,” Fouré said. “I won’t have the Prussians upstaging your wedding with a shell.”
“I’ll inform the captain,” Radcliffe told them and slipped out.
“You both look lovely,” Fouré said, “but especially my daughter.” He held out an arm, and Marie took it. Radcliffe returned, and the door opened a crack.
Amelie Lafitte peeked out. “There are so man
