There was no expression coming from the elf, only tilting her head slightly to acknowledge the choice Asevor had chosen. The deflected arrow on the wall pulsed once before its explosive charge detonated. Although there was a substantial distance between Asevor and the epicenter, splinters and crystalized fragments scattered about at lethal velocity. 

Blasting him off guard, the wizard was still communicating with Solomon's undead when the explosion triggered, but the strike was deemed fair; As far as honor was concerned, the parley was between Asevor and her. 

There was no sentimental reason, only a desire to eliminate the threat and ensure the chance of survival, first for her own, and the other comes second. Lurea sings in joyful whistles as the arrow launched toward the old man's center mass. Installed with a delayed fuse, it cared not about its target's switches, insurance, or whatever tricks he had in hand.