IMPERIA is a tale of revenge. It is a resurrection of Asian myth. It is fantasy's untold story.
Thirty years is a long time to hold a grudge. The Red Empress has endured every single day of the past three decades living among enemies. A captive empress, she bides her time, her mind's machinations plotting a future bathed in blood. And then the future becomes the present. Across the Empire of Heaven, the winds blow calmly no more.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Originally from Pensacola, Florida, Jason Hatcher attended the International Baccalaureate senior high school program, then went on to study Japanese and English literature at the University of Florida. He attended law school in Boston, and worked as an attorney in New York City for eight years. A lifelong lover of Asia, he spent much of his childhood in Japan. He speaks, reads, and writes Japanese, and has traveled extensively throughout that part of the world. Today, he lives in Westchester County, New York, with his husband, mother, and twin sons.
Author website: www.jasonhatcher.space
Author Facebook fan page: https://www.facebook.com/MeetJasonCarterHatcher/?fref=ts
IMPERIA Facebook fan page: https://www.facebook.com/imperianovel/?fref=ts
Amazon Kindle book purchase site: http://www.amazon.com/IMPERIA-Jason-Hatcher-ebook/dp/B0188AQZ2A
Goodreads author page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14715959.Jason_Hatcher
Goodreads book page: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28001974-imperia?from_search=true&search_version=service
Jason will be awarding a $40 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour, and a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn host.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Among the People of the Empire of Heaven, the Great Capital was not simply the heart of an empire; to them, it was the center of civilization itself. The city sprawled across a great valley, a landscape much different than the parched wastelands of the West. As winter made its final retreat and spring took hold, this contrast became even more apparent.
The Great Capital's skyline was a tessellation of tiled eaves that framed the edges of homes, shop buildings, temples, and courtyards. Except for a few brief hours preceding dawn, the streets overflowed with life: artisans and beggars, soldiers and thieves; merchants, priests, and prostitutes.
Everywhere was the echo of cartwheels on cobblestones. From the few streets left unpaved rose clouds of red dust, churned up by the pitter patter of too many feet.
A hundred generations had lived and died in this city. With such spans of time came the accumulation of ghosts, visible in every worn footpath and every magic amulet hung before the shrine of this or that dead ancestor. History radiated from the beams and the mortar of edifices that filled the valley to its brim, from the base of one mountain to the other. Temples crept up the sides of the surrounding hills, as the intrepid faithful sought out new places to burn their incense, give their offerings, and pray.