It's rare that I wish a book were longer, but this is one of those cases. I want more. More Chaumenard, the mages' school in the gray, jagged mountain peaks, where wolves run with the White Wolf. I want more tests where the mages have to hide and can become anything until they're found by the looker. I want more Talis with his glasses and power. I want more Saro, more descriptions of food (this book could be an itinerary for all the meals I want to make). I want more Pelucir, more parallel forest with Queen and consort. More sunlight, more golden leaves, more crisp mountain air. More Atrix, more King Burne, who can't have children and loves his brother more than anything. There just isn't enough of anything.
Of course, there's still the theme: sorrow is something that people often create for themselves, which in turn leads to pain for others, so they live in it longer than they have to because they don't see themselves truthfully, but when they do, they can overcome the pain; it never goes away, but light, love, and joy can ease it and make it so that sorrow and darkness and anger and regret are no longer the only things we see when we think of ourselves.
Maybe the only thing that satisfies in the novel besides the depth of the message, though it still leaves me wanting more, is the language. I kept thinking of that Goodreads quote from Bohumil Hrabal that I see when I log into the app: "I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop." I read slowly, savoring the words because McKillip's language is always beautiful, but in this book, she says things like, "Talis...waited patiently, catching stray arrows of sunlight in his lenses" instead of something like, "The sunlight reflected off Talis's glasses." I will admit that I didn't always know what was happening because, like the rest of the world compared to Amber, Roger Zelazny's magical world, McKillip's words seem to be shadows of the truths they really tell. There's always more, something real and something pure, behind the words, but it's like McKillip couldn't share the real thing, or we'd be blinded, so she found language that would obscure it with beauty. I can't even describe the effect of her words. But the more I read, the more things made sense, and the more I didn't care because this book is just so beautiful.
I only wish there was more.