Spotlight-Excerpt: REUNION OF THE THREE by C.S. Harris (The Ring of Worlds #1)

Reunion of the Three

by C.S. Harris

Publisher: A New Reality Publishing

Cover Artist: Christopher S. Harris

Release Date: February 29, 2024

Genres: Urban fantasy, epic fantasy, space opera, polyamory 

Tropes: Lovers reunited after a long separation, heroes

Themes: Reunion, coming together, being free, being authentic, self-discovery

Heat Rating: 2 - 3 flames

Length: 95 000 words/320 pages

It is not a standalone book. It is book 1 in the Ring of Worlds series.

Book two is out on April 25, and book three this summer.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US  |   Amazon UK

Love, Longing, Great Magic, and a Fat Orange Cat.

Blurb

Foreseeing the annihilation of Gaea by the Tèng Empire and the demonic Sogma, Alexander Eldred and his allies, Imara Inanna and Sirenī Adamma, marshaled their magic to thwart the calamity. Their triumph brought them back to their homeland of Demurria, only to be sundered by a government edict citing their immense combined strength as a threat: Alex is a magical prodigy and never forgets a spell once he's seen it written or cast. Imara hears the universe as a symphony and can control reality with her voice. Sirenī is blessed with fatal beauty, a power so great it can compel into obsession any who behold her.

After fifty years of enforced separation, compelled by a fresh premonition, Alex challenges the mandate to reunify with Imara and Sirenī. This time, the peril extends beyond Gaea, endangering the entirety of the Ring of Worlds, threatened by a formidable necromancer's dark influence. To prevent the spread of this malignant corruption across myriad planets, the trio must reunite and elude the Unified Government's grasp, racing against time to safeguard the future.

Please note: The central narrative follows a group of main characters engaged in a polyamorous relationship. Initially, the relationship comprises one man and two women, evolving to include an additional man, forming a balanced quartet where each individual shares a deep, equitable connection with the others. Although the story is rooted in the genres of epic and urban fantasy, rather than romance, it includes moments of intimacy that encompass a spectrum of orientations and identities, including interactions among women, men, and supernatural beings such as vampires. Additionally, the narrative features a secondary character who identifies as non-binary. The same gender relations are blatant.

Excerpt

Barefoot, Alexander left the primary bedroom and walked through the quiet halls of Eldred Manor. He descended to the first floor and passed the library on his way to the workroom. Once there, he stepped through the large double doors and shut them.

The room was massive and had Spaera Mystica—arcane circles for conjuration—etched into the floor in varying sizes. He stepped over to a small one and held out his hands with his palms facing up. An orange-red glow flared around them, and he began to chant in his natal tongue.

Within moments, mist began to swirl above the sigils etched into the floor. He continued to chant until a hemispherical dome flared into existence, shimmering with striations of faint color like a rainbow. He turned his palms down and changed his chant.

Now the ancient syllables of Darhavil rolled from his lips, and mist filled the Spaera Mystica. Alexander finished his spell, dropped his hands to his sides, and waited. It took several minutes for a figure to appear in the mist, insubstantial and amorphous but irradiant.

“Alexander,” the figure said. The voice had a tremulous quality but was easy to hear. “Why have you reached out to me?”

Alexander bowed his head briefly. “I apologize, Valas. I have been feeling something, a sensation at the back of my mind. The only thing I could think to do was contact you.”

The agglomeration of colors spun like fluid inside the mist-filled hemisphere of the magic circle. The flashes of light occasionally suggested a beaked head, wings, and a long, feathered tail. Alexander watched the manifestation patiently. Subtle anxiety had been building in his mind, urging him to action.

“The patterns suggest an inflection point formed sixteen million years before this moment. Beginning now, the probabilities unravel,” the figure told him.

That was interesting information. Opaque but interesting. What is the inflection point? Was it related to the events of my dream? Can I recover them with a waking dream enchantment?

The Grade Five magic was only as reliable as the ephemeral threads of the mind—so not very.

The sorcerer bowed his head again. “Thank you, Valas. I appreciate your willingness to communicate with me.”

“You are welcome.” The figure began to dwindle; the light faded at the edges into eldritch sparks that winked out as they drifted toward the floor. “I would add one last thing: the time is upon you. You cannot wait.”

Alexander froze. “Are you certain?” he stupidly asked.

Valas Amris is a celestial being. Of course, it is certain! he thought scathingly.

The figure faded until only the mist on the floor remained within the Spaera Mystica, but Valas murmured one last sentence.

“Yes. Complete your work with Skawen’na’há:wi. You are close.”

Alexander took a deep breath as the mist drained into nothing. He released the magic circle with a snap of his fingers and stood there for a long time. His thoughts were jumbled and raced in circles. He felt excitement, anticipation, nervousness, and fear.

After several minutes of stillness, he stirred and turned from the symbols carved into the floor. He retreated from the workroom and planned to return to his bedroom. Instead, he detoured into the library and sat in his favorite chair. Around him were more than a thousand books, including tomes, treatises, and grimoires. He looked at them with unseeing eyes, wrapped in his thoughts. They ran to the two people he loved most: Imara and Sirenī. He hadn’t seen them in a long time, but that was about to change.

Once he finished his training, of course.

Alexander remained in the library until dawn. He blinked when the sun shone through the windows and stabbed his eyes. Turning his head, he cracked his neck and looked around. He'd contemplated and discarded a dozen plans in the few hours it took for the sun to rise.

What is the best way to make contact? he wondered.

Imara lived in Louden, Sirenī in Glendale. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, brow furrowed. Nothing came to him.

Still, he left the library with a bounce in his step. In his heart, he felt excited by what was coming. For almost fifty years, he’d had a lump of stone in his chest, but now he felt it begin to soften and pulse once more.

About the Author 

I'm an artist and author who's been crafting stories since my childhood. My debut series, 'The Ring of Worlds,' is inspired by my love of high-fantasy and science fiction. When I'm not writing, I enjoy gaming, reading, and exploring new worlds—real and imaginary.

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Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

New Release: DALÍ by EM Hamill-Includes Excerpt!

Dalí 

by E.M. Hamill

Genre: Science Fiction, space opera, LGBTQ

Publisher: Nine Star Press

Date of Publication:  August 7, 2017

Number of pages: 313

Word Count: 85K

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Book Description

Dalí Tamareia had everything—a young family, and a promising career as an Ambassador in the Sol Fed Diplomatic Corps. Dalí’s path as a peacemaker seems clear, but when their loved ones are killed in a terrorist attack, grief sends the gender-fluid changeling into a spiral of self-destruction.

Fragile Sol Fed balances on the brink of war with a plundering alien race. Their skills with galactic relations are desperately needed to broker a protective alliance, but mourning Dalí no longer cares, seeking oblivion at the bottom of a bottle, in the arms of a faceless lover, or at the end of a knife. 

The New Puritan Movement is rising to power within the government, preaching strict genetic counseling and galactic isolation to ensure survival of the endangered human race. Third-gender citizens like Dalí don’t fit the mold of this perfect plan, and the NPM will stop at nothing to make their vision reality. When Dalí stumbles into a plot threatening changelings like them, a shadow organization called the Penumbra recruits them for a rescue mission full of danger, sex, and intrigue, and gives Dalí purpose again.

Risky liaisons with a charismatic pirate lord could be Dalí’s undoing—and the only way to prevent another deadly act of domestic terrorism.

Amazon - Nine Star Press 

 Excerpt

I had to pass the terminal’s arrival gate to reach my assigned quarters in the lodgings district—nothing but a tiny room with a bunk and a desk. More than I needed. I hunched my shoulders and pulled the collar of my coat up. It wasn’t enough to evade electronic eyes.

Goddamned media bots. The week after the bombing, they descended upon me every time I stepped outside my door, wanting tears, statements, something juicy to regale the holo viewers at home. Charges of destruction of the networks’ property got dropped after I was diagnosed with PTSD. But no one else could verify what I’d seen the media bot do in Luna Terminal. They were all dead.

Six months later, the things still recognized me whether I leaned toward male or female, but followed me at a safer distance. This one hovered outside the gate to spy for any late celebrities who might sneak in after the championship game began. It buzzed and floated in my wake.

“Ambassador Tamareia? Would you care to make a statement on the latest developments in the Senate regarding the Remoliad negotiations?”

“No. I’m on bereavement leave.” I didn’t turn around.

“How about a statement regarding Sol Fed’s stance on third-gender reproductive rights?”

This was a human voice and made me pause. I turned slowly. “Kiran Singh. Waiting for the next big human tragedy?”

His answering smile was brilliant and manufactured for holo audiences, white teeth blinding against dark-brown skin. Tall and slender, Singh’s features shared the same androgyny as mine, the kind of facial structure that earned a double take. His plum-colored kurta glittered with embroidery, the tips of shiny black boots visible beneath its folds. I hadn’t seen Singh since the memorial service on Luna, but I’d been barely cognizant of anything in those first days of mourning. Except when I punched Singh in the face. I remember that.

“Yours?” I jabbed a thumb at the patient, hovering bot.

“It’s my network’s.”

“Make it go away or it’s scrap.”

“Stand down, Geraldo.” The globular bot obeyed and floated back to the gate.

Singh stood in front of me. The smile faded. “You look like sh*t.”

“Thanks. Good to see you too.” I wanted nothing more but to go back to my room and surround myself with a cloud of illegal vaping chems. I turned away.

“Seriously, Dalí. What the hell?”

“What do you want, Kiran?” I kept walking.

“Stop and talk to me. We used to be friends at university.”

“We were never friends. Is this off the record?”

“Give me a statement against the New Puritan Movement. The NPM’s stance on our reproductive rights is nothing less than selective genocide under the guise of recovering our species. Your opinion still matters to Luna. You can help us make a difference.”

“I don’t agree with your form of journalism or your tactics. Gresh’s opinions were the ones that mattered.”

“Gresh was the judicial heart of the equal rights movement, but he wasn’t a third. You were the voice. You still could be.”

“Not for you and the Third Front.” Kiran and his activist friends played along the borders of extremism, where Gresh and I had preferred reason and legislation.

“Dalí. Listen to me.” Singh grabbed my arm. I wrenched it away but stopped walking. He moved closer. “I know the bastards got you ousted from your appointment to the Remoliad. The NPM is poison, and it’s gaining momentum in the Senate. Do you even watch the news?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“So you’ve given up.”

“What do you want from me?”

“You do know that isolationist prick Hyatt won the nomination, don’t you?”

“What nomination?”

“To be Head of the Senate, Dalí! Where have you been?”

“In hell.”

“Okay.” Singh’s voice quieted. “I understand. But you need to wake up. Our rights to be treated as the equal of every other Sol Fed citizen are being threatened. Europa introduced new bills into Senate deliberation. With Hyatt’s election, they’re going to pass and make parthenogenesis mandatory for our reproduction. Guess whose research they’re using to fuel the hysteria?”

“Dr. Atassi’s, I presume.”

“The witch has been busy. They’re going to use the law to eliminate the entire third gender.”

I blinked at Singh with disbelief, even in my still-numbed state. “That isn’t legal under galactic statutes. It’ll never pass.”

“Wake up! Sol Fed isn’t Remoliad yet, and if the NPM gets its way, we never will be.” Kiran stepped closer to me. “Changelings are disappearing from the Colonies, and nobody is investigating. They’re ignoring hate crimes. In our government’s eyes, we don’t serve any greater good to further the human race if we can’t reproduce.”

“Maybe they just wanted to disappear.”

Singh’s expression grew ugly, and his disgust pricked my empathic senses with needle-sharp derision. “You never did get it. You think more like a galactic than a human being. You were never one of us.”

“We’ve had this argument before.”

“The more things change, the more they stay the same. It still doesn’t touch you. You’re a cold bastard, Tamareia.”

I turned my back, but Singh called out, “What if I told you I could connect the NPM to the terminal bombing?”

I stopped and wheeled on him. Two steps brought me within arm’s length. I grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him in, snarling. “If that’s true, why didn’t you tell the authorities?”

“Take it easy!” He slapped my hands away and licked his lips, his eyes darting away from mine as he straightened his kurta. “Word has it that Batterson Robotics is expanding into illegal weapons technology. I heard rumors the NPM formed its own little militia, funded by Batterson himself.”

“Rumors.” I gave a bleak laugh. “Prove who killed my family, and I’ll show you what a cold bastard I can be. Until then, stay the f*ck away from me, Kiran.”

About the Author

E.M. (Elisabeth) Hamill writes adult science fiction and fantasy somewhere in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas. A nurse by day, wordsmith by night, she is happy to give her geeky imagination free reign and has sworn never to grow up and get boring. 

Frequently under the influence of caffeinated beverages, she also writes as Elisabeth Hamill for young adult readers in fantasy with the award-winning Songmaker series. 

She lives in eastern Kansas with her family, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.

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